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“What are you doing to find my mom?” Caleb Mir’s voice rang out across Chancellor Nahla Ake’s office as the cadet stormed in and strode to her desk like he owned the place.
Nahla took off her glasses and placed them on her desk.
Here we go again.
“Cadet, please tell me you did not just hack the door to my office.”
Caleb ignored Nahla as he stood across from her and placed both hands on her desk. “You promised me you would help me find my mom. That’s the only reason I came to the Academy. I want to know what you are doing right now to find her.”
Nahla didn’t get up from her seat. She hunched over the desk toward him, bracing both her elbows on the desk’s surface as she clasped her hands. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper as she made eye contact with the troubled young man. “I’ve been keeping my promise, Caleb. I’ve been looking for your mom. All this time. I’ve been looking really, really hard.”
Caleb met her eyes for a moment, then turned away as he placed his hands on the top of his head. Nahla could sense that something was off with him. It wasn’t unusual for him to get intense—especially when talking about his mother—but this was something more. He seemed almost in a panic.
Caleb turned back to meet her eyes again. He shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said with a trembling voice.
Nahla did her best to appear calm. Under the surface, she felt the urge to explode, to tell Caleb exactly what she was feeling in this moment. But she didn’t. Instead, she wordlessly reached for a PADD and slid it across the desk to him.
Caleb paused for a moment before picking up the PADD. “What is this?”
“It’s my calendar,” she answered. “Look at Tuesday afternoon. Better yet, read it to me.”
Caleb studied the PADD. Then he cleared his throat and read the entry aloud:
“Tuesday. 15:00–16:00. Try looking for Caleb’s mom again.”
Caleb grimaced. He placed the PADD on her desk and sunk down into a nearby chair, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Nahla snapped.
Caleb stared silently at the floor, ashamed. Nahla allowed the silence to linger for a long moment. Obviously Caleb knew he’d fucked up. Now it was up to him to explain himself.
Caleb raised his head and ran both hands through his hair. “I’ve been losing my mind lately,” he finally said. “They say time heals all wounds, but… it’s getting worse. Something happened.”
“Go on,” Nahla encouraged him. She no longer felt angry, just very concerned.
“I slept with Tarima,” he said. “Afterward, things were great. She was lying on top of me without a shirt on, showing some side-boob…”
“Caleb.”
“And then there were all these yellow flowers everywhere. It was beautiful…”
“Caleb.”
“But then there was this robotic teddy bear. I lost it! I felt like I was gonna bite someone’s ear off, just like I did to that guy on the prison ship.”
“Caleb!” Nahla yelled, clapping once to snap him out of it. It worked, but she exhaled in frustration anyway. “You need therapy, kid!”
“Therapy?” Caleb’s expression twisted in disgust at the word. “I’m not some crazy person. The robotic teddy bear was real. It was some Betazoid thing when Tarima got in my head after we fu—after we made love.”
Nahla’s voice grew tight. “Caleb. I do not have time or, frankly, the desire to discuss your sex life. And I’m not going to sit here and lecture you about the benefits of therapy. You’re going. That’s an order.”
Nahla took a smaller PADD and typed something. She stood up and reached across her desk to hand it to him. “Take this.”
Caleb glanced at the PADD. “Group therapy? I’m not gonna talk about my missing mom in front of a bunch of strangers!”
“They’re not strangers. They’re your fellow cadets.”
“That’s even worse!” he objected.
Nahla put her glasses back on, signaling the end of the discussion. “This isn’t debate class,” she said. “I’m not spending the rest of my day arguing with you. Get out of my office. Go. And if you skip therapy, I’ll know about it. And I will not be happy.”
Caleb looked at the ceiling and silently vented his frustration. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut. Then he took the small PADD and left the office, allowing his heavy footsteps to do the whining for him.
* * *
“Ah! Cadet Mir. You’re just in time.” The Doctor’s voice was unusually… friendly?
Caleb entered the room, the doors automatically hissing closed behind him. “Therapy 4010” was a minimalist space in the medical wing of the Academy, containing a circle of chairs in the center of an otherwise empty room. Caleb had followed the directions on the PADD, but after taking one look at the people sitting in those chairs, he was sure he’d come to the wrong place.
“Wait,” he said. “Is this the…”
“The Maternal Omission Management therapy group. ‘MOM’ for short,” the Doctor said pleasantly. It was obvious that he’d come up with the name—and that he was quite proud of himself for the achievement.
But Caleb wasn’t looking at the Doctor’s face; he was looking at the faces of everyone else in the room. Tarima Sadal and her brother Ocam were seated next to each other. Ocam looked happy enough to see him, but Tarima’s face carried a lingering trace of embarrassment from what had happened during their post-coital “incident” with the Betazoid visions. She looked at him, and then averted her gaze.
Caleb’s mind instinctively began to clutter with possible ways to deal with the awkwardness of Tarima’s presence—but he was soon distracted by the sight of other familiar faces. Jay-Den Kraag and Kyle Djokovic were sitting next to each other, speaking to each other too quietly for him to hear.
Then Caleb saw Darem Reymi smirking at him. Darem unfolded his arms and patted the empty seat beside him. “Caleb! I saved you a seat, buddy.”
Caleb didn’t sit. Instead, he approached the Doctor and attempted in vain to have a private exchange with him. “I don’t get it,” Caleb said. “This is group therapy for people with…”
“Missing or otherwise unavailable maternal figures,” the Doctor answered. “You’re among friends here, Cadet.”
Caleb raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re the therapist?”
The Doctor’s characteristic, impatient tone finally surfaced. “I’m more than just a walking hypospray, you know. I’m as capable of treating a patient’s mental health as their physical health. Not to brag, but I’m trained in more than four thousand distinct methods of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.”
Caleb looked at his gathered peers again, avoiding eye contact with Tarima, who was doing the same. “And you’re saying that everyone in this room…”
Caleb was interrupted by the whoosh of the door opening. In walked two more of his fellow cadets: Genesis Lythe and SAM. Caleb looked at them in disbelief. “You too?”
Genesis entered the room and headed for an empty chair, casting a look at Caleb as she said casually, “This is the ‘no-moms’ group, right?”
“All right, everyone!” the Doctor said, calling the group to order. “Please take your seats. I believe we are ready to begin.”
Caleb was still disoriented, but he felt the social expectation of the moment like a gravitational pull, drawing him toward the empty seat next to Darem. Caleb sat.
“Hey, roomie,” Darem whispered to him as he gave Caleb an unwelcome pat on the shoulder.
* * *
The Doctor took his own seat in the circle. “Welcome to Maternal Omission Management,” he said. “Before we get started, I would like to say a few words about myself. I’m not only the leader of our little group—I also consider myself a member. I’m one of you.”
The Doctor’s eyes scanned the rest of the people in the room. “You see… I do not have a mother.”
“You’re a hologram,” Caleb blurted.
“An astute observation, Cadet Mir,” the Doctor replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. “I was not born; I was created. My creator was a brilliant man named Lewis Zimmerman. He is, I suppose, the closest thing to a father that I have. But I do not have a mother.”
Most of the group listened politely. SAM nodded solemnly. But Caleb’s eyes still flicked from one member of the group to another, wondering what they were doing in a therapy group for people with a missing mom.
“Now then,” the Doctor said, looking around, “Who would like to share next?”
SAM’s hand shot into the air as she fidgeted in her chair.
The Doctor seemed pleased to see that at least one member of the group was eager to contribute. “Ah! SAM, thank you. Please state the nature of your maternal omission.”
“Well,” she said, “My story’s kinda like yours, I guess. I mean, we’re both holograms. I don’t have a mother, either.”
Caleb looked at her, attempting to hide his dissatisfaction with the way this therapy session was going so far. If this whole setup was intended to make him feel he wasn’t alone in searching for his lost mom, it definitely wasn’t working.
The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed to think the session was going well. “SAM, is there anyone whom you would consider a parental figure?” he asked with a smile.
“I guess,” she said. “There’s this disembodied voice that I report to every once in a while. It’s not like… I mean, I’m not spying on you guys or anything. But yeah, the voice is like my parent. But it’s a male voice. Not mom-like at all.”
The Doctor nodded. “Very good, SAM. Thank you for sharing. Who would like to go next?”
Ocam raised his hand. “I’ll go! I don’t have a mom, either.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed with confusion. “Ocam? You don’t have a mom? Since when?”
“Dude, how do you not know this?” Ocam asked in disbelief. “We’ve been roommates this whole time and you never noticed? And what about Tarima? You never talked about it with her?”
“Ocam!” Tarima interjected with a blush. But she turned to Caleb. “Seriously, Caleb? I thought we… connected.”
“You two ‘connected’?” Genesis asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
The room filled with an uncomfortable, collective murmur that gradually rose in volume.
“Everyone, please settle down!” said the Doctor. He quickly regained control of the room. “This is exactly why I started this therapy group. You cadets have been spending so much time together, yet you do not truly know each other. You think you do, but you do not. Not yet. A maternal omission is something that we tend to conceal from the world. But this is a place for sharing.”
The Doctor turned back to Ocam, who was watching Tarima and Caleb engage a couple’s spat through eye contact. “Cadet Sadal, please continue.”
Tarima spoke. “I don’t have a mother,” she began, but she was interrupted by Ocam.
“He was talking to me, sis.”
“Wait, what?” Tarima blushed. “I’m so sorry. I’m just used to being the only Cadet Sadal in the room.”
“No, it’s cool,” said Ocam. “Actually, you go first. You’re better at this.”
Tarima nodded in agreement. She cleared her throat as if preparing to give a speech. “I don’t have a mother,” she said. “I do have a father. He’s very important to me, and to a lot of other people. He’s the president of the planet I’m from, actually. Betazed.”
Tarima uncrossed and recrossed her legs uncomfortably. “A lot of people think that makes me some kind of princess. It’s not true, though. I didn’t grow up in a castle. I wasn’t raised from birth to ascend to a throne. I mean, my father only got elected like a year ago. And I don’t have any civil or military power of any kind. I guess my father does listen to me when it comes to policymaking. Probably more than he should. He has plenty of advisors for that, people with actual qualifications and experience. And then there are all of the checks and balances in Betazed’s political system...”
The Doctor was attentive, but his eyebrows displayed increasing concern as Tarima went off on her tangent. Tarima noticed and quickly made a course correction.
“Anyway,” she concluded, “I have a really important father but don’t have a mother. That’s… what I wanted to share. With all of you.” She gave a meaningful look to Caleb.
“Thank you, Cadet Sadal,” said the Doctor. Before he could ask who would like to speak next, Ocam jumped in.
“Uh, Tarima and I have the same parents, obviously, so ditto everything my sister just said. Wait. Except for the part about not being a princess. I mean—actually, no, yeah, I’m not a princess, either. So I guess I can just… ditto everything, then.” Ocam paused thoughtfully. “No one really thinks of me as a prince, though. Huh. I wouldn’t mind it.”
Darem got up from his chair and stepped over toward Ocam to give him a fist-bump. “Prince bros!”
“Prince bros!” Ocam echoed. Then he glanced back at the Doctor and said, “I’m done now, Professor The Doctor.”
Caleb didn’t hear a word Ocam said. His mind was still fixed on Tarima and how he’d completely failed to notice that the girl he loved—or, uh, liked to hang out with—didn’t have a mom in her life. Just like him. How could he have been so self-absorbed? What else had he missed?
The Doctor’s voice cut through Caleb’s thoughts. “Cadet Lythe! Thank you. Please state the nature of your maternal omission. Oh, and by the way, kindly give my regards to your father the next time you see him.”
Genesis gave the Doctor a perfunctory smile. “Yes, sir.” Then Genesis looked over at Tarima. Genesis’s expression softened. “Actually,” she said, “Tarima, what you said really resonated with me.”
Tarima was surprised but said nothing. Caleb noticed that Genesis—who usually lit up a room—suddenly looked small and vulnerable.
“My name is Genesis Lythe. Cadet Genesis Lythe. Most of you know who my father is.” Genesis’s fingers idly glided across her Academy uniform skirt.
“My father’s a big deal,” Genesis continued, “He’s not the president of my homeworld, but he might as well be. He’s a Starfleet admiral. He’s a big-shot. Not surprisingly, he casts a long shadow. As for my mom? I… don’t really have one. People forget about that.”
Genesis shrugged. An awkward silence filled the room. It was broken by the grumbling, gravelly, guttural voice of Jay-Den Kraag. “I would like to speak next,” he said. “I also… do not have a mother.”
“Cadet Kraag,” said the Doctor carefully, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was reviewing your personnel file earlier and it seems—according to our records at least—that you do have a mother. I believe her name is L’vanna Kraag?”
“She abandoned me,” Jay-Den declared. “I was disowned by my parents. All three of them. They are… no longer in my life.” Jay-Den leaned toward the Doctor and fixed him with a menacing stare. “Kindly correct your records.”
Kyle, sitting next to Jay-Den, reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Jay-Den’s. Then the Doctor looked at Kyle. “I’m sorry, who are you? I don’t see you in the group list.”
Kyle seemed surprised to be addressed. “Me? Oh! I’m Kyle.”
“Kyle…?”
“Kyle Djokovic.”
The Doctor looked at him uncertainly. “I see. Well, if you feel comfortable doing so, please state the nature of your maternal omission.”
Kyle looked around the room as if a bit lost. “I’m here to support Jay-Den.”
The Doctor was taken aback. “Your mother isn’t missing? Dead? Nonexistent? You weren’t disowned or neglected?”
Kyle took his hand off of Jay-Den’s and tapped out an awkward rhythm on his own knees with both hands. “No, actually, I’m really close with my mom and dad. They’re both violently homophobic, but we get along great.”
The Doctor gave Kyle a puzzled look.
“I’m just here for Jay-Den,” Kyle said as he once again placed a hand on Jay-Den’s; the Klingon gave him a grateful nod.
“That’s a very thoughtful gesture,” said the Doctor, “But if you don’t mind, I would prefer if you waited in the hall outside.”
“You’re… you’re kicking me out?” Kyle asked, surprised.
“I am,” the Doctor answered simply.
Kyle slowly, awkwardly stood from his chair. “Okay.” Then, as Kyle walked toward the door, he turned briefly to look back at Jay-Den and said, “I’ll be out in the hallway, Jay-Den. I’ll just wait there until the therapy session is over. See you in… however long this thing takes.”
Jay-Den once again acknowledged him with a silent, appreciative nod as Kyle left the room. The door hissed shut behind him.
The Doctor shook his head as if shaking off the awkwardness of the last few moments. “Sorry about that, everyone,” he said. “Now, who would like to go next?”
Darem practically leapt out of his chair onto his feet. “Looks like it’s my turn!” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“You don’t need to stand, Cadet Reymi,” the Doctor said softly, “Consider this a nice, relaxing—”
“I think I’ve got you all beat,” Darem interrupted. “Because I don’t have a mum or a dad. Not in any meaningful sense. I send them messages every day and don’t get a reply. Nothing! Not even a thumbs-up emoji. It would take literally less than thirty seconds for them to dictate a text, but they can’t be bothered.”
Darem looked over at Jay-Den and pointed to him. “Jay-Den can back me up on this one: I almost got married the other day, and neither of my parents showed up. Are they even alive? Are they dead? At this point, they’re basically just ghosts who haunt my life. If they disowned me, they’d at least have a reason for it, right? Or if they were dead, at least they’d have a grave where I could leave some flowers and say a few words. But no, this is so much worse.”
Caleb winced. He knew that Darem had issues with his parents, but he had no clue it was that bad.
“And just to remind you,” Darem concluded, “This is both my mum and my dad who are treating me like this. So yeah, I think I take the prize for the worst parents out of everyone here.”
The Doctor’s expression was pained. “Thank you for sharing that, Cadet Reymi. That couldn’t have been easy. Certainly not as easy as you made it look. For the record, though, this is not a competition.”
Darem plopped back down in his chair and folded his arms. “If it was, though, I’ve won, haven’t I?”
“If it makes you feel better,” replied the Doctor.
Ocam got up and stepped over to Darem to give him a fist-bump—an exchange which the Doctor chose to ignore. “Now then, I believe we still have one member of the group who hasn’t had the chance to share.”
Everyone looked at Caleb.
* * *
Just as Caleb was about to speak, the door whooshed open again. Jett Reno stepped into the room carrying a tricorder. Then she froze in place as she realized that eight sets of eyes were on her. “Oh shit, is this a bad time?”
“Not at all, Professor Reno,” the Doctor replied with a smile. “You’re always welcome to join us.”
Jett gingerly stepped toward a nearby panel on the wall and began to open it. “Oh, I’m not here for the ‘no-moms’ thing. I just need to check on a power conduit real quick.” Jett waved a tricorder over the open panel and then closed it. “There we go. Good for another ten thousand miles.”
Jett looked at the group. “What, you think because I look like this, I didn’t have a maternal influence in my life? I had a great relationship with my mom. We used to braid each other’s hair. And I looked real fuckin’ pretty in a dress, too.”
As Jett stepped toward the door, she added, “Still do, by the way.” Jett winked at Tarima—eliciting a blush from the startled girl—and then Jett exited the room, the hiss of the closing door punctuating her remark.
The Doctor returned his focus to Caleb. “Well, Cadet Mir, now that our power conduits have passed inspection, I believe the floor is yours. Please state the nature of your maternal omission.”
Caleb sat up in his chair. He felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him—the Doctor, his girlfriend(?) Tarima, his roommates Darem and Ocam, and his friends Jay-Den, Genesis, and SAM.
“No,” he said.
The Doctor frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not sharing.”
The room erupted with disappointment.
“Caleb!” exclaimed SAM.
“What the hell, Caleb?” Genesis blurted.
“Caleb? What’s wrong?” asked Tarima.
“Speech!” encouraged Ocam.
“Don’t be a pussy!” Darem called out.
“Enough!” The Doctor quieted the room with a glare. “And we’ll talk about your language later, Cadet Reymi. Starfleet officers do not use that word.”
“Should’ve joined the War College,” Darem said with an eyeroll.
“Oh my god, It’s not like that!” Tarima objected. “The War College isn’t some testosterone-filled—”
Darem gave her a smirk. “What, you’re telling me you never heard any of those War College douchebags call someone a pussy? Not once?”
“Rarely!” Tarima shot back defensively.
“Simmer down!” the Doctor barked. “This is a group therapy session, not a colosseum!”
Then the Doctor returned his attention to Caleb. “Cadet Mir, you do understand that you are here by the order of Chancellor Ake, correct? Your participation here is mandatory.”
Caleb shrugged and gave him a knowing look. “I read the group therapy rules on my PADD on the way over here,” he said. “Group members aren’t required to speak during their first session.”
“Oh, come on…” muttered Darem.
The Doctor tried to conceal his annoyance. “You are not required to share during the first session, that is true. However, I would strongly encourage you to at least consider—”
“Pass,” said Caleb flatly.
The Doctor scowled. “So you’re absolutely determined to do the bare minimum, is that it?”
“Yeah. Which, today, according to your own rules, is zero.”
“Cadet Mir, I—”
“Pass.” Caleb looked away from everyone, toward the door.
Darem stood up. “You’re not gonna let him get away with that, are you?” he asked the Doctor. “Everybody else had to share. Even the Klingon talked!”
Jay-Den looked over at Caleb with an intense focus. “Your contribution would be greatly valued by our group, Caleb.”
“Caleb, hey… Look at me,” Tarima whispered coaxingly, as though she were trying to tame a wild horse. “Is this about the robotic teddy bear?” She then looked at the Doctor. “Could I have a moment with him alone, Professor? We have a… special connection.”
“That’s not how group works,” Genesis mumbled.
“Wait, how special are we talking here?” Ocam asked his sister. “You didn’t get special in my dorm room, did you?”
“Everyone, please relax. Darem, take your seat,” said the Doctor. “I understand you would all like to hear from Cadet Mir. As would I.” He sighed. “However… in group therapy, listening is considered just as important as sharing. And the rules do state that a group member is not required to share during their first session.”
The Doctor cleared his throat, attempting to ignore the annoyed and disgusted looks on the faces of so many other members of the group. “I would like to thank everyone here—including Caleb—for their participation. Today’s session has been very… productive.”
The room was filled with discontented muttering.
Suddenly the Doctor brightened. “Oh! Would you look at that. We still have about half an hour remaining. Would anyone like to volunteer something else about—”
The Doctor stopped mid-sentence as he saw Caleb’s hand shoot up in the air.
“Cadet Mir! Have you changed your mind?”
“Uh,” said Caleb, “I have a question.”
“Very well,” said the Doctor with cautious optimism. “What did you want to ask?”
A trace of a smirk crossed Caleb’s face before he answered. “Can I use the bathroom?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darem muttered. The discontented murmuring returned, as if seeping out of the walls and floor of the room.
The Doctor tensed his jaw. “Is it an emergency, Cadet Mir? Or do you think you can hold it?”
Caleb responded immediately, “I already held it. Now it’s an emergency. Can I go?”
The Doctor exhaled from his nose before answering, “Yes, of course. It’s not healthy to ignore one’s bladder. However, I expect you to return promptly. Is that understood?”
“It’s a number two,” Caleb clarified, “So it might take a while. Like, say… How long was left in the session? Oh yeah, about a half an hour. I have slow bowel movements.”
Tarima crinkled her nose in disgust. The Doctor looked at him suspiciously. “Fine. Go. But in the future, please do try to plan your bowel movements accordingly.”
Caleb triumphantly rose from his seat and headed toward the door. Before it hissed shut behind him, he could hear Darem saying, “It’s a travesty. This is actually an absolute travesty.”
* * *
Caleb stepped down the quiet hallway outside the group therapy room. He then stopped and let the tension breathe out from his body. No more therapy, no more group, no more possibility of sharing the intimate details of his life. He would keep them locked up within his own mind—where they belonged.
“Hey, Caleb!”
Caleb turned to see Kyle trotting up to him. “Oh. Hey, man,” Caleb greeted him.
Kyle pointed toward the closed door to the group therapy room. “Are they finishing up in there?” he asked.
Caleb shook his head, “Sorry, bud, they’ve still got a half hour to go.”
“Oh,” Kyle’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “Okay. Well… I’ll just stay and wait for Jay-Den,” he said as he sat down on the floor next to the wall.
“Cool,” Caleb nodded as he resumed walking down the long hallway toward the bathrooms. “See you around, dude.”
“Later, Caleb!” Kyle waved.
Kyle leaned against the wall and looked from side to side: down one end of the hallway, then the other.
There was nothing else to do.