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Who'll survive and who will die?
Up to Kriegsglück to decide
Those who made it cross
Without a loss
Have reason to reflect
-- Sabaton
'Why him and not me?'
A blank stare, fixed on the medbay ceiling. A weak, breaking voice. The chancellor carefully adjusts Kyle's blanket. Reluctantly and slowly, he asks a counter-question:
'Why did your friend die and not you, Cadet Jokovich? Or why did your instructor die and not you?'
Kyle falls silent and looks at Chancellor Kelrec as if he's never seen him before. In fact, he truly has never seen the chancellor like this. His unzipped jacket hangs loosely on his shoulders, disheveled strands of hair hang over his forehead, his deep-set eyes sink even deeper. Kyle feels incredibly sorry for this man—and at the same time, he wants to punch him. They shouldn't have separated their tightly knit trio by excluding Dzolo from the party. Never mind that it wasn't his decision. He should have insisted that Dzolo go with them.
The thought flickers through Kyle's mind like a strobe light, never fully forming.
"...we were missing..."—the image of a fierce little Romulan.
"...we were missing her support..."—that feeling when he loses his footing and falls before he even feels the pain in his injured leg.
"...if she had been there with us..."—he clearly sees the girl's small figure sink to the floor next to the body of their mutual friend, and a cold, distant voice echoes in his head:
"Then we would be burying not one, but two."
Kyle closes his eyes and bites his lip. They're already burying two. Again, he forgot to count the deceased instructor. And then there were those people on the station...
He glances quickly at Kelrec—he's hunched over, as if he's carrying the weight of all these losses on his shoulders, absolving everyone else of responsibility and placing it on himself.
'He was... your friend?' Kyle's throat tightens, the words struggling to get through.
Kelrec smiles weakly:
'Who is "he"?'
'You understand,' Kyle insists stubbornly.
'I understand. But you must name him. Not for me. And not for him. For yourself.'
Kyle opens his mouth—and chokes by tears. The rector places a hand on his shoulder and waits patiently.
'Why should I?' he breaks through his sobs.
Kelrec looks at him with sympathy, almost tenderness:
'This isn't to torment you, Jokovich. Seems it merciful to leave you alone? But your emotional breakdown won't heal on its own. It threatens to lead to inconsistency, memory lapses, blackouts—for a long time, perhaps for years. You don't deserve this. You need to regain your wholeness now.'
'…what… to do?..'
'Talk. Remember the words and say them out loud. Take your time. It will be difficult, but talking will start the healing.'
Kyle feels a warmth wash over him. As if observing himself from a distance, he watches his sobs fade, the spasm in his throat gradually loosen.
'Tomov,' he finally remembers. 'Instructor Tomov. Lieutenant Commander Tomov.'
His voice strengthens as Kelrec nods sympathetically and patiently.
'I don’t know Tomov’s first name,' Kyle admits.
'Branimir,' Kelrec answers easily, then clarifies: 'To friends, Bran.'
'Was he your friend?'
'A close friend, no. A comrade in arms, yes.'
Kelrec looks away, looking out the window. Kyle watches the Adam's apple roll in his throat. He suddenly realizes he's not the only one feels the spasm. He wonders how many times Commander Kelrec has sat by a hospital bed, listening to someone sob. It certainly isn't the first.
'Bran liked Sheng Pu-erh with milk,' Kelrec says, as if it's the most important information in the world, and lowers his head.
'Why Branimir Tomov and not me?' Kyle asks again, quietly this time.
'Because Instructor Tomov had a duty to you. And he fulfilled it.'
'Why B'Avi?' Kyle asks even more quietly.
The chancellor shakes his head:
'It was only by pure chance that he was killed, not you. And only by pure chance, not both of you were killed. Don't look for meaning in this; there is no. "Kriegsglück", as they used to say on Earth in the old days, which means "the luck of war".'
Kyle gives a sigh, it's shaky, but deep. Wholeness is returning... perhaps... Words are recalled, gathered into phrases—still reluctantly, as if clambering to the surface from the depths of a viscous swamp.
'You don't have to sit here all night,' he tells the chancellor, with that mixture of harshness and concern that translates into human language as "thank you".
'I'll try to get some sleep.'
Kelrec nods approvingly, standing. And, already straight, he briefly moves his hand to his temple in an old-fashioned military salute.
'Is there anything I can do for you personally, Cadet Jokovich?'
'Yes, if I may,' Kyle furrows his brow, searching his memory for the elusive word. 'This... Sh-sheng Pu-erh.'