Free Onekka - The Tragedy of Jaqui Fennet by Michael E Bell

techniques for treating Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder. They worked by suppressing the problematic memories
until the patient was better able to cope with them. With the memory out of the
way, the patient could undergo mental robustness therapy, protected from their
debilitating sensations of helplessness. Trouble was, all the top minds agreed
that the process itself was mentally destabilising. A single treatment would
not likely cause lasting damage, but repeated use could have terrible
consequences. A month ago, Jaq wouldn't have believed the station
administration had access to such tech, or the will to use it. That was before
she met DePennier.

"Did you look up your own profile?" she asked.

Helen grinned. "Seventeen treatments over two years. I'm a record breaker!
Thing is, I'm also broken, Jaq, and I don't think the king's horses and the
king's men can put me back together now. I'm too far gone." She danced her
fingers around on the table for a moment, and then spread her hands flat.
"My pieces are too scattered."

"Do you know who did this to you?"

"We both know the bad man. He haunts our dreams."

Jaq sat back as the waitress returned with their drinks and took a sip of
scalding liquid while she thought. Unfortunately, there was no process to
follow, no starting point she could imagine to get Helen on the road to
recovery. Any doctor aboard Onekka would be complicit, as would the research
scientists. There was simply nobody to trust. "I don't know how to help
you, Helen." She felt emotions pushing up through her stomach and chest.
"I'm so sorry."

Helen drained her milkshake in one long, drawn out mouthful, placing her empty
glass down on the table and smiling through a foam beard. "I love watching
the bubbles slide down the glass. They look like they're having fun. I'd like
to be a bubble, I think." Then her gaze locked to Jaq's and she drew the
back of her hand across her mouth. "You can't help me, Jaq. That time has
passed, but you can stick it to DePennier for me. That bastard has a lot to
answer for. I know you're onto something - that's why they got rid of you. Make
him pay, Jaq."

"I'm amazed he hasn't picked me up already."

"Oh!" exclaimed Helen, then spoke in a taunting, sing-song voice.
"He's in a lot of trouble!"

Jaq couldn't help but laugh. "What do you mean?"

" Somebody told the police he'd been threatening Mr Garret, and now
they keep wanting to talk to him. He's so angry!"

That raised a thought in Jaq's mind. "Can you do me a favour?"

"I can help! Just don't rely on my memory. Just kidding!"

Jaq nodded. "Thank you, Helen. Come with me."

They spent an hour making arrangements. Jaq had just left Helen's company and
was heading for the fitness centre when her personal comm beeped. She activated
the ear mic to answer.

"Ms Fennet!" The voice had a deep growl to it, and spat her name
across the comm link with a French accent. It was DePennier, and he sounded
mightily pissed off. A hand dropped onto Jaq's shoulder from behind, and she
turned to see a squad of private security operatives behind her. "Please accompany
these men. We need to talk."

Chapter 8
     
    Jaq was
escorted into a room that put her in mind of a prison cell. Rather than heading
to the administration building, the security operatives had marched her through
the bowels of the station. Apprehension blossomed as she walked, leaving a
wheeze in her chest as though she'd caught an infection. They went through a
door everyone assumed was a maintenance portal, but Jaq knew from her plans it
led to an unnamed corridor, culminating in an area classed as restricted.

When she walked into the room - a plain white box with a mirror wall and a
table - the door was closed behind her. DePennier was sitting on the other side
of the table, and he indicated a vacant chair her side with a flat hand. He
looked larger than life, as though he was a character from a cartoon, just
waiting to burst from his suit and reveal a costume of some kind. This guy