okay, sir," the Legionnaire said, hanging his head slightly. "I guess it's a silly fear, anyway, in this day and age."
"I didn't say that!" the commander snapped, then ran a hand across his eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth, Gabriel, please. I soak up enough grief over what I do say."
"Sorry, sir."
"There are no silly fears," the captain continued. "If you're afraid of something, it's real, and it affects your thinking and performance no matter how invalid or valid someone else thinks it is. It's like there's no minor pain when it's yours. If it hurts, it hurts. What you got to do is figure out how to deal with it, not use up your energies trying to decide if it's real or not."
Phule leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest until he was almost hugging himself.
"All I meant to say was, I can't do or say anything to set your mind at ease. Telling you not to be afraid doesn't change anything. I can tell you there's no danger, but we both know that things can go wrong, and there's nothing I can do to lessen the danger that hasn't already been done. I could cite the low accident stats on space travel, but you're already aware of those yourself, and it hasn't made any difference. Realizing that, about the only thing I can do is beat a hasty retreat-for my own protection."
"Your own protection, sir?"
"Fear is contagious," the commander explained with a shrug. "If I tried to compare notes with you on the dangers of space travel, there's a chance that all I'd do is start worrying myself, and I can't afford that. You see, Gabriel, there are lots of dangers in our lives that we can't do a thing about-traffic accidents, bad food-dangers that have a low probability rating, but that if they hit will be devastating. All I can do-all anyone can do-is to do my best to put them out of my mind. It may seem like a head-in-the-sand approach to fear, but the only option I see is letting the worries eat you alive-paralyze you to a point where you cease to function. To my thinking, that means you're dead, whether you're still breathing or not. I'd rather try to focus on things I can do something about. I can't danger-proof the universe, or even guarantee my own personal safety. I have no way of telling for sure exactly how long my life is going to be, but I'm determined that while I'm alive, I'm going to be a doer, a worker-not a do-nothing worrier."
He broke off, realizing that his fatigue was making him prattle.
"Anyway," he said, forcing a conclusion, "I'm sorry I can't help you with your problem, Gabriel, but frankly it's out of my league."
"Actually you have, Captain." The Legionnaire smiled.
"I have?"
"Well, at the very least you've given me something to think about. Thank you, sir."
Strangely enough, of all the problems that had beleaguered him that day, it was the final conversation with Gabriel that haunted Phule's thoughts and kept him from dozing off when he finally tried to sleep. Despite the Legionnaire's claims that the commander's talk had helped him, Phule felt that his help and advice had been inadequate.
Group dynamics, personal image, military strategy, and, of course, finances-all these things the commander felt qualified in helping and training the people under his command. But deeper problems? Matters of the soul?
With a flash of insight, Phule decided to do what he had always done when confronted with a problem beyond his personal abilities: find an expert. Sliding out of his bunk, he marched over to his desk, fired up his Port-A-Brain computer, and blearily composed a personnel request to Legion Headquarters. If his Legionnaires needed spiritual guidance, then, by God, he'd get them a spiritual expert. A chaplain!
There was an almost tangible load lifted from his mind as he hit the Send key, but close on its heels came
"I didn't say that!" the commander snapped, then ran a hand across his eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth, Gabriel, please. I soak up enough grief over what I do say."
"Sorry, sir."
"There are no silly fears," the captain continued. "If you're afraid of something, it's real, and it affects your thinking and performance no matter how invalid or valid someone else thinks it is. It's like there's no minor pain when it's yours. If it hurts, it hurts. What you got to do is figure out how to deal with it, not use up your energies trying to decide if it's real or not."
Phule leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest until he was almost hugging himself.
"All I meant to say was, I can't do or say anything to set your mind at ease. Telling you not to be afraid doesn't change anything. I can tell you there's no danger, but we both know that things can go wrong, and there's nothing I can do to lessen the danger that hasn't already been done. I could cite the low accident stats on space travel, but you're already aware of those yourself, and it hasn't made any difference. Realizing that, about the only thing I can do is beat a hasty retreat-for my own protection."
"Your own protection, sir?"
"Fear is contagious," the commander explained with a shrug. "If I tried to compare notes with you on the dangers of space travel, there's a chance that all I'd do is start worrying myself, and I can't afford that. You see, Gabriel, there are lots of dangers in our lives that we can't do a thing about-traffic accidents, bad food-dangers that have a low probability rating, but that if they hit will be devastating. All I can do-all anyone can do-is to do my best to put them out of my mind. It may seem like a head-in-the-sand approach to fear, but the only option I see is letting the worries eat you alive-paralyze you to a point where you cease to function. To my thinking, that means you're dead, whether you're still breathing or not. I'd rather try to focus on things I can do something about. I can't danger-proof the universe, or even guarantee my own personal safety. I have no way of telling for sure exactly how long my life is going to be, but I'm determined that while I'm alive, I'm going to be a doer, a worker-not a do-nothing worrier."
He broke off, realizing that his fatigue was making him prattle.
"Anyway," he said, forcing a conclusion, "I'm sorry I can't help you with your problem, Gabriel, but frankly it's out of my league."
"Actually you have, Captain." The Legionnaire smiled.
"I have?"
"Well, at the very least you've given me something to think about. Thank you, sir."
Strangely enough, of all the problems that had beleaguered him that day, it was the final conversation with Gabriel that haunted Phule's thoughts and kept him from dozing off when he finally tried to sleep. Despite the Legionnaire's claims that the commander's talk had helped him, Phule felt that his help and advice had been inadequate.
Group dynamics, personal image, military strategy, and, of course, finances-all these things the commander felt qualified in helping and training the people under his command. But deeper problems? Matters of the soul?
With a flash of insight, Phule decided to do what he had always done when confronted with a problem beyond his personal abilities: find an expert. Sliding out of his bunk, he marched over to his desk, fired up his Port-A-Brain computer, and blearily composed a personnel request to Legion Headquarters. If his Legionnaires needed spiritual guidance, then, by God, he'd get them a spiritual expert. A chaplain!
There was an almost tangible load lifted from his mind as he hit the Send key, but close on its heels came
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