"Come on, Ty. I promise it won't hurt." Glenn and Ty stood outside the back door to the big house. It was time for the first group therapy session, but McQueen did not appear to be over eager to join it.

"I don't need any 'psychotherapy'. My addiction was pure physiology. All tanks are susceptible."

"Susceptible, my friend. That means that you become addicted more easily, it's not a given. Besides, you don't need to say a thing. Just get in there and relax, let the other folk do the talking."

McQueen grimaced, then straightened his back and walked into the house. At the door to the group room he paused, scanning the participants. Men and women of all ages filled the room, sitting in chairs, lounging on the floor. There may have been as few as ten, but they seemed everywhere. Michelle noticed Ty hanging by the door and motioned to him.

"TC, come on in. We've been expecting you." She patted the chair next to her. "I even saved you a place in case you didn't like sitting on the floor."

Okay, guys," turning to the others in the room. "Let's introduce ourselves to TC."

The young man to her left waved, smiling, "Hi, I'm Lex, addict." An older woman, immaculately coifed, but wearing a muumuu, sitting to his left also smiled, "Alice, alcoholic." The introductions went around the room, each person giving a first name and descriptor. Some stated their "drug of choice," others simply said "addict" or "alcoholic". When it got back to Michelle, she looked up at him and smiled her greeting, "And I'm Michelle, alcoholic. Okay, TC. Come on in and sit down, and introduce yourself."

He entered the room, walking carefully so as not to step on any fingers or toes, and sat down next to her. Clearing his throat, "I'm TC." He stopped and cleared his throat again. The rest of the members of the group just looked at him, waiting, "I'm....I'm an addict." Michelle patted his knee, and continued the discussion where it had left off upon his entry. Glenn had been right, there was little pressure to participate actively, although occasionally one or the other of the participants did look at him, wondering when he would have something to say. Ty noticed that there were more people smoking in this room than he remembered ever seeing smoking in one place. An older gentleman sitting across from him noticed TC watching as he lit up the next cigarette from the last. He looked down at the cigarette in his hand, then back at Ty.

"You'll notice a lot of this when you attend your NA or AA meetings after you get out of here." He gestured with his cigarette. "Us addicts got to use something. This at least is legal, and after the big consumer flap last century, isn't even too bad for you."

Michelle wrinkled her nose, "They still stink, Fernando."

He nodded good naturedly, "That they do, but you should try one of my cigars."

From Ty's perspective, the rest of the session passed fairly smoothly. The only time he was unable to get out of speaking was when everyone was telling their "first time stories." If he was somewhat taken aback by Michelle's tale of getting drunk at age twelve because she had failed to win a blue ribbon in an equestrian event, he didn't show it. His own story of being fed too much of the wrong drug in hospital was greeted with sympathy, and a certain amount of skepticism. Apparently social rules about challenging someone's truthfulness did not apply here as much as in other situations. At each story, someone was bound to say, "Yeah, but." The well-groomed older lady took some exception to Ty's story,

"Oh, my dear, they simply don't make that kind of mistakes anymore. Perhaps you failed to correctly follow the doctor's instructions when you left the hospital."

"Yeah," Fernando piped up, "It's been my experience that however we get our first dose, we keep taking it 'cause we like the way we feel."

A young kid, sitting on the other side of Michelle spoke up, "The alcohol makes it not hurt as bad."

Other participants jumped on his statement, and Ty found himself off the hook. Michelle smiled and winked at him, warning him that this was not the last time he would find himself on the spot. Ty found himself watching the natural borns, thinking that this was an opportunity to figure out human society as he had not experienced it before.

When they finally broke for lunch, Ty separated himself from the group, walking alone to the small cafeteria set up in what had once been a formal dining room. The serving line was along one wall, and reminded him of some of the swankier officers' mess halls he'd been in. A simple lunch of sandwich and salad was offered, and Ty took his tray over to one of the large windows. He sat, staring out of it, when Michelle approached with her own tray.

"You really are a solitary sort. Do you mind if I join you?" She really didn't wait for an answer, but he looked up and shrugged, almost imperceptibly. Taking a bite from her sandwich, she followed his gaze, toward the ancient oak tree in the yard. One of its large branches had been blasted by lightening, snapping it off. The oak survived though, and being a live oak, even in November, it retained its green. Swathes of Spanish Moss hung from its limbs, softening its lines.

"Isn't he gorgeous?"

McQueen shifted his gaze to her, "What?" "The tree," she gestured with her chin, "the grandfather oak."

He looked back at the tree. "Yeah, it looks like it's been through a lot."

"You respect that?"

"Yeah," catching her eye, "yeah, I respect that." They sat in silence for a few moments, each in their own thoughts. She finished her sandwich and wiped her mouth.

"So, do you enjoy life in the military?"

He gazed at her, "I'm a lifer, what does that tell you?

Shrugging, "I don't know. It might mean you don't see any other possibilities for a free IV in today's society."

He returned the shrug, but said nothing, simply looking at her.

"Is that an IV thing?"

"What?"

She gestured vaguely, "The staring thing. You seem to spend a lot of time watching."

He blushed slightly, "I'm not very good at apologies."

"No, I wouldn't think you would be. It's a common failing among you military types."

He searched her face, "Not among us InVitro types?"

Shrugging, "I don't know. I think you're the first InVitro I've really ever talked to."

The first joint group of both family and addicts was scheduled right after lunch. Neither McQueen, nor Ross were looking forward to that, since they were there under slightly false pretenses. Both had, by now, had enough experience with the groups that they figured they could get by without any talking, . On the other hand, the only one who knew that Ross had put "spouse" on their registration forms was Anne. Maybe they could claim to be brothers.

It turned out that there were three other pairs who were business partners or just old friends. Glenn spent a moment being annoyed with Anne for allowing him to think that the deception was necessary, then paid more attention to the mass of people seated around the group room. By the time each addict had one significant other, and three facilitators, one from the family group, Michelle from the addict group, and Anne were included in the room, there were over twenty people, seated in a large, multi-rowed, circle. Anne led the group, explaining from the start, that with this many people involved, probably not everyone would get a chance to speak.

After this afternoon's group, the mixed group would be broken down in two smaller groups, including both the addicts and their significant others. It did turn into something of a free for all, with several side conversations going on. McQueen found himself thinking wistfully of the military briefings he had been in, where, for the most part, only one person spoke at a time. After about thirty minutes of this, Anne stood up, put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. When the room finally stilled, she put her hands on her hips, and her best "mother" look on her face.

"Alright, people. This is not going to work. Now I've been running this center for seven years, and I have never met such a rowdy bunch." She held up a small feather-adorned stick. "This..." she waved it around, "This is a talking stick, if this stick is not in your hand, your mouth is to be shut. Panyamyete...that means, 'do you understand'?"

A general round of nods and uh huhs followed her comments, so she continued. "We are going to start the stick here. If you want to respond to something someone says, you hold out your hand for the stick, and when they've finished their thought, they will hand it off." She paused, "Got it?" Again people nodded and made sounds of agreement. She handed the stick to the young man on her left, and sat down. With the talking stick in motion, the discussion moved in a much more orderly fashion. Everyone viewed it as a game, seeing to it that nobody violated the rules of the talking stick. Feelings still ran high, as family members talked about covering for the addict in their family, and addicts spoke of being driven to drink by family members. There were tears and yells, sarcasm and bitterness.

Ross observed McQueen. Ty was watching, contemplating the behavior of the natural borns. The range of emotions had him squirming in his seat. Ross noted his friend's discomfort, and wondered if this group therapy was the best thing for the InVitro. He seemed confused enough about interpersonal relations sometimes, these somewhat unhealthy relationships might confuse him even more.

Following family group came a session termed by the therapists as physical training. Glenn and Ty both found the civilian notion of physical training a little silly, and wandered off on their own on the jogging trails. Glenn tried several conversational gambits, only to be ignored by his friend, who was using the time to consolidate what he had observed. After an equally quiet dinner, Glenn gladly accepted Anne's invitation to come to her cabin to catch up on their respective families' doings. Ty seemed relieved and returned to their cabin on his own.

At Anne's cabin, Glenn looked around. Larger than his and Ty's, it boasted a separate room for the bedroom. He grinned, "This is really nice. How come you rate?"

"I'm the boss, that's how come." She returned his grin, and handed him a glass of rum, "I admit this," she gestured to the rum, "is a real no-no. But how long has it been since I saw you?"

He took the rum gratefully, "Let's see, we made your graduation, that was 10 years ago." Pausing, "And you were there for Miri's graduation from grade school., that was five years ago. I guess that was it."

They sat down in the small sitting room, savoring the rum, talking of old times, catching up on new events. When he told her of Mai's decision to divorce him, she was properly sympathetic. Both grew still. He had closed his eyes when she spoke again,

"Where did you meet TC?"

Opening his eyes, he sat the drink down, "Wasn't it in his files?"

"No. Well, honestly I had a hard time wading through it all. I got the medical stuff down, and some of his background."

"We were in an AI POW cell together. I guess we pulled each other's butts out."

"It's an interesting friendship, Glenn. The Navy natural born and the Marine IV. I'm not sure which is the odder contrast."

"He's a good man. I'm grateful to you for accepting us here."

"Well," She shrugged, "I have to admit, I did so with some reservations. Before you ask, part of it is the prejudice issue. I'm the administrator here, not the owner." Taking a sip of her rum, she stood, and walked over to the window. "I have a responsibility to the corporation to break even. If we lose business because of accepting an IV, my ass will be on the line."

"Anne, I thought better of you. You've got to know, the IVs are no different from the rest of us."

She turned back to him, "Actually, even that's not true. They may be genetically the same, but they're 'upbringing', if you can call it that, is very different. The ones who do survive their indentures, which I think is something like 20%, to try to integrate into natural born society, can only do so by trial and error. Mostly they keep the jobs that they had as servants or they join the underbelly of society. Your Captain McQueen is one of a very small minority."

"So what are you saying?"

"Really," she came back and stood in front of him, "The point I'm making has nothing to do with bigotry, or keeping business for the center. It's about therapy. I just don't know if our therapy is going to be very useful. It's based on commonality among addicts. TC has very little in common with the rest of our population. I've watched him in group. He's not participating, he's observing. I'm just not sure that he's going to get anything out of these groups, and there are no IV groups, yet."

Ross picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of the rum, "I may even agree with you on that point." He stood and walked to the door, "But that doesn't mean that Ty doesn't deserve the best therapy that we can give him." He put his hand on the knob and opened it, "I've got to get back now, thanks for the drink."

At his own cabin, Glenn took a deep breath before going in. Most of the lights were already out, and Ty was in his bed, back to the door. Glenn slipped in and went to bed himself. It was a long time before sleep claimed him, Anne's comments running through his head.

Ty and Glenn shared lunch with Michelle, sitting in the small cafeteria where the grandfather oak could be seen from the window. Michelle and Glenn exchanged chit-chat, mostly about the other people in the groups. Buttering a piece of bread, Michelle grinned broadly, "Wait until you meet Jack's SO." Jack was a 40-something veteran of the AI wars that had been in the small group with Ty before. He tried to place who had been with him at the mass gathering the previous day, but with so many people, and so much going on, he couldn't bring it up.

"It's his son, Andy. He seems like a good kid, but boy does he have an opinion about everything."

Glenn nodded, "I know who you mean, about 20ish, sort of 'nerdy'."

Returning his nod, Michelle turned to Ty. "Nerdy only begins to cover it. Still, his dad's pretty opinionated, too, don't you think?"

Ty shrugged, "I guess so. He was Army."

"Count on you to notice that," She glanced at her chronometer, "Damn, we're going to be late. I hate walking into group when everyone's already there." Leaping up, she grabbed her tray and disposed of it, followed by Ty and Glenn.

As it turned out, they were not only not late, but were the first people in the room. Ty chose the chair furthest from the door, and Michelle sat down on the floor by his feet. Glenn sat down in a chair next to him.

"I'm getting too old for floor sitting."

She looked up at him, "Humph, I saw you two at the track. I know who's in good shape. If you want to sit in a chair, just sit in a chair, no excuses."

The discussion ended at that with the entry of the very people they had been discussing, Jack and Andy. The elder, Jack, sat down next to Ty and started talking about the battle strategies of the AI rebellion. Andy sat down on the floor next to Michelle and attempted a mild flirtation. Her response slowed him down, but didn't end it. He had a hard time believing that any woman would not throw herself at him, and implied, through words and gestures, that he figured she and McQueen were already an item. Jack was describing the various campaigns his unit had been involved in, when the rest of the group began to trickle in. As each pair came in, Glenn hoped that Jack would decide to talk to them. There was, however, no such luck. Finally rescue came in the person of Anne, who declared the session to be "in session."

"Now with just the twelve of us, there should be considerably more order than yesterday, right?" A general round of agreement met these words, since everybody figured the general disorder of the previous meeting had been caused by someone else. Although he did pay attention to what the other members had to say, Glenn found his focus again to be more on McQueen's responses to the various disclosures made in the process of the group. With Anne's comments in his head, he noticed that Ty seemed a little bewildered at much of what was said. He had been on more or less equal footing with natural borns for some ten years now, but had seldom had the opportunity to observe in private. Just now, Jack's son, Andy declared that it had been his career military dad's service in the AI Rebellion that had driven his father to drink. One of the other addicts in the group, Hernandez, was not making it easy for him.

"But, Andy, was the Rebellion the only campaign your father served in?"

"No!" The young man maintained, "But it certainly was the nastiest. He came home on leave with nightmares. I was only fifteen, but I remember."

"Lots of servicemen have nightmares, son." Ross put in his two cents worth.

"And lots of them used alcohol or drugs," Anne interposed, "But not all of them feel the need for rehab. What's different here?"

Jack took the ball on this one, "I think it was fighting an enemy that wasn't even human, and knowing that my family was in danger, too. I mean, we never knew where the lousy AIs would hit next. Boy, when they hit SanDiego, I was in India, and my family was in LA. It made me crazy wanting to go protect my kid and wife. They didn't care who died, including their own kind."

Nodding, Ross was sympathetic to that, "Yeah, my wife and kids were at Virginia Beach when the AIs were threatening Rehoboth."

Encouraged by the sympathy, Jack went on. "God, clean up detail on the battlefield... The 'dead' silicates.... you couldn't tell the difference between a dead one and a live one. And..."

"Tell it like it is, Dad." Andy interposed. "You started having real problems right after the Battle of Peshwar."

"It was that clean up detail. I was a 'volunteer', you know, the old man was ticked at me 'cause of something...The 432nd had three IV platoons, they had been on point to soften up the AI stronghold. They got creamed on toast. I mean, there was like four or five survivors of each platoon."

Again Ross nodded his sympathy, "Bad enough to clean up the enemy dead, but that many of our own."

"No. You don't understand, what was horrible was that they weren't like our own."

Anne had just figured out what was coming, and tried to head it off. "Jack, we're talking about your addiction, here..."

He cut her off, "Yeah, my addiction. Those tank survivors, they just sat there. Their whole platoons were wiped out and they just say there. They didn't help us, they didn't take tags, they just sat there, like it didn't mean shit." He shook his head, "I guess it's true, they just didn't care about anything, they just didn't feel it the way you or me would."

Ross tried to answer the man's comments. But McQueen beat him to the punch.

"Do you know the average life-span of a...tank...from decanting? It's two point five years." The tone was low, conversational, but the cadence was measured. Ross put his hand on his friend's arm, hoping to avoid physical violence. McQueen shook off the hand, but leaned back in his chair, putting his own hands up. His gestures indicated that he, too, planned to avoid any physical confrontation, but his face was set, eyes fierce. "A...tank...learns young not to feel, not to get attached to anyone around him. The people around you die."

Jack's son leaped up, startling Michelle who sat, riveted, at McQueen's feet. "You're one of them! A god damn nipple neck."

McQueen nodded slowly, "Yes, I am an InVitro." He emphasized the last words. "Of the thirty four I was with when I served my indentures, six of us made it back. Of the platoon I served with as a conscript, twenty seven of us died in one night."

Andy still stood with his fists clenched, "I can't believe they let a tank in this facility. And you..." He looked down at Michelle, still seated at McQueen's feet. "I knew you were acting like a bitch in heat. But if you wanna fuck someone, how about a human, instead of some lab-made freak.

McQueen surged forward, held back by Ross' hand on his arm and Michelle's hands on his knees. Anne was not held back and rose to her feet.

"Andy, you may be excused from this session. If you and your father wish to withdraw from the program, you are, of course, welcome to."

Ty sat back in his chair, the few moments giving himself time to still the rage he had felt. In the silence that ensued from the event, he looked inside and realized that even in his rage he was calm, not on the edge as he had been when using the meanies. He almost smiled. Looking around the room, he found the other participants still looking at him. Ross had noticed the deep breaths, and perceived that McQueen really was back in control. Andy had left as directed, and Anne sat back down.

"Okay, that's about enough excitement for one day. For the benefit of the rest of you, this facility does not support or condone racism or bigotry of any sort. I've had Irish Catholics and Protestants here at the same time, Bosnians and Serbs, and...well, you get my point. TC is here for the same reason the rest of you are, and if anyone can't respect that, I will certainly see that your insurance providers are notified and their monies returned."

No one responded to her challenge, and she brought up the next topic for discussion. If McQueen felt the eyes of others on him during the session, it was nothing more nor less than what he'd been accustomed to most of his life. He did notice Jack glancing in his direction more than once, and vaguely wondered what was on his mind. Michelle still sat on the floor, participating in the group, but studiously ignoring the man who sat behind her.

It was after dinner that Anne showed up on Glenn and Ty's doorstep, a deck of cards in hand.

"Thought you guys might like to whip my tail at rummy."

Glenn ushered her in and took the deck, "Might be fun to whip your tail. Thanks for your stand this afternoon."

"Yeah, well, we may all end up regretting that little show."

Ty pulled an extra chair over to the table and offered it to her, "Why's that?"

Taking the chair, she shrugged gracefully, "My board of director's hear about me offering to refund money, and I'm likely to be right out on the streets."

"How likely is that to happen?" Ty sat down opposite her and began to shuffle the deck that Glenn had laid on the table.

Anne found herself mesmerized by the long fingers and mentally shook herself. "Not very, actually. We gonna play, or talk?"

Glenn sat down, and the three of them started playing. Several hands went by, but by the play, it was clear that no one was paying very much attention. Finally Glenn through in a perfectly good hand, and sat back in his chair,

"Okay, Anne, let's have it. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

She folded the hand she held neatly in a stack, and set it on the table. "Michelle was really upset this afternoon." Holding up a hand, she stopped Ross, "I know, the attack wasn't directed at her. Truth to tell, in our business, we hear all kinds of things, and that was probably not the worst that she has heard or will hear. It still upset her. And it upset me, too. Not because of what was said necessarily, but because I'm not sure any of this is even necessary." She turned to Ty, "TC, can you tell me, do you think that the group therapy is doing you one iota of good?"

He pushed his chair back and sat with his hands on his knees, "No. Most of the time I have only the vaguest inkling of what's going on in their heads. I can see their tears, and hear their rages, but they don't really connect."

"That's what I thought from watching you." Anne leaned forward, "In the not too far distant future, indentured servanthood is either going to be banned or severely limited. IV rights movements are growing. More and more IVs will be surviving their indentures and be ready to take a place in society. We are going to need to prepare for that, now. There has got to be a way for IVs to learn how to be human, but I don't see it yet." She shook her head, "There I am on my soap box again. What I came for was to tell you that I can give you a clean bill of health to take back to your CO now. I don't think the group therapy is going to do any good, but then I'm not sure if you need it anyway."

Ty nodded, "I understand."

Standing up, Ross put both hands on his hips, "Well I don't. Anne Fairburn would not be caving in to a mob of bigots."

"I'm not, Glenn. Honest. I almost decided to try to persuade you guys to stay, just to rub Andy's nose in it. But it won't help Ty, and it won't help Jack, and it won't help the Center." She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I even thought of the fact that Andy will think he won, and hate for that to happen. But I've got to think of the center, and my clients, including TC. And ya'll staying on here is not in anyone's best interests." She giggled slightly, "Except maybe Michelle's, she's got a slight case of the hots for TC."

Ross smiled slightly, softening toward this old friend, "I guess I do understand it. But that doesn't mean I gotta like it. We'll pack up and leave first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Glenn." She stood and kissed him on the cheek. "You're still the handsomest man I know." She held out her hand to Ty, "It is an honour to have met you, TC. I suspect that I will hear more of you, if you can manage to keep yourself alive long enough."

He shook her hand, unable to think of the appropriate response. Still holding his hand, she stood on tiptoes and placed the same sort of kiss on his cheek, "You give this old salt a run for his money."


Next : Chapter VIII

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