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person would make when she’s trying not to cry. He waited her out. The clock ticked, tocked.
    Finally, Bat-Levi cleared her throat. “You have an idea about that.”
    “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You see, I think you’re right. I think that dying isn’t the worst punishment sometimes. You said it yourself: It’s that awful, terrible instant before, when you know and you’re more frightened than you thought you could ever be and still be alive. Don’t you humans have the expression scared to death? Except this is just plain scared. Pure, unadulterated, searing terror: imagining the possibilities, facing that everything you ever believed in may be a lie and that there’s simply nothing but blackness, darkness. Something you can’t even compare to sleep because at least when you sleep, you dream.”
    “What does that have to do with me? I’m not going to die.”
    “But you’ve tried.”
    “I mean I’m not now. Trying, that is.”
    “No?”
    “No, I’m sitting right here. I’m alive. I’m back at work. I’m living.”
    “Precisely. You’re alive, Darya, but that’s not the same as living. You’re alive, but that’s because you’ve condemned yourself to life.”
    “No,” said Bat-Levi, swallowing hard, “no, I don’t want to hear this.”
    Tyvan pushed on, knowing that time was running out but not wanting to lose the moment. Careful, careful, not too fast, give her space, give her time. “Your brother is dead, and you’re going to make sure everyone knows that you were responsible. You want people to look at you and see a monster. Only you’re hiding in there ...”
    “I’m not a coward,” said Bat-Levi. She clenched her fists, and Tyvan was reasonably sure that her left hand—the one without nails—could probably rip his heart right out. “I am not a coward. Suicide is the coward’s way. I’m alive.”
    “And you think that makes you brave? You think that parading around your guilt is bravery? No, Darya, no, it takes more bravery to dare to be happy again, to leave your guilt behind. It’s braver to live than simply be alive.”
    Bat-Levi’s laugh was bitter, almost a snarl. “You’re like all the other doctors, shaking their heads and tsk-tsk ing over poor, benighted Darya Bat-Levi. Such a beautiful woman, and now look at her.”
    “This has nothing to do with beauty. This has to do with parading your inner ugliness. I’m not suggesting that you run out and change. I want you to understand your choices. So let’s look at the facts. You refused evacuation to Starfleet Medical. You refused every single reconstructive surgery, every offer of synthetic skin grafts. Ten years have passed, and even though better, more lifelike prostheses are available, you have those.” He indicated her artificial legs and left arm. “You limp, and you don’t need to. You have scars you don’t need to keep. You wrap yourself in guilt you don’t require, because it’s easier.”
    “Don’t tell me what I need!” The words erupted from Bat-Levi’s throat in a hoarse shout. Spit frothed at the corners of her mouth, and the cords bulged in her neck. “Do you think I want to live like this? Do you think I enjoy looking like a freak? Do you?”
    “Yes, Darya,” Tyvan began, but then there was a soft ding as their session time ran out, and his heart sank.
    Bat-Levi heard the sound, too. “That’s it.” She jerked herself from her chair, pushing back on the cushions until she tottered to her feet, her prosthetics protesting. She stood, swayed, pulled her body around for the door. “I’m done, I’m out of here.”
    “Darya.” Tyvan was on his feet, cursing himself for his timing which was rotten, rotten, he should have paid closer attention to the time, what an idiot! “Darya, wait, I don’t want you to leave like this ...”
    “But I do.” Bat-Levi glanced back, her face contorted into a mask of rage and grief. “I do, and I will. It’s my life, Doctor, and I will do with