Ryan found himself once again at the Gunslinger Saloon, once again about a third of the way through a bottle of redeye, once again trying to figure out what had happened.
Over the past few days, the memories of the feelings he'd had for Tara had become even stronger and more vivid. It wasn't so much that he was jealous of Jayson or that he wanted her himself as it was that he was confused. For years they'd worked together with nothing more than a properly professional, platonic relationship. And Ryan had found, upon reflection, that he'd liked that, too. No pressure, no expectations--just camaraderie.
But since the memories had come back, Ryan was confused. There was no way either of them could go back to the way things were, not after all that had happened. And with Tara already involved with Jayson, there was no way he could honorably make good on what he truly felt. He didn't want to debase himself by playing the part of the jilted lover.
Yeah, right. What do you think you're doing here? he asked himself as he looked at the empty shotglass.
Before he could fill the glass again, someone sat next to him.
"Hey, how you doing?" Jayson asked.
Ryan shot Jayson an acid look. "How do you think I'm doing?" he asked bitterly.
"Whoa! Hey, no harm intended! Just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Tara's upset that you haven't returned her messages. She's really worried about you."
"Yeah, sure...gotta look out for the ones who couldn't quite make the cut, right, Ron???"
The use of the name of Jayson's alter-ego caught him by surprise. "That's not fair, Ryan. I didn't know Ron Sandoval, and couldn't know him. From what I've gathered, I'm probably better off for the lack. She really does care about you. Every time we get together she always tells me about some adventure or other you two had together in your former world. A guy like you could do well here but only if you stop wallowing in your self-pity and pull your head out of the damn bottle!" Jayson said as pulled the bottle out of Ryan's grip.
Ryan was silent for a moment.
"This isn't just about Tara, is it?" Jayson asked.
"I--In my own world, I was a person to be envied. Not just anyone could get accepted to the Air Force Academy, let alone graduate with honors. And very few of those would go on to fly Earth's most advanced fighter plane. I was a candidate for the space program when the Taelons came--that's why they tapped me to work for them. I was hot stuff, Jayson, a real Mover and Shaker!
"Tara was a bonus, for want of a much better word. My memories of how I felt for her have been coming back more strongly the longer I'm here. It's intolerable. I suppose I could have gotten over it easier had nothing else changed, but my entire life is upside down. I'm reduced to hauling cargo for a living. I feel..."
"Humiliated?"
Ryan nodded. "Robbed I think is a more appropriate word. I've gone from everything to nothing, and I've no idea how to get any of it back."
For a moment Jayson was going to suggest counseling, but his own research of 20th and 21st century Earth military officers had convinced him that this would be the worst thing he could possibly do. A more direct approach was needed. Jayson dug into his pocket and produced a packet with two tablets in it. He slammed it on the bar.
"These are what we call sober pills. Take them with water and you'll be stone cold sober in under fifteen minutes, guaranteed. Once you are sober, mister, I want you to consider this: fewer than one in fifty thousand candidates make it into Starfleet even as enlisted men. We have the best equipment in this part of the Galaxy and we're not afraid to use it. You're part of the finest military, scientific, and exploratory organization humanity--and many other worlds--has ever known now. That alone makes you possibly even more unique than you were before. But everything you learned in your previous life about honor and integrity and duty still applies. Make use of it!
"I understand," Ryan said as he took the pills. "But the time gap alone...it would be like bringing Sir Francis Drake ahead to my time and asking him to conn an aircraft carrier battle group."
"No doubt Drake could do it with the right training, too," Jayson replied. "You're not getting off that easily. If you're half as good as you claim to be--or one-quarter as good as Tara says you are--you'll be flying circles around everyone else on this station by the end of the year. But that's the least of your worries. You need to get back to living again. Do something besides drink yourself into oblivion. Meet people, try new things. You were doing great at first! Don't give it up!"
The sober pills had started to work on Ryan. "How far had humanity made it from Earth when the Taelons came? From what Tara tells me you hadn't even made it to Mars yet. This little station of ours is halfway to the galactic core. Alien life? You can't walk ten meters on this station without bumping into a new intelligent species! This is your wildest dream fulfilled, man from the past. Take advantage of it."
"Yes, but socially I must be a dinosaur here," Ryan replied.
"You're not the first person we've dealt with under circumstances like yours. Most manage to do fairly well. It's really no worse than moving to another country in your world would be--it takes some adapting but you'll do fine. Human nature is still what it's always been. I'm sure you'll do fine," Jayson said as he clapped Ryan on the shoulder.
"You really think I've got a chance?" Ryan asked.
"Back on New Years a shopkeeper beat the holy crap out of a trained mercenary on this very station. Anything can happen around here!" Jayson laughed. "Now, get out of this place and find something else to do off duty. And for God's sake answer Tara's messages! She's driving me nuts!"
Ryan returned to his quarters later that evening and drafted a note to his flight instructor regarding advanced training. Then he returned Tara's message.
[Ryan--how are you? I've been worried to death about you!] she exclaimed.
"I'm fine now," Ryan said. "I think I'll be just fine..."