The Higher Frontier

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Spock narrowed his lips. “Regrettably, you have misunderstood my situation, Specialist. Despite what has been rumored about me among Vulcans, I have not renounced logic or discipline. I have merely come to recognize that emotion is an integral part of the cognitive process, and it is thus logical to accept its presence and employ it—to integrate it with one’s reason rather than existing at odds with a part of one’s own being.”

  T’Nalae shook her head, the fringes of her straight black hair barely brushing her shoulders. “But that still puts logic above all,” she protested with some heat. “That’s not—” She gathered herself with difficulty. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe that’s valid. Logic isn’t a natural part of the Vulcan character. We are intrinsically, intensely emotional beings. That is what we evolved to be, and it’s unnatural to change us into something else.” She glanced toward the forward gallery where Kirk and Jones/Kollos were. “As unnatural as it is for humans to have telepathy.”

  Spock examined the specialist, troubled by the hint of purism in her expressed beliefs. He and his family had suffered in his youth from the fanatical purism of Vulcan logic extremists who had opposed the “tainting” of Sarek’s family with human elements. And as the history of Earth, Sauria, and other worlds had shown, such purism could be still more destructive when paired with open emotionalism. In theory, Starfleet’s training processes would weed out or cure such tendencies in its members, but they did not always do so successfully; Spock thought of Lieutenant Andrew Stiles, who had prided himself on his family’s achievements in the Earth-Romulan War and who had thus felt mistrust and resentment toward Spock upon learning of the relationship between Vulcans and Romulans.

  However, it was premature to assume that T’Nalae’s beliefs were that extreme. As her superior officer, he had an opportunity and a responsibility to steer her away from such beliefs before they hardened.

  “The most unnatural thing of all is uniformity,” Spock pointed out gently. “Individual variations within any species are what give it the evolutionary robustness to adapt to changing conditions. Diversity of ideas within a population allows a similar adaptability and facilitates growth and innovation. This is the essence of the principle of infinite diversity in infinite combinations.”

  T’Nalae looked chastened but unconvinced. “I respect Kol-Ut-Shan, Commander,” she said, using the Vulcan term for the IDIC principle. “I appreciate the uniqueness of every species. But that is why I believe each species should be true to its own inherent nature. Why it should be what the universe shaped it to be, instead of trying to deny its true self and become something else.”

  “As I said, it is the nature of every species to be diverse within itself.”

  “Up to a point. There are limits. Vulcans don’t have wings. Aurelians don’t breathe underwater. And humans don’t read minds—not naturally.”

  “Clearly, some do. That is a fact we must accept.”

  “But why? Federation law prohibits the genetic enhancement of sentient beings beyond their natural abilities. So why is something like the New Human movement permitted to work on enhancing humans’ mental abilities beyond the norm?”

  “The law can only regulate artificial change. If the emergence of psionic abilities in humans is a new stage in their evolution, then it is part of their natural diversity, and attempting to outlaw or regulate it would be unethical, harmful, and ultimately ineffectual.”

  “Even if they come to dominate and replace non-esper humans, as you said they naturally would?”

  “I did not express it in such loaded terms, Specialist. It is far too early at this stage to speculate on any such occurrence, which would presumably be millennia in the future.”

  Before T’Nalae could reply, Spock heard Kirk arrive at the entrance. “Everything all right in here? We’re ready to resume the tour.”

  “Very well, Captain. I shall join you in a moment.”

  Once Kirk had moved on, Spock took a step closer to T’Nalae. “You say that you boarded the Enterprise to learn from me, Specialist. What I have to teach you may not be what you expected to hear … but that is the nature of true learning. I request that you ponder on that until we speak again.”

  * * *

  Once Kirk, Spock, and Jones/Kollos settled down in the officers’ lounge to discuss the mission ahead, the captain was relieved that this visit was so far proceeding more smoothly than the first. But when Jones turned from examining the simulated viewports showing a holographic view of the Enterprise’s engine nacelles and the streaking starlight of the warp effect beyond them, her face bore a probing, smiling look that Kirk could not readily pin down to either of the personalities within her. “I can sense what you’ve wanted to say since we came aboard, Captain Kirk. We wouldn’t intrude on your private thoughts, but strong emotions radiate clearly, so I have the gist of it.” She sat across from him, her striking gray eyes turned patiently in his direction.

  Kirk fidgeted. “I feel … embarrassed about the way I and my crew treated you during your first visit, Doctor Jones. We flattered and flirted with you like a visiting celebrity, not recognizing that the attention made you uncomfortable. We praised you for your physical beauty and thoughtlessly denigrated the Medusans’ appearance in the process. It was … immature of us. Of me. We didn’t make the effort to understand your unique perspective, to judge you for more than what was on the surface, and so we were unthinkingly inconsiderate.”

  Jones nodded. “I appreciate that, Captain. But you were far from the first to treat me that way. It was always difficult for other humans to relate to me, or vice-versa. My telepathy set me apart from an early age. I grew up barraged by the unfiltered private thoughts and dark, repressed urges of the humans around me, and they couldn’t understand why it was hard for me to trust them, to open up to them. I, in turn, did not understand that they chose to keep those sides of themselves buried, that they did their best to keep them from harming or frightening other people as they did me.

  “It became even harder as I matured and found others drawn to me for what they called my ‘beauty’—something that, to me, was utterly meaningless and had no bearing on who I was, so how could I trust in their intentions?”

  Kirk struggled to imagine what she must have felt, but Spock nodded knowingly. “It is difficult to grow up feeling alien among one’s own people. To face struggles that none around you can comprehend—not even one’s own family.”

  Jones’s gaze shifted toward him in sympathy. “I know that about you now, Spock, since our meld. When we first met, I didn’t understand you either, and I wrongly judged you a rival and a threat, when you could have been an ally.” She sighed. “I suppose it helped me, growing up, that both my parents were espers, though neither of them remotely as psi-sensitive as I was. They had some understanding of what I was going through, and some ability to mask their thoughts from me—though not nearly as much as they would’ve liked,” she added with a wry expression. “They took me away from our home on Deneva, and we wandered the outer worlds in relative isolation, until I finally found solace on Vulcan and was trained to shield myself from others’ thoughts.

  “With the help of that training, I was able to turn my telepathy into an advantage at last, using it in my work as a psychologist. But I still felt detached from other humans, set apart by my abilities. It didn’t help that my blindness is due to a defect of the optic nerve, one not yet curable by implants. In this day and age, with disabilities so rare, humans are out of practice at understanding those of us who still have them—or taking our existence in stride without pitying us.”

  Kirk lowered his head, remembering her words from nine years ago—Pity is the worst of all. “We certainly could have stood to be more broad-minded. Not only toward you, Doctor Jones, but to Ambassador Kollos as well. A visiting diplomat aboard my ship, and I barely made an effort to get to know … you.”

  Kollos’s relaxed smile came onto Jones’s face. “At the time, it wasn’t safe for you to
be in the same room with my habitat. And I couldn’t exactly speak to you over the intercom. Even today’s universal translators still struggle with Medusan language concepts. It takes a sentient mind like Miranda’s to interpret between us.

  “To be honest, Captain, I feel I have much to apologize for as well—particularly to you, Commander Spock. I deeply regret the lapse in my attention that led us to forget your visor when we severed our meld.”

  Kirk saw Spock suppress a shudder at the memory. He still recalled the incident vividly. When Jones’s spurned lover, the engineer Lawrence Marvick, had attempted to murder his perceived rival Kollos, a glimpse of the Medusan had driven him mad, and Marvick had tampered with the Enterprise’s engines and somehow flung it into a mysterious extradimensional void, through means that remained unexplained to this day. The only way back had been for Spock to meld with Kollos in order to share in his extraordinary navigational senses. When the joined Spock and Kollos had neglected to don the protective visor during the dissolution of Spock’s meld, it had exposed the science officer to the unfiltered sight of Kollos and shattered his sanity.

  Miranda Jones had been the only one who could restore his mind, but Kirk had mistrusted her, believing her so envious of Spock that she might allow him to die. He had confronted her about it so viciously that even then, in its immediate wake, he feared that he had gone too far. She had proven him wrong, restoring Spock to full sanity, and had claimed to forgive him for his words; she had even thanked him for forcing her to confront a painful truth. But in the years since, he had been unable to think back on that mission without shame. This conversation was doing much to assuage his conscience. It helped to know that Kollos had his regrets as well.

  “Our confusion was understandable,” Spock said. “We were both overwhelmed by novel, alien sensations and experiences. To be perfectly honest, Ambassador, I have often suspected that the culpability for forgetting the visor lay more with me than with you. On some level, I believe, I yearned to know what you looked like, raw and unfiltered. My curiosity has always been my greatest weakness. In our meld, with our emotions and impulses blended, it is possible that we were unable to regulate that temptation sufficiently.”

  Jones’s face took on a thoughtful frown. “And was your curiosity satisfied, Mister Spock? Do you remember the sight of me?”

  “Indeed I do, though my ability to process what I saw is limited—my ability to verbalize it even more so.”

  “Fascinating. That should dispel the belief of many that the sight of Medusans is so horrific that even the recollection after the fact would induce madness.”

  “An illogical notion,” Spock replied. “The neurological disruption is no doubt the result of direct exposure to the complex optical and electromagnetic patterns emitted by Medusans, analogous to how certain patterns of strobing lights can induce epileptic seizures, or certain magnetic fields can induce hallucinations or fear responses. Similar principles underlie the phaser stun effect, the neural neutralizer, the Klingon mind-sifter, and other neuroactive technologies.”

  Kollos/Jones took on a sour expression. “I’m not sure I like being so completely demystified.”

  Spock’s slanted eyebrows drew together. “I admit, I cannot be certain my own reaction would be typical. Since childhood, I have been prone to a degree of spatial dysphasia, a condition known as L’tak Terai, which affects my visual perception, similar to dyslexia among humans. While it has created difficulties I had to strive to overcome, it has also, at times, enabled me to perceive and interpret sensory phenomena in ways that others could not. Perhaps that is why I was subconsciously willing to believe I could cope with the unfiltered sight of a Medusan. It is at least possible that it in some way enables me to cope with the memory of that sight.”

  “Remarkable,” Jones said—at least, Kirk believed it was Jones now. “That explains so much—why you’re so precise and disciplined even compared to the other Vulcans I’ve known. You had to be in order to cope with your disability.” She gave a sad smile. “I wish I’d known before that we had that experience in common.”

  “There is much we did not understand about each other on that occasion,” Spock replied. “It is gratifying that we finally have the opportunity to set that to rights.”

  “I think we’ve all grown since then,” she replied. “Perhaps you most of all. You have a serenity, a self-assurance you didn’t have before. It feels like you’ve finally resolved the inner struggle Kollos and I sensed in you when we melded.”

  “Indeed. My meld with V’Ger four point four years ago brought me much clarity.”

  “Much as my meld with Kollos has for me.”

  Spock tilted his head skeptically. “In my case, V’Ger provided only a negative example. It revealed to me that an existence of pure logic without emotion was sterile and purposeless. I came to understand that it was better to seek a synthesis of the two.”

  “And you seem to have succeeded.”

  “It is still a work in progress,” Spock demurred.

  “But so is life,” Kirk ventured to add.

  Kollos/Jones smiled. “Indeed it is. May we never reach the point where we have nothing more to learn.” She, or they, turned back to Spock in puzzlement. “And that surprises us, Mister Spock. Kollos and I have grown so much through our bond, and we sense you’ve grown as well. Yet here we are, almost a decade later, and you’re still in exactly the same place you were then, first officer of the Enterprise. By now you could have been a captain of your own ship, if you wished.”

  Spock’s gaze in return was untroubled. “I have never sought command. I am a scientist above all; my first, best path is to provide knowledge to others.”

  “Then you could have become an instructor at Starfleet Academy, or a researcher at the Vulcan Science Academy. I’m sure universities on a dozen planets have courted you.”

  “I can learn more aboard a starship on the frontier than I could in those places. And I can learn more from serving under a captain like James Kirk.”

  “But what is there to learn from that, except how to command a crew yourself?”

  “That question would take a long time to answer.”

  Kirk was flattered and gratified by Spock’s reply. He had valued both of the first officers who had served under him on his first command, the scout ship Sacagawea; but he’d had Spock at his side for so long now that he could no longer imagine serving without him.

  Still, this whole conversation had been about the importance of looking beyond the limits of one’s expectations. Had he come to take Spock for granted? And was he holding his friend’s career back as a result?

  Three

  Laikan, Andoria

  The headquarters of Andorian Homeworld Security was shielded against transporter access, so the Enterprise landing party materialized in the wide octagonal plaza in front of the building. The Andorian passersby took the arrival of Kirk, Spock, and Lieutenant Commander Chekov in stride, for it was not unusual for Starfleet personnel to liaise with AHS; yet they evinced somewhat more curiosity toward Ambassador Kollos’s mobile habitat, which hovered alongside Miranda Jones in her shimmering sensor-web gown. The civilians’ surprise at the sight of the habitat reminded Spock of the regrettable failure of the effort to integrate Medusans into Starfleet. A decade ago, it had been hoped that their presence on Federation worlds would be more commonplace by now.

  Spock took the opportunity to contemplate the scenery of Laikan, the Andorian capital. The city was built on a spacious plan, with wide pedestrian plazas filled with greenery and fountains, taking advantage of the urban heat-island effect created by its many high, angled towers. The terraforming efforts had warmed this part of the planet considerably over the past five decades, yet most of the surrounding continent of Zhevra was still cool even by human standards, let alone Vulcan. To the south, across the nearby Tezh’Lai River, Spock could see the blockier, more utilitarian skyline of the neighboring city of Laibok, a manufacturing city that had become Andoria’s
industrial capital through its proximity to the political capital. As the region had warmed, both cities had expanded to the point that they had all but merged into a single megalopolis, their names sometimes used interchangeably.

  An Andorian Starfleet commander, no doubt the Sector Headquarters liaison they’d been told to expect on their arrival, came forth from the building entranceway where he had presumably been awaiting them. As he approached, Spock could see that he had craggy, aquiline features and an unusually pale complexion, more gray than blue. Spock’s brows rose, and a traded glance with Kirk confirmed Spock’s own certainty that they had met this thaan before.

  Or rather, they had met a version of this thaan, during an ill-fated attempt to conduct historical research via the Guardian of Forever more than eight years ago. Both men schooled themselves to calm, for incidents connected to the Guardian, time travel, and parallel realities were strictly classified. Spock noted Jones/Kollos glancing at them curiously, sensing their recognition of the commander, but Spock sent a subtle thought impression invoking privacy. As he had melded with both halves of their corporate intelligence individually, some lingering vestige of the connection endured, allowing the message to reach them clearly. He felt that their curiosity remained, but they chose not to pursue it.

  “Captain Kirk, greetings,” the commander said in a reedy but strong tenor. “I am Thelin th’Valrass, from Sector HQ. You may call me Commander Thelin.” He pronounced it Thay-lin, as Spock recalled.

  “Commander Thelin—good to meet you,” Kirk said, shaking the offered hand and maintaining his usual excellent poker face. “This is Commander Spock … my first officer.” His voice hitched very slightly on the title. He went on to introduce the rest of the party, who greeted Thelin in turn.