Much of that anger seemed directed toward the three Terebellan officials seated opposite them, flanking Terrell and Chekov on the narrow end of the table. Governor Kisak, at the center of the trio, was a middle-aged Suliban female whose bald, rounded head reminded Terrell of nothing so much as a cantaloupe with a face. (He knew it was a rude thing to think, but he couldn’t help it; that was what she looked like.) On her left was Councilor Agkan, a sour-faced Arbazan male who appeared human aside from hairless brows and a high forehead with subtle Y-shaped ridges. On Kisak’s right, at the forward corner of the table beside Chekov, was Security Director Haru Yamasaki, a lean-featured Japanese man with a calculating expression.
“We merely wish to explore and advance our abilities,” Sungkar went on, “but we have been met with growing fear and intolerance.”
“Because we commune telepathically with the native giant corvids,” Mehrotra said, “we have been blamed for their attacks on livestock that was allowed to wander too far.”
“Because some Arbazan adolescents chose to voyeurize some of our more … private acts of union,” Arias added with a flush on her striking Filipina features, “their families have accused us of corrupting their youth.”
Sungkar picked up the thought again. “We have even been blamed for telekinetically causing accidents, such as the fall of an old tree onto Councilor Agkan’s skimmer.” Terrell cleared his throat to stifle a laugh.
“It’s nothing but a witch hunt,” Mehrotra added. “Singletons fearing what they don’t understand.” The others threw him a look, and Sungkar placed her hand on his. He bowed his head. “Forgive me. The term was inappropriate.”
“I’d say it was most appropriate,” Yamasaki replied in precise, polished tones. “It’s important that we all speak frankly of our true beliefs, don’t you think, Captain Terrell?”
“I’m more interested in facts than beliefs, Director,” Terrell replied, refusing to take the bait. “Is there any hard evidence to link the New Humans to any of these incidents?”
“How can there be?” Agkan asked. “They can conspire undetectably, influence objects and leave no trace.”
“That’s not correct, Councilor,” Chekov spoke up. “Psionic energies do leave detectable signatures.” He turned to Yamasaki. “Do you have the means to scan for them here?”
“Our equipment is state-of-the-art,” Yamasaki replied primly. “I myself earned my degree in criminology from the University of Altair IV.”
“And have you found any psionic signatures connected with these events?” Terrell asked.
Yamasaki paused. “The results were … inconclusive. There is a fair amount of psionic background noise due to the frequent mental activity of the New Humans.”
“Then isn’t it possible this is all just a misunderstanding?”
Governor Kisak finally spoke up. “Our people’s concern toward the New Humans’ growing abilities—along with their growing tendency to set themselves apart from us—is not unjustified,” the heavyset Suliban woman said. “Keep in mind, Captain, that all our peoples have good reason to be suspicious of those with enhanced abilities. My own people were terrorized by the genetically augmented Cabal, yet blamed and persecuted for their actions. Most of our original human colonists came from peoples who had been ruled by Khan Noonien Singh during the Eugenics Wars, and who retain long memories of their history. And our original Arbazan settlers were refugees from the genetically augmented tyranny that ruled their entire world until forty years ago.”
“I sympathize with your concern about Augments,” Chekov told the Terebellan leaders. “But I don’t understand how that applies here. The recent surge in human esper ability appears to be a natural evolutionary leap.”
Yamasaki studied him curiously. “Naturally, Mister Chekov, I defer to your scientific expertise. It’s always been my understanding that evolution is a gradual process—occurring from generation to generation, rather than within single individuals in the course of just a few years. Perhaps you could explain the basis for my misapprehension.” For all the deference in his words, the polished snideness in his tone was unmistakable.
“The potential has always been within us,” Sungkar interposed. “That has been known for generations, and some few of us, like Doctor Miranda Jones, had already unlocked our full potential. All we needed was a catalyst to unlock it in more of us. V’Ger’s ascension was that catalyst.”
“Yes,” Yamasaki muttered. “You consider yourselves the children of V’Ger, don’t you?”
“In a sense,” Arias conceded.
“Forgive me, but … didn’t V’Ger attempt to destroy all life on Earth? If it was responsible for your … amplification … isn’t that all the more reason to question your intentions toward the rest of the human species?”
“All we wish,” Sungkar countered in less serene tones than before, “is to be permitted to explore our mental unity in peace.”
“An odd definition of ‘peace,’ given that you’ve telepathically or telekinetically assaulted several citizens.”
“In self-defense,” Mehrotra said.
“They were threatening us,” added Arias.
“And no actual harm came to them,” Sungkar finished.
“The law defines any unwanted or offensive contact as battery,” Yamasaki countered. “That has been ruled under Federation law to include telepathic contact. Psionic fields and particles are physical phenomena, after all; therefore, psionic influence on another’s mind is a form of physical contact. It doesn’t have to do damage to be a criminal act.”
“You see?” Governor Kisak said. “Wherever their enhancements come from, the impact is the same: superior power breeding a sense of entitlement and the willingness to impose upon others. As your own people say, Captain, power tends to corrupt. The rest of us do not feel safe—will not feel safe—as long as we must share our world with these espers.”
“This is our home,” Sungkar protested. “As much as it is yours. You and I were born in the same town.”
“And you have made it quite clear that you consider yourselves to have evolved beyond your origins. That you no longer need any connections save to each other. You have alienated yourselves from our world. All we ask is that you complete the process and leave Terebellum once and for all.”
Terrell traded a look with his second officer. Like Chekov, Terrell could sympathize with the colonists’ fears of powerful telepaths. His own experiences aboard the Sagittarius in the Taurus Reach had involved encounters with species of extraordinary psionic power, from the Shedai to the Tomol. But it was one thing to fear powerful beings with clear aggressive intent. It was another to presume hostility just because someone was different.
These were humans, after all—new or otherwise. Surely that had to count for something.
* * *
Chekov and Lieutenant Nizhoni had been coordinating with Haru Yamasaki on security arrangements when the call came in: A fight had broken out between a group of New Humans and some of their neighboring farmers. Shots had been fired, and telekinesis had been used in response. Yamasaki had just been talking about the inevitability of violence erupting between the groups; as his team headed for the site alongside the Reliant personnel, Chekov noted that the Terebellan security director seemed more satisfied than concerned, as if glad to be proven right.
By the time the security teams arrived, the fight had settled down into a stalemate, with both sides waiting tensely to see if the other would make the next move. They stood down readily when the authorities showed up, as if they were grateful for a chance to end it. Chekov took it as a good sign that the colonists still saw each other as neighbors rather than enemies.
Still, both sides defended their actions with righteous indignation when Yamasaki questioned them. “They trespassed on our compound carrying phasers,” insisted Ravi Mehrotra, evidently the informal leader of the group of New Humans involved in the quarrel. “We were protecting ourselves. Our children.”
“Your c
hildren?” countered Girsu, the burly, long-haired Arbazan farmer who spoke for the rival group. “You’ve been giving our children nightmares! Agitating our besuin so they don’t give milk!”
“Our communion has no such effect,” objected the olive-skinned, dark-eyed woman at Mehrotra’s side, who had introduced herself as Niloufar Darvish. “It’s only for us to share.”
“Really,” Yamasaki said. “Then your telekinetic surges that threw Girsu’s farmhands into a ditch and broke one of their wrists … those were intended for your own people and … misaimed?”
“They stormed in waving phasers around,” Mehrotra insisted. “We could feel the imminent violence from them. We were entitled to defend ourselves.”
“And the strength of your … defenses … continues to escalate. Surely you can see how that could be alarming to those of us without your … gifts.”
“We mean no harm to anyone. Haru, you know me. We went to the same school.”
“Yes, I remember,” Yamasaki said. “I remember the pride you took in your esper abilities—that something extra none of the others had. Oh, though I assure you, I never gave credence to the rumors that you used your powers to improve your grades—or to make girls like you.”
“That’s a vile accusation!” Mehrotra took an angry step forward, and Yamasaki and his accompanying troops started to raise their phasers. Darvish touched Mehrotra’s arm, and he calmed after something passed between them. “You haven’t changed one bit, Haru. You’ve always envied others’ achievements, though you’ve never had the guts to come out and say it.”
“It’s the way of singletons,” Darvish added. “Envy, mistrust, self-absorption. Pieces afraid to form a whole.”
“You see?” Girsu spoke up. “That’s all we are to these people. ‘Singletons.’ Inferior beings to be treated like … like livestock.”
“I’ve listened to your livestock,” Darvish told the Arbazan farmer. “Don’t project your own contemptuous treatment of them onto us.”
“There, she confessed! They have been disturbing our livestock. Our children too!”
“We’ve done nothing to either of them,” Mehrotra insisted. “They’re responding to your anxiety, the atmosphere of tension you’re creating out of fear.”
“Is that fear really so unjustified,” Yamasaki said, “when you speak of us as ‘singletons,’ as lesser beings than your enlightened whole? Is it so hard for you to understand why your neighbors no longer recognize you as human when you seem to have renounced the label yourselves?”
“Humanity is a concept with room for growth and evolution. We’re New Humans, not post-humans.”
“The Augments called themselves human. The Cabal called themselves Suliban. They still set themselves above the rest of us.” Yamasaki stepped forward. “If you wish to convince us that’s not your intention, then I advise you to stand down and allow us to take you in … along with the trespassers, of course. We’ll let the justice system sort this out. Assuming you still consider yourselves subject to our laws.”
After exchanging a few more silent looks, Mehrotra, Darvish, and the rest of their group agreed to surrender to custody, along with Girsu, his farmhands, and the other trespassers. It seemed like a fair outcome, but Chekov was concerned that Yamasaki’s sympathies were so clearly with those who feared the New Humans.
Granted, Chekov could understand the Terebellans’ fear of Augments. He had been a junior engineer when Khan Noonien Singh and the rest of the Eugenics Wars superhumans rescued from the S.S. Botany Bay had taken over the ship. He and a handful of others had been trapped in the engineering section with Khan’s people when the emergency bulkheads had sealed it off, and his youthful enthusiasm and indignation had driven him to act more recklessly than his fellows, leading them in a resistance effort against the Augments … until Khan had personally hunted him down amid the bowels of engineering and overpowered him with relentless ease, demanding only his name and then commending him for his courage before rendering him unconscious. Despite his enemy’s gracious words, Chekov had rarely been so terrified in his life.
Yet it seemed unwarranted to direct the same suspicion toward natural-born espers. DiFalco, Logan, and the others on the Enterprise had never acted superior. They had been a little weird, maybe, but well within the range of diverse behaviors and worldviews found within that ship’s crew, a microcosm for the Federation as a whole.
So why was it that a Federation that accepted so much diversity of thought, custom, and ability between different species had so much trouble with a new form of diversity within humanity?
* * *
Captain Terrell had found his visit to the New Humans’ main compound quite agreeable. He and Lieutenant Commander Beach had been greeted warmly enough by Leilani Sungkar and her fellow espers, who had granted them full access to observe the New Humans’ activities and confirm that there was nothing aggressive or untoward going on. Certainly the vibe had been quite placid and positive. A number of the espers communed in silent meditation, while others worked harmoniously to tend the gardens and harvest fresh vegetables. A trio of them had even been gathered around a haipa, a large indigenous felinoid with blue-and-gold fur, a serpentine tail, and large red eyes underneath winglike antennae. The animal rumbled happily as they stroked its fur and cooed endearments at it, though Beach assured Terrell that the haipa were not a domesticated species.
The dining experience was also excellent. With their permission, the resident chef had read Terrell’s and Beach’s thoughts of their favorite foods and had done an excellent job re-creating their flavor and presentation. “Best meal I’ve had in ages,” Beach commended him. Turning to Sungkar across the table, he said, “You know, you should invite the governor and her people to dinner. Nothing brings people together like a good meal.”
“We have tried,” Sungkar said. “At first, they appreciated it, but then the novelty wore off, and the problems didn’t fade.” She shook her head. “An invitation to dinner would not have smoothed things over with the farmers yesterday.”
Terrell was well aware that this invitation had been largely meant to win his sympathies so that he would intervene on behalf of Ravi Mehrotra and those arrested with him. But there was only so much he could do. Their fate was in the hands of the local authorities and laws; the most he could do as a Starfleet captain was to provide oversight and ensure those laws were being enforced fairly.
Next to Sungkar, Maya Arias frowned. “The problem is that we continued to grow and they didn’t. Just because they’re trapped in their own heads, they assume the worst about others’ motives. It’s always been an intrinsic flaw in humans, a cause of unnecessary fear and conflict. Why can’t they see that we’re the solution to that flaw? All that we are about is love and peace. It comes naturally to us, because we can truly understand each other and know not to fear.”
Terrell spoke gently. “I think that potential’s in all of us. Even without psionics, humans have always had the capacity for empathy—for imagining what other people feel, even if we can’t know directly.”
“Mirror neurons,” Beach said. “He’s right. The humanoid brain processes the emotions we see in others with the same equipment it uses to process our own feelings. To the brain, it’s all the same. Psionics add something extra, but our eyes and ears can do the job too.”
Terrell nodded at Beach’s words. “True, sometimes we imagine the worst. Sometimes we mistake our fears for others’ feelings. But that basic ability to identify with others, to feel their joy and pain as if it were our own, is the basis of our civilization—and if you ask me, it’s our greatest defining trait as a species.
“We may lack the ability to share every thought in our heads,” Terrell went on, “but that lets us show compassion in another way—by filtering our thoughts and protecting others from the opinions and impulses they might find hurtful.”
“Oh, yeah,” Beach said. “Sometimes it’s better not to share everything you think. Just ask my ex-wife.”
Terrell thought it over. “I don’t see it that way. If anything, I’d say it’s what enables humans to engage in diplomacy with other species—to engage with outsiders before total understanding has been gained.”
“What do you mean?” The striking Filipina woman appeared puzzled, unaccustomed to not immediately grasping another’s thoughts.
“Well, if the only beings you know how to engage with are those you’re already one with,” Terrell asked with a gentle smile, “then don’t you lack a necessary skill for engaging with the rest of the universe? What you have between yourselves is amazing, even enviable in many ways. But you’re always going to have blind spots toward the rest of the universe. Not all species’ minds are susceptible to telepathy, or willing to open to it. So that ability to reach out to those whose thoughts you can only imagine is still important.
“Maybe if you keep that in mind,” he said, holding Sungkar’s rich brown eyes, “you’ll be better able to imagine where the other colonists are coming from.”
“We are not the ones who need to change our behavior,” Arias protested.
Sungkar placed a hand on hers. “No, of course not, Maya. But perhaps a better understanding of their behavior will help us find ways to de-escalate it, to guide them toward greater understanding. Think of how we get along with the haipa. We don’t try to tame them; we merely respect their ways and reassure them we pose no threat. As long as we don’t push them where they don’t want to go, they have no reason to push back.”
Terrell found it an unflattering comparison; it implied that Kisak and the others might have been right about the New Humans seeing them as lower life-forms. Then again, maybe it was the other way around; he got the impression that the New Humans saw animals as deserving just as much respect as so-called sentient beings.
The Higher Frontier Page 16
