18
The Most Human: A Star Trek Novel
By
Jay LaVelle
Historical Note
These events occur during the second tour of the Starship Enterprise under Captain Kirk's command. After the appearance of V'ger and before the events occurring around the encounter with Khan.
PROLOGUE
Moriah Majors was just completing the task of packing her few belongings when her roommate Tara bounded into the room. She was noticeably smaller and lighter in coloring than Moriah, and more dramatic as well. Tara slumped on her bunk and pouted with exaggerated flair.
"It's just not fair", she said, "I'm the one who wanted to specialize in first contact situations. All you wanted was environmental development, so why should you get the most exciting contact situation to come down the pike in fifteen years?"
"Just lucky I guess", Moriah quipped. "That or they like my eyes better." She laughed at her own jest, while Tara continued her pose as the wounded underdog, resting her chin in her hands. "And its not exactly first contact. Its more like follow‑up with the fine details," Moriah said. When Tara did not reply, she turned and gave the younger woman serious consideration; then tackled her. Both landed on the floor with Tara squealing in mock terror. Just like when they were little, and growing up on Mars, far from Starfleet Academy's advanced diplomatic training school.
Holding the lighter woman down by straddling her and pinning her wrists, Moriah gave the old challenge, "Say 'Moriah is the Queen of the Universe and I am her lowly servant'", she demanded.
"Never" Tara declared, even while breaking into another fit of squealing and laughing.
Moriah bent closer, putting more pressure on the wrists of her sister. "Say it" she demanded in her best big sister voice.
"Say it, or suffer the fate of the sleeping hands".
"Alright, alright" Tara laughed, "Moriah is the Queen of the Universe, and I am her lowly servant," she said between laughs, "whose going to miss her very much".
Suddenly the mood shifted, and Moriah rolled off her sister and sat beside her on the floor. "I'm going to miss you too, you know", she said.
"No you won't" Tara replied, rolling up and sitting close. "Oh, I know you'll mean to miss me, but you're just going to be too busy... and too excited to maintain it for long." She shook her head in wonder, "The Betazed home world. Who'd have thought it?"
Moriah took on her own incredulous look. "Well, I certainly never dreamed... When I did my thesis on the impact of telepathic abilities on Vulcan/ human relations, I didn't realize I was going to be treated as the expert on telepathic races. I feel like such a fake."
Tara turned to her, "Moriah, Starfleet doesn't give assignments like this because they like your eyes, and you know it. Face it, nobody has written anything close. There might be lots of Diplomats and Delegates out there, but none of them know as much about this as you. So finish packing and get on your way, girl. I know I'd jump at the chance."
Moriah rose in one motion and lightly picked up her bag. As she threw it over her shoulder she paused, "I tell you what; after this they'll obviously make me a full diplomat, then I'll request you as my Attaché."
"No thanks," Tara replied, "Then I'd be making that Queen of the Universe speech once a day." The sisters laughed, then suddenly hugged fiercely.
"I guess you'll finally get to meet Mr. Vulcan himself," Tara teased, "Your favorite obsession in the flesh... Well, even if you don't miss me, you'd better keep in touch" Tara whispered, emotion clouding her voice.
"Nothing in the Universe would stop me, Little Sister" Moriah answered. Then she abruptly broke away and stepped through the door without a backward glance. In the sudden silence, she was gone.
PART I
Chapter One: Diplomacy
It was the middle of the Enterprise "day", and it seemed that the crew buzzed about the corridors of the ship like bees in a honey‑comb. Smiling a little at his own rather colorful metaphor, Captain James T. Kirk stepped into the Transporter Room to find Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy already waiting for him. They were not arguing, nor even speaking, which was a sign that all was not well. Kirk nodded to Spock and turned to McCoy, who avoided his eyes. All was definitely not well.
"Gentlemen" Kirk said, in full command voice, "What gives?"
Now Spock also looked away, and clasped him hands firmly behind his back.
McCoy cleared his throat and looked at the ground.
"Mr. Spock?" Kirk directed his question.
"Yes sir?" Spock replied innocently.
"What's going on?" Kirk demanded, losing patience. Then glancing over his shoulder, finally noticed the Transporter Technician, listening for all he was worth.
Turning back, Kirk lowered his voice, "Would one of you please tell me what the... what's going on before this... diplomat lands in our laps?"
McCoy sidled up next to Kirk, facing Spock. "He called me a bigot, that's what," he said softly to Kirk, nodding at Spock.
Kirk started at this information, "He what?"
"He called me a bigot, Captain, and he raised his voice in doing so," McCoy finished, looking an odd mixture of triumphant and concerned. Spock continued to look away.
"Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked, also puzzled, "Is this true?" He expected a denial, and a logical explanation for the doctor's misperception; however, Spock responded simply enough,
"Yes sir, it is true."
Kirk glanced at McCoy, whose eyes widened to indicate his own surprise. Then Kirk glanced at the Transporter Technician. "Not... not in front of the Ensign?" Kirk whispered.
Finally, Spock sighed and turned to face Kirk, "Yes. In front of the Ensign, which was entirely inappropriate on my part, Captain. I accept any disciplinary action you deem appropriate."
Kirk paused, inspecting his First Officer closely. "Mr. Spock, are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes sir," Spock responded, "There is no excuse for my conduct other than my own lack of discipline and control."
"Hmpf" McCoy grumbled, "Never thought I'd hear that spoken out loud."
"Doctor," Kirk chastised. Then, a new thought sharpening, he turned and considered McCoy. "What did you say to him?" he accused.
Suddenly on the defensive, McCoy sputtered an incoherent response. "Well, I... uh, I just said... uh, I said, I started to say..."
Spock interrupted him; "He said that telepathic species were an obvious threat to 'normal' people since they have the advantage of manipulating unconsciously."
Kirk's eyes opened wide in McCoy's general direction, and McCoy explained defensively, "I was just saying that we feel threatened, not that they really mean us harm. He didn't let me finish." McCoy trailed off, pouting.
"And what did you respond, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked.
"I responded, 'Your passion for human characteristics has crossed into raving xenophobia which I suspect has always lurked beneath your continuous references to my physical differences as a Vulcan and reflects primitive fear and hatred which is unbecoming a Starfleet Officer,' Sir".
Kirk stopped himself from taking a step back in response to the statement. It would have been less shocking coming from Bones, or any human being for that matter. Getting caught up in the heat of the moment was one thing, but Spock... Spock didn't get caught up... which meant that was a true statement of his reaction to McCoy- which was, to say the least, uncharacteristic.
"And now that you've heard his explanation of his statement, Mr. Spock? Would you still respond in that fashion?" Kirk asked.
Spock considered McCoy briefly, "I may have been in error." He said simply, but it was clear that he reserved judgment on the matter.
"Well," Kirk concluded, "I have three reactions, gentlemen. One, Bones, it serves you right for baiting him for so many years. Two, Mr. Spock we Humans have misgivings about telepathic abilities; it hasn't stopped us from working with you for all these years, so don't get so bent out of shape; and Three, I don't want to see or hear of this kind of petty bickering again." He stopped and looked from one officer to the other, then all but whispered, "At least, not with any serious overtones, and certainly not in front of junior officers." The command voice returned. "Do I make myself clear?"
Both straightened in semi‑attention approximations, "Yes sir" Spock said crisply. "Of course" McCoy managed.
"Good, then shall we proceed with meeting our diplomat?" Kirk asked, with mock patience. Both of his senior officers nodded their agreement, straining to take on the appearance appropriate for Starfleet protocol.
Kirk snapped loudly, "Ensign Stuart!" The address had the effect of bringing the young officer to full attention, and causing him to worry about his own performance rather than that of Mr. Spock or Dr. McCoy.
"Yes sir!" he answered.
"What's the delay in bringing aboard Ms. Majors?" Kirk demanded.
"No delay, sir" Stuart responded, confused and flustered, "Ah, I was simply... simply waiting for your order, sir," He stammered.
"Well then Ensign, you have it. Beam her aboard."
"Aye sir!" Ensign Stuart practically yelled, and then furiously worked the controls of the Transporter.
Kirk knew that the Ensign's immediate anxiety would later subside, and that he would recall the exchange between Spock and McCoy to half the crew. It couldn't be helped, and maybe it served them right... in front of a junior officer.
As Kirk mused, the Transporter hummed its familiar refrain, and Ms. Moriah Majors, Lt. in Starfleet, and newly of the Diplomatic Core materialized on the platform. She was fairly tall with thick black hair and intense eyes. She was also several years younger than Kirk had surmised. She stepped down off the platform with a quick step, but still managed to be gracious.
"Captain Kirk" she said, "Permission to come aboard, Sir."
"Permission granted," Kirk smiled, "And, you don't have to call me 'Sir'. Beautiful diplomats are absolved of such formalities." He gave a small, mock bow.
But she didn't respond as he had expected. Instead of smiling, and gently flirting back, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "You don't like diplomats, Captain, do you? You are responding this way because I'm an attractive woman." She sounded certain and confused all at once.
Kirk froze in his little bow. McCoy stifled a guffaw, while Mr. Spock merely raised a quiet eyebrow.
"I understood that you were the expert on telepaths, Ms. Majors. I didn't think that you were one yourself." Kirk said teasingly, but his smile had become strained.
"Oh, I'm not," Moriah answered, "It's just... I have the feeling that you don't typically begin diplomatic meetings with archaic references to the beauty of Federation personnel." It was a reprimand, but made with a playful air that left no room for serious affront.
For an instant the little party was completely still, then Kirk laughed. It was the first genuine thing he had done all day.
"I see your point, Ma'am," he said. Then gestured towards the doctor, "This is my Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy."
McCoy reached out, his impulse had been to kiss her hand in the finest southern tradition; but then recalling Moriah's reprimand of Kirk, he turned it into a formal handshake instead. "Pleased to have you with us, Ms. Majors," was all he said. Then clearing his throat awkwardly, McCoy stepped back.
Next Kirk turned to Spock, and gesturing said "And this is my First Officer, Mr. ..."
She interrupted and said the name for him "Spock, of Vulcan. Mr. Spock, I'm very pleased to meet you. You played a very significant role in my completing my thesis." She beamed at the stoic Vulcan.
"Indeed?" Spock questioned, "May I inquire as to how?"
"Well you were practically the subject of the thing, being the first Vulcan in Starfleet to serve with a human crew. You see the topic was..."
This time it was Spock who interrupted, "The Impact of Telepathic Abilities on Vulcan/ Human Relations: An Anthropological Examination". I am aware of the paper, Ms. Majors; however, I do not see how I played a role in it."
"You were my model, Mr. Spock. I began with the premise that such relationships could in fact be workable, because here you are, working among Humans. If not for your example I would have doubted the feasibility of such an arrangement myself."
Spock nodded his understanding, while Kirk and McCoy stood gaping. It was a rare occurrence indeed for Spock to be favored over Kirk, let alone Kirk and McCoy. The captain shook himself out of his daze, "Perhaps Mr. Spock could show you to your accommodations, and then you could continue your discussion."
The young diplomat did smile at Kirk at this suggestion. Spock did not smile, but he did exude an air of smug triumph, which was just as astounding.
As Moriah and Spock exited the room, Kirk turned to McCoy. "Is he really alright, Bones? That just didn't seem like him."
"He's alright medically, if that's what you mean. Maybe he's just loosening up after all this time." McCoy shuffled, pursing his lips, "I don't think I like it after all."
Suddenly feeling better, Kirk laughed, and slapping McCoy on the back, left the Transporter Room.
It was much later when Moriah Majors completed her discussion of her thesis with the ship's Science Officer, and by that time she had completely revised her estimation of the man she had studied for two and a half years. She reflected on him as she unpacked her meager belongings in the rather plush state‑room reserved for Starfleet VIPs. She had just decided that the month long trip to Betazed would be very interesting when the door chimed, indicating a visitor.
"Come in", she called, unsure of the standard social customs aboard a starship.
The door slid open with a whoosh, and a beautiful woman stepped in. She was only a little older than Moriah, but her poise suggested many years of experience. When she smiled, displaying perfect white teeth, it was with unchecked welcome and a bit of mischief.
"Well, you're all the rage, Lt. Moriah Majors," she said, in a soft, throaty voice. "The last few hours of my shift on the Bridge were full of speculation about you."
"I don't know what to say," Moriah responded, nonplussed.
"I'd say that's pretty good for a diplomat," the officer continued, plopping down onto the narrow bed, "Your type doesn't generally meet with gracious acceptance aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise."
She laughed at her own joke, while Moriah stood silent and confused.
"I'm Lt. Uhura," the officer finally introduced herself, "Communications Officer."
"Oh, I'm pleased to meet you," Moriah responded, stepping forward to give the playful officer a handshake.
"Don't mind me," Uhura continued, "its just, after so many years of watching the captain cause maidens to swoon, its kind of fun to know someone can resist him."
"The captain?" Moriah said with a bit of outrage, "It's been a long time sense I've experienced that kind of adolescent..." She stopped short, giving Uhura an awkward glance. "I'm sorry, I guess he is your superior officer."
Uhura laughed a hearty laugh, "Oh my, we are going to have fun going to Betazed, aren't we."
Pausing a moment to check the Starfleet officer more closely, Moriah finally joined her in a laugh that sealed a new friendship and signaled an understanding of things spoken and unsaid.
It was towards the end of second shift on the Enterprise. McCoy had left the captain's examination for last. He knew it would be the most difficult, or rather, he knew that that patient would be the most difficult. If there was anything Jim Kirk hated, it was a physical. If there was anything he hated worse than a physical, it was one that included a psychological exam. It wouldn't matter that he had raised the question himself.
What effect would contact with the Betazoid people have on human thought? Could there be changes that we would be unaware of? Was there a danger of influence? They had been good questions, and there was only one sure way to answer them, with a Vidscan taken just prior to contact, and one after. For every individual to have any contact with the Betazoids.
It was a sound precaution. It would make no difference during the coming appointment. He had already had to remind the captain twice, and he had had to resort to threatening to file a report with Starfleet command... Jim really did hate these things.
Recalibrating the equipment simply to occupy himself, McCoy looked up as the captain himself stepped into the Sick Bay.
"Okay," he announced irritably, "I'm here."
"Yes, I see that." McCoy responded gently. "I've had the area cleared, Jim. No assistant. We have complete privacy." He gestured for the captain to take the reclining seat attached to the Vidscan equipment.
"You have complete privacy. Mine is about to be violated." Kirk answered, unaccepting of any illusions about what he was about to undergo. But he did walk to the seat and stiffly take it.
Jim, I don't understand your reaction to Vidscans. You've taken them before. They don't hurt you..."
AI know that..."
"And, my God, man, I've known you for over ten years!" McCoy reasoned, "I know a whole lot of what goes on in that head anyway."
Eyes closed, the doctor's friend sighed... laying back, trying to relax.
"That's different, Bones. That's what I choose to share with you..." he seemed about to say more, and then only made an impatient gesture, "Let's just do it."
"Alright then," the doctor agreed, and began attaching electrodes to the captain's face and scalp. "Alright, I'm ready," he said finally. But then, rather than start the questions that would provide baseline reactions, he walked around to face his friend.
"I know this is tough for you, Jim. But you've got to try to relax."
The captain shook his head, knowing the procedure, knowing that he would have to retake the test if he didn't relax. And that would be a god-awful disaster.
"How about this," McCoy suggested, "You've allowed mind melds with Spock over the years. That requires letting down your guard, now, doesn't it?"
Again, the captain only shook his head.
"Alright then, imagine that's what's about to happen now." He lifted an eyebrow, questioning.
For an instant, it seemed Jim relaxed. The doctor could see some of the rigidity leave his body. Then McCoy stepped around behind him, and the sudden squawking of the recorder announced that that moment had passed.
"I'm sorry, Bones. That was helping. I just remembered that I consented to the mind melds."
"Well, you consented to this, too," McCoy responded immediately, "If you'll recall, Captain, it was your concerns that led to this order."
"Yes, I remember," Jim said, cursing his own shortsightedness. He'd had no idea his questions would come back to haunt him in this particular way.
"Alright," McCoy encouraged, "Let's try it again." Jim nodded his head, and tried not to recoil, tried to let down his guard...
And then the images began to record. As always, it started with just a stream of words, stream of consciousness stuff, that it took the machine a moment to order.
"Just relax nothing to it no big deal done it a thousand times not a thousand times good God a thousand Vidscans this is being recorded in a permanent record better control myself that's in the record they'll know of course they'll know that's the trouble with these things..."
And then McCoy's voice breaking in, soothing.
"Just breathe, Jim," he said, knowing from experience that if his patient didn't relax, he wouldn't get much more than that stream of useless words.
And the patient did, tried to clear his mind entirely, just breathing. And the machine recorded...
"Just clear your mind. Let go. Just focus on the breathing. Just the breathing..."
And with that, the images began, in rapid succession, overlapping, again the machine taking a moment to order them. Slowly sorting them.
" chest rising and falling slowly. The sound of breathing... The gold of the shirt becoming clearer as the image solidified. The captain's bars. A bit literal, but the presence of images was all McCoy needed. He began with some of the basics, standards for Starfleet personnel.
"Space," he said simply, knowing that the patient's mind would have automatic reactions. The images were most reliable. People could control the words better, but the images came from unconscious reactions mostly, and that was what he needed to confirm consistency over time.
Stars burst onto the screen, blazing in the blackness of space. McCoy even recognized a few of the constellations. Moving out rapidly from an Earth perspective, Jim's mind reviewed the space that he had seen, the stars that he had witnessed. And then the words...
"Starry-eyed... Star struck... His mother's voice, James Tiberius Kirk, get your head out of space!' His own voice, at the launching of the Enterprise under his command, Space, the final frontier'..."
"The Federation", McCoy's voice echoed through his thoughts, and again, the associated images in Jim Kirk's mind danced across the screen, words floating like captions across them.
"Starfleet", the doctor said, and again, the images shifted. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing outrageous, just images unique to this particular mind. Images born of this individual life of experiences, unlike any other. Reliable in identifying the functioning of this single mind. McCoy would correlate the images with past Vidscans, verifying consistent unconscious processes.
"Captain Kirk", McCoy stated, knowing from experience that those words would produce a more intense reaction from his patient.
"Responsible," all but leapt from the Vidscan screen, and was followed by a rapid sequence of words and images that included pictures of every crewman lost under the command of James T. Kirk. He never forgot, never forgave himself. Never got over it. The man seemed to believe that he could truly master space, and at the same time protect every person aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. It was an admirable wish, but an unrealistic one.
"Betazed", McCoy said finally, bringing the test to its final specific topic.
"Whatever happens, it's on me," Jim thought, the words taking over from the images despite the efforts of the doctor. "Whatever happens with these people... They'll know. Everything. Won't be able to fool them. Who's trying to fool them? I'm not Trying to fool them..."
And then McCoy took the test to the part that his captain hated the most. He produced a series of high-pitched, methodical sounds, specifically designed to access the human unconscious, the disordered and utterly uncontrolled part of thought. The place where the recorded images became chaos, not because of the failure of the machine, but because of the failure of humanity to let its primitive part go. Oh yes, it was well buried in most people, but still there. It was the stuff that remained the same across a lifetime, only the earliest and most powerful experiences sinking into that particular muck.
Mother's eyes, looking down at him softly, as she sang. Warmth, loved...
Sexual images... whispers and sighs, skin and muscle, sweat and scent danced along the edges of Jim Kirk's consciousness. Uncontrolled, unchecked, raw... His particular, unique fantasies displayed in full living color on the screen... The stink of blood filled his nostrils as the captain was thrown back into the worst battle of his life. Burning flesh and the charge of fatal phasers nearly overwhelmed him. The crack of a man's skull under the impact of his own hands.
He woke at the touch of McCoy's hand on his shoulder. Starting out of the images that always left him with the feeling that he'd had a horrible nightmare, one that lingered in feeling upon waking, the images lost but haunting.
"You alright?" McCoy asked, knowing that Jim would deny any adverse reactions. He always managed to avoid throwing up, or any of the other more obvious reactions that patients had to Vidscans.
"I'll survive," the captain said, managing a slight smile now, his rough voice making the smile a lie.
McCoy removed the electrodes silently, then handed him a brandy nonetheless, knowing also that he would turn down the offer of a sedative. "Pride," the doctor thought sardonically, "Aah, pride."
"Thanks," Jim said simply, and rose, sipping the restorative, walking off the lingering sense of embarrassment from being so exposed.
"Well doctor, am I sane?" he asked, mocking himself as much as anything.
"No," McCoy answered quickly, "But I already knew that."
"Thanks a lot," Jim answered.
"You know you're going to have to stand a whole lot more than that on Betazed," McCoy cautioned, real concern ringing his words.
"Yes, I know" Jim answered, setting the drink down softly, almost carefully.
"You can't fight it like this, Jim. It makes it seem like you have something to hide, which you don't."
"I know that in my head, Bones. I keep saying it to myself. I just... hate the idea of it. I just feel, in my gut, that it's not right for someone to have automatic access to another's thoughts. It shouldn't be o.k. It's rude..."
"Come on, Jim..."
"I know it doesn't make sense, Bones. I'm not talking about logic. I'm talking about what I feel."
"Well, you've got just about six weeks to feel different, Jim. Or you're not going to be able to interact with those people."
"Six weeks," the captain muttered, "Damn! I hate this mission already."
And with that, he set the drink down carefully on the counter, nodded his thanks to his doctor for the brandy, and the talk, and turned to take his leave of the Sickbay and return to the more reasonable demands of the Enterprise bridge.
Chapter Two: Betazed
The Honorable High Priestess M'oldar, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Challis of Rixx, sat staring out of the window of Central Government Hall. The building was thousands of years old, and the unframed stone of the window let in a slightly cool breeze to take the edge off of the stifling summer heat. The Priestess was supposed to be able to ignore the heat by focusing on the thoughts of individuals in the lower levels, who were protected from the sun. But throughout this unusually hot summer there were no individuals with cool and soothing thoughts to lend comfort. Scanning with her formidable mind beyond the Central Office and its compound, she confirmed that this was so. She sighed, resigning herself to discomfort, and turned again to the pile of papers threatening on her desk. Of course there were more complex information processing systems available, but, like so many on Betazed, she had not overcome her preference for simple things. Pen, ink, paper...
The old woman sat looking at the papers in a kind of bewilderment. For the ten thousandth time she wondered how things could have gotten this far. How did the appearance of three strange, mentally deficient beings turn into the greatest debate ever to face the Betazoid world? "My Goddess", she mused, "they were not even women. Three males of this human species. What civilized world would send males to make contact with other worlds?"
She gathered the sleeves of her subtly colored robes, a nervous gesture that she did not bother to control; but she stopped herself from pulling back her mane of thick graying hair. Hair held too many sexual inferences for her to practice such a habit in public.
She had been assured and reassured that the presentation of males was meant as no insult to the Betazoids. In fact, they had intimated that males ruled on most other worlds of this United Federation of Planets. That seemed good enough reason to be suspicious of them. M'oldar could not imagine the carnage that would result from males ruling.
She was startled from her thoughts by Lorial, her assistant. The fact that she had been startled gave witness to the intensity of her disturbance. The young woman stood silently facing her mentor, soft dark eyes crinkled with worry in her round face. Mentally, M'oldar apologized to the young woman.
"I beg forgiveness, Lorial. I am not myself these days."
"There is no need for apology, Priestess" she responded out loud, deliberately giving the interaction an informal, and somewhat playful tone. "I have been known to lose myself in less demanding tasks. So much so that my father fears for my health,"
She said, laying a new pile of paper related to the recent contact down in front of the older woman.
M'oldar smiled fondly, for Lorial's mention of her father had evoked warm thoughts of her own over‑protective father, as no doubt had been the assistant's aim. Looking her directly in the eye, the ruler of the Betazoid world silently acknowledged the skill of her personal assistant, in handling the details of day to day ruling, as well as the personal needs of her superior.
Lorial lowered her eyes in respect and thanks.
The ease of their communication reminded M'oldar once again of the strangeness of the human beings who had visited them. There was never a clear truth with them, because they could not speak mind to mind. Their thoughts were available to Betazoids, but the thoughts often contradicted their words, and even when they agreed, their feelings concerning the words and thoughts did not. The result was almost incomprehensible communication. The humans sometimes appeared to speak gibberish, making Betazoids feel foolish for talking to them. They were a puzzle, and possibly a threat.
They had left behind them documents on who they were, and what their Federation represented, as well as their perspectives on Betazed, which were laughably superficial. M'oldar, and the rest of the ruling Cabinet had the task of reviewing the documents, and making a decision whether to allow further contact. It was clear that the next visitors would press for greater contact and involvement with her people. It was at once a thrilling and appalling thought.
"If only they would send a reasonable woman" M'oldar wished again silently. With males it was impossible to tell if the species was as aggressive and primitive as it seemed. Their men could not even tolerate nudity in formal ceremonies! How could one ever act in good faith covered in the trappings of clothing!
"Priestess!" Lorial interrupted, again aloud. "You must contain yourself. Others are sure to listen for your reactions, and govern themselves accordingly."
Bringing herself up short, M'oldar realized the truth of her assistant's words. With such intensity, every thought she had allowed would be broadcast to the highest hills of Betazed, with the uncivilized and uneducated listening and forming lasting opinions without the slightest hesitation.
"I think that is enough for today," she declared softly. Lorial nodded her agreement as M'oldar pushed away from her ancient desk and rose to take her leave.
"I will prepare tomorrow's agenda," Lorial called as the Priestess walked silently from the room and down the hallway. Then, surveying the desk, Lorial sighed her own sigh of resignation. The Priestess' disturbed thoughts hung like a cloud over the building, and every occupant felt its presence like an approaching storm. Lorial almost wished the humans had never come to Betazed. But, not really. She was thrilled at the prospect of learning of new worlds, of participating in a whole universe. It was the elders who were frightened and hesitant; every young person she had spoken to desperately wanted to escape the provincial and endlessly unsurprising confines of Betazed. By the age of seventeen everyone knew everyone else, and finally understood all of the sexual and political innuendo of private thoughts. What else was there to discover here? Nothing. They wanted the Federation, if only to experience the thrill of untrained and untamed thinkers.
As she turned to the practical concerns of managing the work of her elder, Lorial did not bother to contain her own excited thoughts; they were echoed by everyone under sixty in the building.
In another office of the Central Government building, Corianna Foltrum halted her own review of the Federation material. The Office of Infrastructure Management was overflowing with charts of the city and countryside, along with piles and piles of reports from Field Officers. The lone woman in the room sat at the huge desk dominating the room, but her manner was not one of command.
She was a full adult with tiny lines around her eyes giving her some status. It was her soft eyes and light hair that undermined an air of authority in the Betazed government. Traditionally, members of the Seven Houses were dark in coloring; and, traditionally, they carried the most authority on Betazed.
Corianna sat draped in the flowing robe of her office, and stifled a chill despite the oppressive summer heat. Lorial she could understand, the girl was young and inexperienced; but the thoughts that troubled her were the ones unthought by M'oldar. The fact that the old woman so intently considered the implications of contact meant that a part of her was giving thought to allowing it.
"Betazed will be doomed," Corianna whispered to the empty room. She had found over the years that actually speaking her thoughts limited their projection to other people. She frowned at the realization, and her fair brow crinkled in displeasure. Most of the Federation people could only speak out loud. Humans had no real telepathic or empathic abilities. It seemed to Corianna that only the Vulcans were civilized people, sufficiently evolved to merit contact, and even they relied heavily on males to rule their government.
Lofton stuck his head in the door at that moment.
"So, you going to work all night?" he asked in a playful tone. His manner broke through her dark musing, as usual, and she smiled at her husband gratefully.
"No, my love, I am prepared to leave for the day," she responded.
"Good" he said, "one more hour and the Federation would take over our whole life."
Corianna paused in gathering her belongings, "Lofton, that is not a comment that will get you much favor with the family."
Stepping into the room and taking her bag for her, the tall, dark haired man spoke softly, "Since when do I seek favor with your family?" He asked, and, slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him. She resisted briefly, feeling such conduct was not appropriate at work, especially with such serious matters being discussed. But she knew from long experience that saying so would only further excite her husband. In many ways, he was such a typical man. So preoccupied with certain activities, so limited in other areas. Sometimes she wished for more in a mate, an equal. She knew better than to look for such a thing in a man though. Lofton was enough, and he could be amusing at times.
She deftly slipped out of his grasp, making it a playful move, and smiling from the door, finally replied, "The Seventh House of Betazed is not to be toyed with, my dear. Until we produce a child our place in the family remains unsecured."
He returned her smile, "Well, if you'd stop practicing those escape moves, I could definitely help you with that."
Shaking her head, Corianna laughed and turned to leave the office. Lofton followed, echoing her laughter. It was the sound that had drawn her to him, and the one that eased her troubled spirit.
M'oldar walked slowly down the paved street of Central City, enjoying the simple artistry in its design. A circular park held the "original trees", seven magnificent Roisters that had survived for millennia and rose three hundred feet into the air. Around the park, the government buildings nested in four corners, with four major roadways proceeding outward between them. The simple stone buildings were at least six thousand years old. Beyond this central structure, the Seven Houses rose like castles, encircling the heart of the city. Legend held that the original seven tribes of Betazed came together on this very spot. Here they learned to live together and give up war, as each eldest mother met and embraced the others.
Citizens waved or smiled as M'oldar passed. She was a popular leader, having risen to power through service to her people rather than political maneuvering by her family. Not that the family hadn't contributed all it could to her aspirations. Her mother had been relentless in publicizing M'oldar's good works. At the time M'oldar had always been a bit appalled; later, she came to appreciate the wisdom of Hess's actions. It was a lesson she considered often.
As she rounded the corner of the Arts building, the sky darkened. Looking up and far off to the horizon, the swirling clouds of a summer storm approached rapidly. She knew that she would not make it home before the storm hit, and they could be violent. As she stood pondering whether to duck into the Arts building and risk running into its over‑bearing and condescending officiator, a hovercraft swooped down next to her. It bore the crest of her family, and her personal assistant, Hol, beckoned for her to hurry. He was a large man, as was the custom, and worked to anticipate her every need. She stepped into the craft with gratitude that he was so dedicated to his life's work.
"Hol, you are the most efficient and gracious man on Betazed," she said aloud, in deference to his limited telepathic abilities. Personal assistants worked and lived in close proximity to their employers; if they possessed even average telepathic abilities, they could quickly create political turmoil that would destroy the stability of the Betazed society. Most often they were chosen from the peculiar order of male Priests that occupied the distant hill country. Such men were often large, loyal and very quiet, all suitable qualities for personal assistants.
Hol simply nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment, and deftly maneuvered the craft away from the storm, which at that moment touched the outskirts of Central City. In a matter of minutes, the streets would become fast‑moving streams. M'oldar had seen times when the water approached the second floors of government buildings, despite their design to prevent that event.
"This makes me glad that we voted limited hover access within the city. I never much liked the idea before this moment."
Hol laughed his light laugh in response. They lapsed into silence as he headed toward the grounds of the Fifth house.
"Has the family begun gathering?" she asked, turning back to practical matters.
Hol nodded his head "yes".
M'oldar sighed, knowing that the meeting could not be avoided. Four generations of the Troi family were coming that evening to the home of their ancestors, ready to come to their own consensus about the Federation business. They would not care that their aristocratic society no longer held official rule of Betazed. They would expect that a daughter of the Fifth house would rule according to their decisions, and M'oldar feared that her usual diplomatic strategies would not work in this instance.
Her mother remained the head of the family, and even M'oldar's appointment as ruler of the official government was unrecognized as a higher position. M'oldar counseled herself to contain her more controversial thoughts. It was difficult indeed to appear open to the formidable Betazed aristocrats while at the same time holding some thoughts private. She had managed it on several occasions; on others, it was her mother herself who probed deeper and revealed M'oldar to the family, chastising her for making the attempt to withhold.
The rain ended in the late evening, leaving the Central City awash with swirling waters. The business of the official government would proceed undisturbed, however, given the open design of the lower floors. As the pattern of the falling rain ended, the swirling of the flowing water echoed throughout the compound of the Fifth House, where Hess officiated with easy control.
There were twenty women present and four men. They varied in age from young adulthood to exquisite old age, and yet each displayed a dark beauty that radiated with quiet fire. The men stood at the four corners of the room, silent except when asked directly for input‑ which was seldom. Hess motioned for her sister, Petta, to take the floor. Petta was a reflective woman, and Hess often used her sister's quiet manner to calm meetings wherein emotion threatened to rule.
Petta spoke with an open mind, allowing her foremost thought to flow to others while also freely revealing her own misgivings. "The matter seems a simple one to me," she said, "They have allowed males to represent them, and we can only take these males as their best and their brightest. Why else would they send them to us?"
The family nodded almost in unison at the reasonable statement.
"Yet, we have witnessed that these same males had no ability to speak with us mind to mind, no ability to speak truthfully in fact. They were appalled at our nakedness, and could only feel lust at our bodies. I do not see how we can have contact with such people."
Petta's daughter, Hessa, contradicted her mother, "But they could certainly serve as excellent lovers, Mother," she said aloud, as was the custom for a woman so young.
"They do not offer themselves as lovers, Hessa," M'oldar replied to her niece, "They offer themselves as equals, partners, in matters of State and commerce."
"They do not appear to be sufficiently ready to make such an offer," Hessa finished, and took her seat quietly.
M'oldar, sensing the direction that the meeting was taking, sought the unusual advice of a male, her father. She spoke aloud in deference to his minimal telepathic abilities.
"Father," she asked, and he stepped forward formally, "do you believe we judge the Federation males harshly? Are we overly concerned with their government's decision to send males?"
He smiled ironically before giving an answer. "My daughter, on first thought, I had considered such. You seem to give little thought to their proposal itself, and much consideration to their gender. I would ask that you focus on the specific requests that they have made." He paused, and then continued honestly, "However, I am aware that as you have debated, I have been aware of the loveliness of your voice. I have listened with strained thought for the voice of your mother. I have sought her scent from among you all. I have given her words more weight."
He stepped back to his post, and finished simply, "I am a male, and I cannot escape my nature. How much more so can these men of the Federation?" That said, he lapsed back into stony silence, and the family contemplated their decision each member within herself.
Finally, Hess looked from one to the other, seeking confirmation of her impression. All, save M'oldar, had decided that no further contact should occur. Hess looked quietly to her daughter, and they locked in brief and silent battle. Others turned away, speaking quietly to one another, giving privacy to the very personal battle- that ensued without words.
At last, M'oldar bowed her head, not in agreement, but in deference to her mother and the will of the family. She had no choice, as Hess had known. The choice decided, the family members drifted into the dining room, where a virtual feast awaited them. M'oldar and Hess, however, remained behind. "You have embarrassed me, my daughter", Hess said.
"I beg forgiveness, Mother," M'oldar answered formally.
"You only do so with your words," Hess clarified, for she could see clearly that her daughter had no regret for her behavior, only for the outcome.
"Mother, I have only my words to give," M'oldar answered. "You have placed me in an impossible position, Mother. I must represent the government of our people beyond the wishes of the Fifth House."
"Since when has the needs of our government differed from those of the Fifth House, M'oldar? It has always been my position that the great houses are the government of this land. Do you believe differently?"
"Mother, don't call upon me to endorse rhetoric. I am far too old to pretend what I do not believe, and too old for you to ask it of me," M'oldar whispered angrily.
"But I make no request, my daughter," her mother responded, rising easily and gracefully, "your House has demanded it, and so you must oblige." That said, Hess allowed her own feelings of anger to reach out like a hand and slap against her daughter's mind. M'oldar started at the impact, but held her ground. Hess turned without a backward glance and joined the family feast, while M'oldar sat stewing, feeling like a rebellious teen‑ager even at her advanced age.
Chapter Three: Briefing
Doctor Leonard McCoy sat sprawled in his seat, pursing his lips with a definitely sour expression. He glanced around the table in the Briefing Room, and noted that most of the others looked as perturbed as he. The first meeting between Moriah, the captain and the officers of the Enterprise was less than exemplary. While the Starfleet personnel had extensive experience with First Contact situations, and even with a vast diversity of species, there was something unnerving about the powerful Betazoid telepaths. Peculiar reactions were surfacing in James Kirk, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, Uhura and McCoy. Mr. Spock denied any trepidation, but Moriah remained unsure even of his true reaction.
The officers listened with scorching intensity to details about the Betazoid people, but their questions were almost all around the particulars of telepathic abilities.
Moriah proceeded after an extensive interruption by Scotty, "The structure of the Betazoid society is reflected in the geography of its people. The older families, or Houses, who designed the society, tend to reside in the lower lying areas of the Central City on Betazed. These are the richest lands, producing most of the food for the world. It is commonly believed that the vegetation in these areas contributes to the extraordinary telepathic abilities that tend to occur in the founding families..."
As she paused for breath, the captain sat forward and interrupted. Moriah sighed and listened to yet another question about the nuances of telepathic abilities.
"I wonder," Kirk mused, "if these people equate telepathic abilities with higher status. If that is the case, will they take us seriously at all?"
"All indications are that they are taking us very seriously, Captain. They have already begun debates in the central government about whether to allow further contact," she answered.
"Yes, I realize that," Kirk continued, with that condescendingly charming smile that Moriah found nearly infuriating. "But, there is a difference in accepting us in policy, and being able to take us seriously one to one. I have my own doubts that they will even see us as complete people."
"I hear your concern, Captain, and I think in many ways it has merit..." Moriah continued, but she did not get very far before McCoy jumped into the fray.
"Well if that's the case, we may as well turn around and head home now!" McCoy stormed, "If they are going to judge us by some damned ability to eavesdrop on other people's thoughts, I for one don't want to meet their standard!"
"Gentlemen, please," Spock said firmly, "We have only received the most initial assessment of this species. It seems premature for us to draw any conclusions about the feasibility of this mission; and we have interrupted Ms. Majors so frequently throughout this briefing that I dare say we have learned only a fraction of what she has to convey to us."
The officers were silent in response to his statement, and sat looking a little sheepish as the silence extended. It was Uhura who finally broke it.
"I see your point, Mr. Spock" she said, "But I still can't get past feeling like we're about to be put under some huge all‑seeing microscope. Maybe that doesn't effect you; I mean, you probably can block them if you want to, but it sure gives me the willies."
"Lt. Uhura, Doctor, Captain..." Spock addressed them one by one, carefully, and thoughtfully, "We have managed to work together for many years, and yet you all are aware that Vulcans possess telepathic abilities far beyond human beings. Given your circumstances I fail to understand the nature of your disquiet."
The group of officers sat musing silently, unable at first to answer his riddle. Finally, it was Moriah herself who responded, "Mr. Spock, as a Vulcan you are a logical and reasonable man."
Spock nodded his affirmation unselfconsciously, taking the statement as simple fact rather than flattery.
"You also avoid emotional displays and judgments," Moriah continued, "I believe that humans feel less threatened by Vulcans because we trust that your judgments will be fair and untainted by emotion."
"You may trust it," McCoy muttered, but this time Moriah chose to ignore him.
"Betazoid people are, on the other hand, quite emotional, passionate even. Thus we have less confidence that their perceptions of us will be guided by reason, or logic," she finished.
"You said we", Kirk noted, "does that mean that you have reservations yourself?"
Moriah paused thoughtfully, and took her seat. When she spoke again, she addressed the officers sitting around the table as well as the captain.
"Yes, I do," she said. "It would be foolish not to imagine that there would be difficulties negotiating with a people who can discover your true position at a glance. Just now, I had the freedom to sort through a variety of feelings and thoughts, and to make my own choice about which of those thoughts and feelings to reveal. In a meeting with a Betazoid, I would not. They would know all that I thought and felt."
She paused, and took a deep breath, "On the other hand, we are sincere in all that we offer the Betazed society. The Federation is real, and our position is sound. That being the case, I do not believe that we need to concern ourselves with their telepathic abilities."
In the silence that followed Moriah could sense a change in mood. She had gotten through to the nervous captain and crew. Having reassured the officers, the meeting progressed rather well. In the end the young diplomat was only slightly behind schedule in briefing the Enterprise staff that would be responsible, with her, for representing the Federation to Betazed.
Finally, Kirk broke the silence, and his words jolted the attendants like an electric shock, "I feel that I must make some facts clear to you all at this point," he said. "We already know that this is no ordinary contact situation because of the nature of the Betazoid people. What you don't know is that the Betazed world has been identified as a central player in plans for Romulan expansion."
"Romulan?!" Sulu exploded, "but, we haven't had any intelligence on them for years now."
"We don't even know the exact location of their home planet," Chekov continued, "How can we know a plan for expansion?"
"Because, for the first time in Federation history, we have a mole inside the Romulan Empire," Kirk responded.
Expressions of disbelief began with Uhura and rippled the entire length of the room. At Moriah, the ripple hit a barrier.
"Captain, why wasn't I informed of this information?" she demanded, anger edging her voice.
"Because," Spock responded, "there is no official recognition of the Romulan informant, and therefore no official recognition of her information."
Somehow, hearing the words from Spock, Moriah accepted them more easily than had they come from the captain. She wondered if that explained why he had responded, pre‑empting Kirk.
"In any case," the captain continued, "we simply cannot afford to bungle this contact. We need Betazed in the Federation, probably as much as we once needed the neutral zone to prevent intergalactic war."
Kirk stopped, and one by one gave his officers his full attention. Moriah noted that they all seemed to sign on again to take on the responsibility of protecting the galaxy. As his gaze came around to her, Kirk's demeanor changed subtly. He was unsure of her loyalty and her ability; and therefore, did not give her the same measure of consideration. Yet, he needed her.
"Now that you have this information, Ms. Majors, do you need to make any changes in the briefing you just gave us?" he asked.
Fighting down her resentment and sudden dread, Moriah responded carefully, "Captain, I can't make that kind of judgment off the top of my head. My conclusions regarding the Betazoids have been months in the making..."
"You'll find that kind of deliberation is not helpful in the field, Ms. Majors," Kirk shot back. "You'll be called upon to make decisions quickly and decisively by the time we stand face to face with these people."
"I understand, Captain," she responded, feeling her face flush with anger, but at the same time recognizing the truth in his words. "However, what you've just told me changes the very premises of my conclusions. I would say I'll need at least the night to consider what changes I need to make."
"Very well," Kirk said, pushing away from the table. It felt like a dismissal when she should have been in charge of the meeting. "We'll leave you to it," Kirk said, and turned and left the room.
As the group slowly followed their captain out of the meeting room, Moriah reviewed her notes, preparing for the next meeting. Although she relied on the computer for formal presentations, she often resorted to pen and paper for smaller gatherings, and situations closer to her heart. She was so absorbed that she did not note the science officer's presence until the room was completely empty and silent. Glancing up, she started violently at his sudden presence at her elbow. Her papers went flying, and she let out a little yelp that she would have paid dearly to retract.
Her embarrassment quickly turned to self‑amusement though, and as Spock bent without comment to retrieve the scattered notes, Moriah broke up into laughter. He paused, simply holding the papers quietly, until her laughter subsided.
"Sorry about that" she said, wiping her eyes. "I didn't see you, and then..."
"Levity is a most effective stress release for Humans, in my experience," Spock interrupted, handing her the gathered notes.
Eying him closely, Moriah again revised her estimate. "You are a very observant man, Mr. Spock", she said.
"Indeed," he answered, "as science officer it is my duty to be observant."
Moriah smiled at his statement, and returning to her seat, realized that he had an uncanny way of making her feel better.
"And you always have a perfectly logical and reasonable rationale for your actions, your perspective," she finally said.
"Of course," Spock answered, "I am a Vulcan."
At that, Moriah simply nodded her acceptance of his statement, and then motioned him to sit. "Thank you for supporting me during the meeting, Mr. Spock. Things were getting a little out of control there for a minute."
"The captain, and the officers, are passionate people, Ms. Majors. They do not intend to be difficult."
"Really?" Moriah questioned with a bit of sarcasm, "Even Captain Kirk?"
An eyebrow rose in surprise at her observation. Pausing to reflect on the question, Spock began to squirm a bit.
"Never mind," Moriah stopped him, "I know you are friends. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
Suddenly, his own voice took on a decided edge, "Ms. Majors, you do not need to apologize for your perspective. My friendship with the captain does not require that I entertain only his positive qualities."
He stopped, and Moriah noted the sudden return to the unemotional, poised manner, which reflected that, for an instant, it had dropped. "In any case, I remained to reassure you. I believe that the briefings are proceeding as well as can be expected, given the circumstances." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The Betazeds present a very special and different problem for human beings, Ms. Majors. I believe that they are concerned about being judged, and even more threatening, that judgment would be based not on misperception, but on who they are in truth."
"I know," Moriah said, "but it can't be helped. The best way to meet the Betazoids is simply to be honest, I think, with all of our misgivings and concerns. My review of the material left by the First Contact team suggests that the Betazoids value open and honest exchange over all else. It will be the tendency to try to hide, to withhold, that would make this situation a disaster."
Spock nodded his agreement, and then rose with Moriah to exit the room. At the door, she stopped short and smiled brightly, "Hey, you make a pretty good sounding board" she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder.
As she turned and walked away down the corridor, Spock noted with a sudden dread that her smile had traveled through him like an electric shock, and that her voice was like a beacon. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned deliberately, and walked in the opposite direction.
Uhura and Sulu made their way together back to the Bridge of the Enterprise. They continued a debate that had begun days ago, as soon as Moriah came aboard.
"Well, if you ask me, she's as worried as we are," Sulu said softly, careful not to be overheard by the younger crewmen in the corridor. "You saw her, she had to stop to regroup in a meeting with us, and we can't read her mind."
"Frankly, Sulu, I'd be more worried if she wasn't worried. This is no ordinary contact situation, and she's got a big chunk of the responsibility for it. So, good, she's worried," Uhura concluded.
"I don't know Uhura. I've got a bad feeling about this one," Sulu said, stepping into the Turbo Lift. "I just can't shake it, and it doesn't go away."
"Bridge", Uhura commanded, and resumed her conversation thoughtfully, "Sulu, you're no different from the rest of us. None of us look forward to meeting these people. It's only human, but I don't think it's about Moriah, I think its about the Betazoids."
"Its about both," Sulu concluded, stepping off of the lift onto the Bridge. As he and Uhura took their duty stations, the same debate repeated around them in varying shades of concern and misgiving. Most of the crew did not even know the details of the mission, but all seemed to sense the import of this particular contact, and few of them seemed to like it.
After listening briefly, Sulu turned and gave Uhura a knowing look, but she only shrugged and slowly turned her attention to the Communications Console. With a frown playing at the delicate features of her face, she tried to focus on the details of her work.
