Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [204]
Of course, back at the Academy, Greyhorse had never met a real mindreader. Now he could actually say he had treated one in his sickbay. What would Slattery have to say about…
He stopped himself, his brain suddenly ranging ahead of his recollection. He was making connections that he hadn’t made before, connections that seemed so obvious now that he felt mortified.
A real mindreader, he repeated inwardly.
The medical officer studied the screen again, staring at the complex chains of molecules that had figured in his re-creation of psilosynine. If he had been born with such a neurotransmitter…
Greyhorse’s heart was pounding. He had to speak with Commander Picard, he told himself, and he had to do it quickly.
Picard gazed across the captain’s desk at the hulking, stony-featured form of Carter Greyhorse. “You made it sound as if this were a matter of some urgency,” he told the doctor.
Greyhorse leaned forward in his chair. “It is. Or rather, it might be. All I need is a chance to find out.”
The second officer wasn’t in the mood for riddles. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” he suggested.
“Of course,” said the doctor. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ever since we left Earth, I’ve been attempting to duplicate the work of a Betazoid scientist named Relanios.”
Picard nodded. “I’ve heard of him.”
Greyhorse looked at him, surprised. “You have?”
The commander smiled. “I have other interests beside beating the tar out of hostile aliens, Doctor. As I recall, Turan Relanios was synthesizing the neurotransmitter that gives Betazoids their—”
He stopped himself in midsentence, grasping the import of what Greyhorse must have done. “You’ve synthesized psilosynine?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, his dark eyes bright beneath his jutting brow. “Then you see the possibilities? You see how important this substance might be to us?”
Picard nodded. “Indeed.”
In a human being, the neurotransmitter might create a fleeting capacity for telepathic communication. But in a mind already developed along such lines…a mind like a Magnian’s…
Then something occurred to him.
“There’s a danger here,” said the second officer.
“That the psilosynine might trigger a reaction in the colonists’ brains,” Greyhorse acknowledged, dismissing the idea in the same breath. “That they might develop even greater powers…along with the personality aberrations experienced by Gary Mitchell.”
Picard regarded him. “You don’t seem especially concerned.”
“I am concerned,” said the doctor. “Deeply concerned. However, I made a study of Serenity Santana’s neurological profile before I came to see you. And on a preliminary basis, at least, I would have to say there isn’t anything to worry about.”
“But you cannot be certain?”
Greyhorse shook his massive head. “Not until I have had a chance to conduct clinical tests.”
“Which would have to be conducted under the most closely monitored conditions,” Picard maintained.
After all, he already had a faceless saboteur to contend with. He didn’t need a burgeoning superman prowling his ship in the bargain.
“You mean guards,” said the doctor. “In my sickbay.”
“Yes,” the second officer insisted, refusing to yield on this point. “Several of them. And all armed.”
Greyhorse obviously didn’t like the idea. But given what was at stake, he seemed willing to acquiesce. “All right,” he told the second officer. “But we need to begin as quickly as possible.”
“As quickly as we can find a Magnian who will agree to be your guinea pig,” said Picard.
The doctor looked unperturbed. “Leave that to me.”
The second officer knew that they were about to tread new ground in the field of biomedical research. They were about to go where no human scientist had gone before.
He just hoped they wouldn’t end up regretting it.
Sixteen
Captain’s log, supplemental. I have discussed Dr. Greyhorse’s idea with Mr. Ben Zoma, the only other officer on this ship who knows every facet of my mind in these complicated times. Unfortunately, he is less sanguine about the doctor’s scheme than I am. Ben Zoma had come to think of our attack