Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [42]
“That’s what holodecks are for,” Picard told him—more coldly, perhaps, than he had intended.
“Holodecks?” Archangel echoed scornfully. “Do you think—”
“Warren!” snapped Storm.
He looked at her, his eyes wide with indignation.
“Ororo, I can’t—”
“You can,” she insisted, “and you will. We are guests here. You must not forget that.”
Archangel continued to stare at her for what seemed like a long time. Then he glanced at Picard, as if measuring the man’s resolve.
Finally, he moved away. And in accordance with Storm’s wishes, he didn’t take to the air again. He walked.
The captain watched him go. Part of him sympathized with the mutant’s point of view. However, another part of him remained stubbornly opposed to Archangel’s thoughtless behavior.
And yet another part, he realized, simply didn’t like the man. He couldn’t deny it. Sometimes, a person just rubbed one the wrong way—and Archangel was such a person.
Storm turned to Picard. “You were harsh on him,” she noted.
He took a breath, then let it out. “Perhaps.”
“If you understood Warren a little better …” she began.
“I understand him all too well,” the captain told her—again, more dispassionately than he would have liked.
“I do not think so,” the woman persisted. “You believe he flies about your vessel because he hates confinement. And that is true—he hates it with a passion. But that is not the reason he flies.”
Picard pulled down on the front of his uniform. “Then why does he fly? Why does he go around startling my crew at every opportunity?”
“What he’s doing,” Storm explained, “is pushing the envelope.”
The captain turned to her. “Pushing … ?”
“The envelope,” she repeated. “Trying to see how far he can go.”
“I’m familiar with the phrase,” Picard told her. “What I’m having trouble with is the application.”
Storm frowned. “You have to understand something about the world we come from, Captain. As long as any of us can remember, we have been hunted and feared by so-called ‘normal’ human beings. Being accepted for what we are … it has always been a dream to us, a goal we could hold up but never realistically hope to attain.”
“So I’ve been apprised,” said the captain.
“Yet in your reality,” she continued, “prejudice and race-hatred seem to have been eliminated. Had we not seen it with our own eyes, we would never have believed it. And yet, here it is.”
Storm’s voice trembled ever so slightly. Her eyes took on a surprisingly liquid cast, as if they looked upon something precious and holy.
“We wield powers your people have never heard of. In our world, we would have been cast out for that—purged mercilessly from society. But no one here has tried to purge us. On the contrary—they have done everything in their power to embrace us.”
Picard nodded. “I see,” he said softly.
The mutant heaved a sigh. “I hope so. I hope you comprehend the wonder of a society that judges each being on his or her merits. More than your technological advances, more than the great distances you have traveled in search of knowledge … this is the true miracle of your Federation, Captain. This is your greatest achievement.”
She fell silent then, overcome with emotion, and the captain didn’t dare break that silence. He waited until Storm herself decided to go on.
“What does this have to do with Warren?” she asked. She smiled wistfully. “Deep down, my friend, he does not trust this world of yours—its generosity or its willingness to accept him for what he is. And, insofar as you are a symbol of your world, he does not trust you.”
Picard tried to follow her. “He wants to see if there is a limit to my acceptance of him.”
Storm nodded. “That is correct. Like a child deprived of his parents at an early age, it is difficult for him to feel loved by anyone. So he probes. He tests. He attempts to prove to himself, over and over again, that a place like this can be real.”
The captain regarded her. “What would you have me do, Ororo? Ignore his behavior? Allow him to run roughshod over my crew?”
She shook her head, her silver tresses glinting in the overhead