CHAPTER SIX
Tammas wasn’t supposed to be aware of the implant they had placed in his head, but he was adamant that he could feel the pressure of where it was. He didn’t care if it was a “real” feeling or psychosomatic response to something having been inserted into his head. Real or imagined, he felt something. At first, he had refused to have the procedure done, but as they tried to explain to him how beneficial it would be for him, he started warming to the idea. Supposedly, it had not yet altered any of his neurotransmitter levels, but was only monitoring him and giving the doctors a map of his brain activity, both chemical and electrical. He watched the monitor fascinated by the explosions of lights and the dancing web of electricity that spider webbed through his brain like lightening. The neural transmitters were assigned colors and they ballooned and flowed through the brain in amazing patterns, like spherical explosions of fire works that triggered waves of further explosions, a mixing of fluidic colors.
“Will this make me normal?” he asked.
“You are normal,” Gart assured him, also fascinated by the computer generated representation of Tam’s brain at work.
“No, I am not normal,” Tammas said, raising the volume as he spelled out “normal” in Morse Code.
“Normal is just the wrong choice of words. You have some mental and behavioral challenges, which are mostly the result of complex biological processes,” Gart tried to explain.
“So, again, it will make me normal?” Tammas asked. “It doesn’t help me if you soft soap stuff and you give me a false impression about reality.”
“Pretty much, yes,” Gart surrendered. Tammas had already begun to change from being associated with him and the other doctors. His mind set was more clinical and absolute as opposed to the more nebulous thinking patterns he had arrived with. His spatial acuity and musical comprehension were off the charts.
“Will it hurt when it dumps medicine?” Tammas asked.
“You won’t even know it’s there,” Gart said, half heartedly. He was following a line of information on his PADD. He had to open another window to run the recording back several second and observe the artifact he thought he had seen. The real time image remained prominent. “McCoy, did you see that?”
“See what?” McCoy asked, obviously missing it.
“I already know it’s there!” Tammas protested.
“I assure you, it’s you’re over active imagination,” Gart insisted, trying to stay focused on his work. “There it is again. What is that?”
“Beats me,” McCoy said.
“Can I have upgrade options?” Tammas asked
“What sort of options?” McCoy asked.
“I would like the ability to access computers without manually typing out Morse code. Also I would like to access visual and audio information from the IS-Net directly into my head,” Tammas spelled out in Morse.
At first McCoy balked, saying things like, “If God had meant for us to be wired to computers, he would have made us out of silicon.” But in the end, McCoy consented to certain upgrades. He figured it would facilitate communication until Tammas learned to speak.
It took a few days before Tammas had full control over the “Extra’s” in his implant, but as soon as he got the hang of it, he was able to access his email without even getting up from his bed. He was also able to surf the IS-net in the comfort of his head, accessing all sort of information, words either translated directly into audio speech, or Morse Code, depending on his preference. None the less, he had access to everything, whether it was audio, visual, olfactory, or tactile. Best of all, his writing speed increased to the speed of thought. He was now able to knock out whole stories in a quarter of the time it previously took. He was also able to write and record entire musical scores. If it weren’t for Gart’s consistent interruptions, he would have never left his head. McCoy wasn’t there to see how well his brain had taken to the implant, as he had had to return to Earth.
“Tammas, when we added the upgrades to your implant, you told me you would practice the bio and neuro feedback programs I supplied you with,” Gart said.
“They’re difficult,” Tammas thought, his words spelling out over Gart’s PADD, even though he could also hear his thoughts.
“Well, your computer access time will be limited from now on and will be awarded based on your efforts and performance of biofeedback exercises,” Gart said. “And for now on, if you want to communicate with someone, you must use your voice.”
“I don’t understand the game,” Tammas said.
“Have you noticed how our communicating is different than say with McCoy, or Natalia?” Gart asked.
“There isn’t continuous feedback,” Tammas observed. “It’s like Spock. It’s because you are alien and we share this game.”
“No, the reason they did’t have continuous feedback,” Gart explained. “As you put it, is they were not telepaths. And I have not allowed you to establish a permanent telepathic bond with me, so you won’t get it with me, either.”
“I don’t understand,” Tammas said.
“What’s your explanation for non-telepaths, Natalia and Juan, ignoring you?” Gart asked.
“I am not an adult, so they can’t respond to me,” Tammas said.
“Oh, but they talked to your sister, Jovet,” Gart pointed out.
“They were biologically compelled,” Tammas said. “And even so, they did not truly communicate with her. They often failed to listen and identify with her emotional state. In that regard, we were both equal. Children are lesser beings. It’s the only explanation as to why we are so often disregarded as entities.”
Gart sighed. “You’ve created a pretty solid paradigm. You have an explanation for everything.”
“Not everything,” Tammas thought.
“Really?” Gart asked, not a little sarcastic. Dealing with Tammas was like dealing with a know-it-all teenager. “What don’t you know?”
“I don’t know. If I knew, then I would know…”
Gart laughed out loud.
“Are you hungry?” Gart asked.
“No.”
“Well, come with me. We’re going to go relax for awhile.” Gart said.
“Can I access the IS-Net?” Tammas asked.
“No, we’re going to do something fun that’s social,” Gart said.
“The Net is a form of social interaction…” Tammas explained.
“No to the Net, yes to let’s go,” Gart insisted
Gart took Tammas to a museum where they walked around and talked about art. Tammas was often more interested in observing the people than the art. He often got annoyed when Gart interrupted his observations about the people with questions about the art. He was especially interested in a red head who was sitting Indian style on the floor, drawing on a sketch pad. Gart distracted him again. “So, what do you see here?”
When Gart asked him about the art, Tammas felt he was being tested, and he was becoming more and more frustrated that he couldn’t find the answer Gart was looking for. He had always managed to find out what people wanted, and again, he reminded himself that Gart was an alien and this was a new game to master. But what did that mean exactly? Could it mean some people were easier to understand than others? Was there actually different ways to communicate? If Morse Code was a game, could waving one’s hand be a game?
“What do you see here?” Gart asked.
“It’s a visual representation of the First Man and Woman, a parallel to the Adam and Eve stories from earth,” Garcia said, describing the naked people in an idealistic garden setting with lots of animals. “Only, it can’t be the First Man and Woman.”
“Why not?” Gart asked, perplexed.
Tammas looked at Gart as if he were an idiot. “Because, they have belly buttons,” he explained, patiently. “That means they were born, they had parents.”
Gart had to laugh at the obvious, something even he had over looked. “Tell me, Tammas,” Gart said. “Other than writing, and your pen pals, do you have any hobbies or interests?”
“I like building rockets. And I have my amateur subspace radio license,” Tammas said. The red head was packing her stuff to leave.
“Would you like something to drink?” Gart asked.
“I guess,” Tammas said, wanting to follow the red head. He wanted to see what she had sketched. Maybe he would write a short story about her.
They ended up at the café, part of which was inside the museum itself, leading to an area outside shaded by trees. There was a stage with musical instruments lying cradled, which Tam observed with apparent interest. They sat and Gart ordered their drinks. Tammas was surprised by the person taking the order, for he was male. Tam was accustomed to seeing a female in that role and he actually wanted to see a female in that role. When the man returned with the drinks, he wondered if there was something wrong with the man.
“There’s nothing wrong with him, Tam,” Gart assured him.
The drink was interesting. It was a fruit drink that Tammas hadn’t tasted before, a combination of sweet and bitter that he found pleasant. While he sipped at the drink, he looked at the instruments out of curiosity. He hadn’t played any music since arriving on Betazed and he was feeling a compulsion to run to the stage and start playing.
“The Laughing Vulcan and his dog,” Tammas thought and then locked down on that. “STOP singing that,” he told himself.
Gart observed Tam as he tried to get around his obsessive compulsive disorder, wondering what the deeper thoughts that were trying to surface were. Obviously he wasn’t ready to deal with those thoughts yet, and so his mind was using the song compulsion as a way to distract himself from the deeper stuff. The brain was a remarkable instrument. It knew more about itself than even the person did and it would do everything it could to protect itself, even resorting to amnesia or a coma if that was the only way it could protect itself from information it wasn’t ready to process.
“I thought you said the implant would eliminate compulsive thoughts,” he told Gart, disappointed at the persistence of that one song.
“I said it will help. Your mind has seven years of practice, it will take some time to build some new habits,” Gart said.
Tammas nodded as if he understood. He looked back to the stage.
“You’re welcome to go play them,” Gart said.
“Will I get in trouble?” Tammas asked.
“Of course not,” Gart said. “That’s why they’re there.”
“I mean,” Tammas thought, looking around. “It’s okay to play in public?”
“Absolutely,” Gart said. “Who knows? Maybe someone will play with you.”
Tammas was hesitant. “Play with me?”
“Go, play. They will come.”
Tammas pushed his chair away from the table and went to the stage. The instruments were strange and new, but after a moment with each one, he had sufficiently figured out how to make them sing with the sound of expertise. His first attempt at one of the wind instrument made a familiar, awkward sound, reminding him of the trean. He looked nervously around and noticed no one was paying him any mind, so he continued with the thing until he mastered it as well. Satisfied, he returned it to its cradle and moved to the last, making some observations. On the whole, musical instruments had some universal traits, which made them predictable. Variables were manifestations of the creatures who designed them, accounting for appendages necessary to perform, and audible capabilities. Betazoids were humanoid and their hearing range was so similar to humans, it stood to reason that they would enjoy similar tonal qualities in their music.
The last instrument he tried, however, presented some peculiar challenges. For one, it was meant for an adult. His hand barely managed to fit the range of keys. He was about to give up when an elderly man took up the sister instrument in a cradle near by and emulated Tam’s performance. Tammas repeated the tones and the elderly man again repeated Tam’s performance, but then added his own. Tammas followed suit and each time the man pushed the complexity of the rhythm and sound to another level. This went on until Tammas exceeded the man’s ability to keep up. The old man started laughing.
“”My name is Ian,” he said. “If you would like to continue to play a duet with me, don’t challenge, rather follow along with my tempo and rhythm. Triplets and such are fine, but try not to over flourish. Okay? Follow my lead.”
Tammas found it easy to play along and quickly figured out the rules to the music based on Ian’s playing. It was similar to a fugue, with repetitive themes. The old man played with his eyes closed, as if remembering something. Then Tammas realized it was all improvised and that the man was simply enjoying the shared experience. Even though Tammas was playing off the old man, the old man was also responding to Tammas, and each caused the song to evolve through subtle imitations and improvements. At the songs conclusion, Tammas discovered the audience had grown, but none were really looking at him. He made the sudden connection that people can hear without seeing. He wondered why he had never made that obvious connection before.
Ian opened his eyes after a moment of silence and then laughed hardily. “Good show, son. What’s your name?”
“Tammas,” he thought.
The old man seemed unable to hear Tammas’s thoughts and Tammas had no way of reading him. Out of reflex he reached out to touch the old man, but Gart mentally reprimanded him and he withdrew his hand. Two other men came on stage and took up instruments.
“Tammas,” Gart thought to him. “Use your voice, not your mind. Speak to them.”
“If you’ll lead,” the old man said. “We’ll follow.”
“I am, but they aren’t listening. Are they human?” Tammas asked Gart.
“No.” Gart said.
“Then they can play your game,” Tammas said. “They should respond to me.”
“They are,” Gart said. “Listen and emulate.”
Frustrated, Tammas decided to stick to music. Wasn’t that what Gart was telling him to do. Listen and emulate? At least people listened when he played music. There was expectancy in the room that was calling him to fill the silence with sound. And sound he gave them. He threw out a dozen simultaneously clashing notes, which at first reflected his frustration, but he couldn’t leave the tonal tension so unresolved and chaotic. He found form in that mess he threw out there and slowly brought the cords together until there was something meaningful. As he brought clarity to his musical theme, the others began to join in one by one until all four instruments were playing in harmony. He closed his eyes as he neared the end of the movement, imagining how glorious it would be with a full orchestra resounding to life in the second part. What a let down it was going to be as he continued driving them towards this end and not having the back up he imagined it needed. He considered accessing a computer and pumping some music in over the museum paging system, but when he realized how far astray his thought process was taking him from the music, he took a breath and refocused on the theme at hand. The four instruments now sounded as one, soft, but pure in tone. One by one they dropped out until only his was left. He would have to do something very subtle to end it here. Fading. There, we can leave it at that, Tammas thought.
But his mind wanted, no, his mind demanded the next movement, and as he heard it in his head, he heard it in real life, exploding like the 1812 Overture with full cannon accompaniment that nearly blew him off the stage. He stood up, eyes opening. He thought he had imagined it, but indeed, a small orchestra ensemble had assembled itself while he had been focused on the theme. It didn’t matter that it was not a full orchestra because of their superior ability to perform. The cannon noise came from a synthesizer.
Tammas looked to Gart Xerx for confidence or for answers. He wasn’t sure which. His daughter Chandra had joined him and she was accompanied by a friend. That friend was smiling as she pulled her chair in closer to Gart and Chandra, showing off cleavage as she did so. She looked up and smiled at Tammas, brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes, as she made herself comfortable.
Her smile practically paralyzed Tammas. He quit playing, his heart pounding in his chest, his head full of music like he had never heard before, and he was tempted to run a diagnostic on his neural implant, thinking he might be getting feedback from all the music… but then, he decided he liked the sensation. He felt heat on his face and arms, and a trickle of sweat began to course down the side of his face. His only thoughts were, “Oh, my, god.” And her smile grew as if she had heard him.
“Tammas,” Garts voice broke in over his pause. “Focus on the music.”
“I need…” Tammas tried to think. What was it? Clarity? Purpose? Resolve. A link. He wanted to touch her. More than the red head. More than the Fleet girl at the airport whose legs sparkled as she walked. Here sat a goddess. A heroine from one of the stories he had heard or told or retold. He wanted…
“I know.” Gart’s thoughts were kind, but they were also resolute.
“Please…” Tammas pleaded.
“No, Tammas. I will not allow you to create a bond with her,” Gart said.
“Oh my, Deanna,” Chandra said. “He’s in love with you. What is it with you and human males?”
Deanna shrugged. “Isn’t he a bit young for puberty?”
“I feel…” Tammas pleaded.
“Focus on the music,” Gart said, more insistent.
“What is this?” Tammas asked.
“Focus…” Gart said. His thoughts were patient, but firm.
“Maybe I should leave,” Deanna said.
“No,” Tammas pleaded
“Wait,” Gart said, putting his hand on hers.
“He’s clearly distressed,” Deanna said.
“He needs to work through this. This is therapy,” Gart said. “Tammas, if you want to establish a friendship with Deanna Troi, you will have to learn to speak. You will not be able to communicate with her telepathically and I want you to stop eaves dropping through me.”
“Deanna,” Tammas tried.
“Focus on your music,” Gart said.
“Why are you doing this to me? I don’t understand!” Tammas all but screamed, wanting to throw a tantrum, but for some reason he worried that Deanna may not approve of such a public fit. “This is torture.”
“You will live,” Gart assured him
Tammas’ rage exploded out of his instrument. It was anguish and anger and it clashed with the concert behind him, but when they didn’t quit playing out of shock from his tantrum or because the harmony was completely shattered, his mind turned to solving the musical equation he had introduced. It was complex, but workable. As he calmed, so did the music. Soon he was playing a new melody that melted into the score behind him as if it had always been meant to be. Soon, part of the orchestra adapted to that new theme and incorporated it into their performance, while the others carried on with the original plan. It became difficult to distinguish between melody and harmony because the competing themes often traded emphasis on what was important.
While the music was winding its way to its conclusion, Tammas was again formulating ways to create a bond with Deanna. Perhaps if he fainted, she would rescue him, or if he could drown she would resuscitate him, or if he just simply died she would have such feelings for him that he might live forever and for the first time Tammas actually had a feeling to associate reading Romeo and Juliet. From this time forward his writing wouldn’t just be emulation of the great writers, but would be more powerful than ever, and it was all because of Deanna Troi. Troi, obviously the face that launched a thousand ships, Troi. Even his music had gained a quality that he had not remembered having before. This woman who would launch a thousand ships, or was that Helen Troy, no, Helen of Troy... No, just Deanna, and he was ready to die for her. He could reach her that way.
“Is that really the sort of game you want to play?” Gart asked.
There was a sense of sadness as each musician dropped out, one by one, until again Tammas was the solitary performer. He faded and ended with three clashing notes. It took all his might to push away from the instrument and leave the stage without resolving that musical tension he left in the air. He went and sat down at the table with Gart, Chandra, and Deanna the goddess Troi. He ignored the orchestra as they started up a new song, focusing only on Deanna. Gart was right. That wasn’t the game he wanted to play. He wanted to be alive and in her presence rather than simply a fleeting memory.
“That was your theme song,” Tammas said.
“So, Tammas, is it?” Deanna said. “How long have you been playing like that?”
“Just today,” he answered her. “I never played before seeing you.” But she didn’t hear him.
“That was just over the top, Tammas,” Chandra said. “Father had told me you were a genius, but I thought he might be exaggerating.”
“Have you made many friends since coming to Betazed?” Troi asked.
“No,” Tammas answered.
“Well,” Troi said. “It’s good seeing you, Gart. I’m meeting someone here in a little bit.”
“That wouldn’t be that Riker guy you swore you would never talk to, now, would it?” Chandra asked.
“If you must know… Yes,” Troi said. “I’ll check in with you later, mother.”
Chandra laughed. “That’s not fair, Deanna.”
“Bye,” Deanna said.
“No,” Tammas said, his voice sounding strained.
Troi stopped. “What?”
“Don’t go,” Tammas said, his voice sounding harsh and untrained, as a deaf person’s voice might sound.
“I must go,” Deanna said, for though she couldn’t understand his voice, she was able to read his mind.
“Deanna,” Gart said. “Would you be interested in getting some extra credit to apply towards your internship?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Would you be willing to work with Tammas, maybe one to three days a week?” Gart asked.
“That would be lovely,” Deanna said. “Is that okay with you, Tammas?”
He simply nodded, star struck as it were.
“Well, then. I guess that’s settled. Stop by my office and I will update you on his particulars,” Gart said, and bid his farewell to Deanna.
Deanna waved and departed for her hot date. Tammas strained to keep her in his line of sight until she was gone and then he crumbled to the table, completely exhausted. Gart rubbed his shoulder.
“This is great, Tammas. You’ve yet to realize what a big step this was for you today,” Gart said.
Tammas tried to say a number of things, but nothing coherent came out.
“You will have to slow your thoughts down a bit, Tammas.” Gart said. “The brain thinks much faster than it can speak. If you practice the biofeedback programs I offered you, they will help you immensely to slow your thinking down enough that you can speak affectively.”
“Who’s this Riker fellow?” Tammas thought.
“He’s Star Fleet,” Gart said. “A nice person. I’ll introduce you.”
Tammas only glowered at the table. He didn’t like Riker. He didn’t like him one bit.