Submitted for the November 2024 prompt: Aspirational Utopias

We watched Karen through the office window, dancing and laughing with the smaller children. It was hard not to.

 

"They have such unaffected joy while they're young! I miss that so much," I said.

 

"I suppose that will be some small comfort to you, Mrs. Mallory," her doctor observed.

 

I spun to face him. He blinked, startled, either at my sudden movement or the anger in my gaze. His expression was opaque behind thick-lensed glasses, but he would be just as hard to read without them. His professional mask had been worn so long it had grown to be a part of him now; I could sense that from here.

 

He read my thought. "It gets to be far too painful otherwise," he explained. "More to the point, when doctors don't stay detached from their patients, they tend to make poor decisions — based in emotion, or prioritizing the immediate over the long-term good."

 

"Or the good of society," I said darkly, not trying to keep the resentment out of my voice.

 

"Exactly," he said, smiling faintly. "You've struck on the operative point perfectly. The good of society—"

 

"You're certain?" I interrupted.

 

He nodded. "As sure as we can be. Our experience in these matters isn't as deep as one might think, but... at her age, to have none of the Gestalt connections whatsoever? No, she's completely immune to the Symbiont, rejects it entirely. A first-generation mutation, it must be, since you and her father are both so strongly integrated."

 

"And there's nothing you can do? No... no cure?"

 

"I'm afraid not," he said, affecting sadness. "We'll try to isolate the abnormality, of course, but even then—"

 

"What about her?" I demanded. "Karen's aptitude tests were so very high across the board, but now she's falling behind in school. Her most recent scores—"

 

"Are irrelevant," he snapped. Then he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "You don't seem to fully grasp the consequences. Karen will never be able to access the Gestalt, nor the Gestalt her."

 

I could feel the pressure of will building, as the minds of more physicians were drawn into the discussion.

"Without the Symbiont, she's denied telepathy. She can never receive instruction or correction directly from her mentors," he continued, with all the force of his profession slowly gathering to support his position. "Any contribution she makes to society will be individual, and thus inferior. It would be better for no one to perform a task than to have her do so, as she will necessarily do it badly."

 

The voices of ten thousand physicians thundered through my mind in unison. SHE HAS NO FUTURE.

 

The Gestalt has such power, such force, and it is always right. To even think of disagreeing with every expert in the field... and yet...

 

Despite the pressure, I felt my mouth moving, heard it form words. They burst loose. "She's my daughter," I wailed. "You can't expect me to—"

 

THE GOOD OF THE MANY, said the Physicians. THE GOOD OF SOCIETY.

 

Behind my eyes, in the heart of my own connection, I felt tenuous support appear and slowly grow — the minds of other mothers, of fathers, of grandparents and teachers and favorite aunts, all gathering in their own Gestalt. "What use is any society that fails the individual?" I asked, and a million voices posed the question along with me.

 

Without warning, with no intent, the collective minds of humanity focused on our conversation and roiled in disagreement. On one side, the Gestalt of the socio-medical professions argued the good of the many from their lofty academic perches. On the other, all those who felt love, compassion, the hope of the next generation and the failures of the past — we came together with one voice and shouted NO!

 

After an extended, timeless moment, consensus was reached, and the voices of the multitudes receded from our minds. I inhaled sharply, feeling suddenly empty, hollow, a glove without a hand. Sudden movement outside the window drew my eyes, and I saw her again — my daughter, dancing in a brief shower of rain, delighting in the sprays of color as sunlight lit up the falling water.

 

A throat cleared. Oh, yes. The doctor.

 

"It seems we've been overridden," he said dryly, a glint of humor escaping through a crack in his concrete demeanor. "Special allowances will be made to see to her training. She will become..."

 

"Whatever she wants to," I completed the thought.

 

"Indeed." He cleared his throat, then stood on shaky legs. The full attention of the collective mind of humanity isn't something we experience every day, not even from within the Gestalt. He clung to his professional distance like a drowning man to his lifebelt — yet there he was, reaching out a hand.

 

I blinked. Then I shook it.

 

"Stay in touch, Mrs. Mallory," he said, stuttering slightly. "And if you ever need me..."

 

"You're only a thought away," I finished for him, and smiled.