Enterprise By the Book

by Dean Wesley Smith

  But Archer wasn’t ready to dismiss his security chief’s hunches that quickly. One of the reasons Archer was glad to have Reed on board was Reed’s ability to assess a situation and make a rapid judgment about it. If he couldn’t yet articulate that judgment, fine. He would research it until he could.

  Or until something went wrong.

  Considering how the first contact had gone, Archer would rather have the research find the so-called anomaly.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “I require some better pictures than we can get from orbit,” Reed said. “Do I have your permission to fly the shuttlepod in to obtain them?”

  “I would advise strongly against any landing,” T’Pol said; then she glanced at Archer to see if she had spoken out of turn.

  A nervous Vulcan. What a concept. He knew better than to point it out to her.

  “I agree,” Archer said. “Low flights only. I want to be kept informed on what you discover with them as well. Something about this planet is going to make sense before we leave here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Reed said.

  Archer nodded absently. He was no longer thinking about the southern continent. He was thinking about the first contact. If it took another day or another week, establishing some sort of contact with the Fazi would be worthwhile to Earth. Or maybe just to him. Leaving things as they were was not acceptable.

  Captain’s log.

  Dealing with the Fazi has gotten me to think about protocol, a word I have never liked. T’Pol told me when this began that we needed to establish a protocol for first contacts. Part of me agrees.

  If we’d had a protocol, I might not have rushed into first contact with the Fazi. I must admit that Ensign Hoshi and Subcommander T’Pol warned me about moving too quickly, and I did not heed their warnings. I am hoping that my mistake of speaking out of turn with the Fazi will be correctable, as soon as we discover how to do so. But I can see that dealing with this culture is going to be as frustrating at times as dealing with the Vulcans.

  But I’m not sure how much a protocol would have helped. The Fazi’s protocols prevented them from interacting with us at all. If we’re too regulated, we might miss the adventure. I can’t permit that.

  Perhaps guidelines might be the answer—suggestions without the sting of regulation. I’ll talk to T’Pol about the subject later.

  On another, related topic, I have also been considering what might happen when we do establish relations with the Fazi. At that point, how much should I tell them about the greater universe beyond their system? And what technology, if any, should I share with them? On this topic I know how the Vulcans feel. And I know how I feel about how the Vulcans held Earth back for so long.

  But I worry that the Fazi, with their strict regulations and their need for structure, might find all this information disruptive. I certainly don’t want to be the one to damage their native culture.

  Everything about first contact seemed so clear when we left Earth. Now nothing does.

  ELEVEN

  FOR THE SECOND NIGHT IN A ROW, CUTLER HAD FORGONE her Vulcan broth. This time, she’d eaten the vegetable salad the chef had made to go with the stew. The stew did smell better than it had a few days before and she had been tempted, but she hadn’t eaten any. Visions of microbes still danced in her brain.

  Visions of the failed Fazi first contact danced in everyone else’s. Mayweather had described what he’d seen to everyone who had asked. Now he seemed tired of it. Or maybe the entire experience had been so discouraging he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

  He had been the one to suggest continuing the game. Cutler had thought no one would want to play after the day’s events. After all, there was a real-life adventure going on around them. But the captain had ordered more study, and no one was going back to the planet for a while.

  Diversion, Mayweather had said, was just what they needed.

  The mess hall still had a dozen or so crewmen in it as Cutler spread out the towel she had brought to cushion the sound of the bolts on the hard tabletop. Novakovich had brought fresh coffee for everyone at the gaming table, and as he set it down, he grinned.

  “Expecting a long night, crewman?” Cutler asked.

  “Expecting to find part of a Universal Translator, sir!” he said crisply.

  She raised her eyebrows in amusement. “We’ll just have to see about that.”

  She took her coffee cup and set it on the table behind her. The last thing she wanted was to spill on the bolts. The red dye she used might be water soluble. She hadn’t checked.

  “Everyone remember where we left off?” she asked.

  Mayweather nodded, holding up a painted bolt. “You know we could figure out a way to put dice together.”

  “The bolts are working fine,” Anderson said. “I like the weight of them in the cup before it gets dumped.”

  “Weight?” Novakovich asked. “Why? Does it make the decision seem important?”

  “Naw,” Anderson said. “It just serves to remind me that we’re always down to the nuts and bolts in this game.”

  “How come you didn’t use nuts?” Novakovich asked.

  “Trip didn’t have any to spare, but these short, stubby bolts were in great supply.”

  “I can make you a die or two,” Mayweather said. “Or rather, Trip can.”

  “I’m sure Trip has better things to do,” Cutler said. “I probably could have made dice too, but getting the sides even and making sure they rolled properly seemed too fussy for this game.”

  “Are you saying we’re doing this on the fly?” Anderson asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Of course we are,” she said. “If we were doing it properly, we’d be on the computer, linked up from our quarters—and following preset rules.”

  “How come no one thought to put an RPG in the ship’s files?” Novakovich asked.

  “Gee,” Mayweather said. “Maybe they thought about putting in files that might be useful instead of fun.”

  “No ship would ever waste space on recreation,” Anderson said. “If it did, then the mess would be bigger and more comfortable. I think this one’s actually designed to get people out of here quickly.”

  “It probably is,” Cutler said, setting the bolt cup on the table. “Do you all remember where we are?”

  “We’re in the mess,” Novakovich said, scratching at his face.

  Anderson grabbed his wrist. “Let’s not,” he said with a shudder.

  Novakovich grinned. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  Anderson swallowed, looking a little green. Apparently the transporter accident Novakovich had suffered made Anderson nervous.

  It made them all nervous.

  “In the game,” Anderson said, leaning forward, “we’re on the second floor of a building.”

  “Hiding after we blew away a bunch of Martians,” Mayweather said.

  “Expecting more to return,” Novakovich said.

  “So what options do we have?” Anderson asked.

  Cutler glanced at her notes. “You can go back down the ramp, or up the ramp to the next floor. There are sky bridges to three other buildings five floors above you.”

  “And I assume some problems,” Anderson said.

  “That’s the point of this game,” Mayweather said. “Fight through the problems and get the rewards.”

  “I say we go up,” Novakovich said. “Figure out where to go when we reach the sky bridges.”

  Both Anderson and Mayweather agreed, so Cutler glanced at her notes. “There’s a slight chance of a Martian nest on the third floor.”

  She took the cup of bolts and dumped it out on the towel. The noise of the bolts on the table was still loud enough to draw the attention of a few of the remaining diners nearby.

  “Four red,” she said. “The floor is clear.”

  “Up to the fourth,” Mayweather said.

  She dumped out the bolts again. “Five red,” she said. “Fourth floor’s clear.”

  “One mor
e to go until we hit the sky bridge level,” Anderson said.

  She dumped out the bolts for the third time. Her notes had it that for each floor they attempted, the chance of a Martian nest went up. Two or less for the second floor, three or less for the third, four or less for the fourth. When she dumped the bolts this time, there were seven red.

  They all looked at her as she smiled. “Still safe.”

  “So what are we looking at?” Anderson asked.

  Cutler smiled and called up a file on her padd. In that file, she had drawn the map of the center area of the Martian city. Each box was city block, and she had drawn lines between the boxes where there was a sky bridge.

  She set the padd in the middle of the table, keeping her hand on it so no one called up her gaming notes.

  “The piece of the Universal Translator is in the basement of this building,” she said, pointing to a four-block-large building in the center of the map. Then she pointed to a building near the edge of the city. “You are here, on the fifth floor.”

  “Wow, you’ve really put some work into this,” Mayweather said.

  “I had to,” Cutler said, “to stay ahead of you three.”

  Novakovich laughed. “And to make sure she made up the rules before we questioned her on them. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Cutler said. “Someone has to establish what is going on, and since I built this world, I get to be the one that does it.”

  “Don’t you wish it was that easy in real life?” Anderson asked, staring at the map.

  “Sometimes it is,” Cutler said.

  “I don’t think so,” Mayweather said, all amusement gone from his face. “Captain Archer is making up the rules as he goes along, and I’ll bet he didn’t think today was easy.”

  “I didn’t say it was always easy,” Cutler said. She didn’t envy the captain. She was glad to be a mere ensign, working on her science projects. “I can’t imagine his job ever is.”

  “Why’s that?” Anderson asked.

  “Being that we are the first Earth starship out here,” Cutler said, “I think he is forced to make up the rules. In much the same fashion that I made up the rules to this game. I had a basic idea how it was supposed to work and we’ve been winging it ever since.”

  “That sounds exactly right,” Mayweather said.

  Novakovich shook his head. “At least Captain Archer isn’t running into Martians with pointed teeth and sharp knives.”

  “After seeing the Fazi High Council,” Mayweather said, “I’d bet the captain would love a nasty green Martian.”

  “Sharp little pointy teeth sound like they’re easier to deal with than someone else’s rules,” Novakovich said.

  Anderson looked at Cutler. “I’m not so sure,” Anderson said. “I have a feeling we might regret having this conversation.”

  Cutler just smiled. “Shall we continue?” she asked.

  TWELVE

  ARCHER STOOD AT THE SCIENCE STATION BESIDE HIS chief of security, Lieutenant Reed, and stared at the screen before him. T’Pol sat in front of them, manipulating the images. She had already seen them.

  The rest of the bridge crew worked at their stations. Hoshi had her earpieces on and seemed to be listening intently. Trip had brought her food twice and had tried to talk her into going to her quarters to rest, but she had refused. She wanted to get as many answers as she could in the time Archer had given her.

  Archer was beginning to get the sense that the rest of the crew thought the twenty-four-hour window was too short. But as he had said to T’Pol, he wasn’t going to orbit this planet forever. There were other planets to discover, other places to see. He just wanted to make this first contact right before moving on.

  It hadn’t seemed like a lot to ask.

  He focused on the images before him. Reed had taken the shuttlepod over the southern continent immediately after Archer had given him permission. He had already analyzed the images, then had shown them to T’Pol. Now they were sharing the information with Archer.

  When he had said he wanted to be included in the loop, he hadn’t meant that the crew would loop around him last. He’d tell them that, after they finished looking at the southern continent.

  He could see why it had disturbed Reed. Even from afar, the primitive look of the structures felt deceptive—almost like a primitive village designed for tourists. But he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why the villages disturbed him either, not until he’d seen Reed’s low-flying imagery.

  “The building construction is much more sophisticated than we had first thought,” Reed said. “It is far above any primitive level.”

  He pointed to three different areas on the continent. Archer pushed a few buttons himself to bring one of the images in closer. The building he was looking at seemed simple enough—a hut with a single door. But unlike most primitive dwellings, where the marks of construction were clear, he couldn’t tell how this building had been put together or even how long ago.

  Simple and sophisticated. It sent a shiver down his back and he didn’t know why.

  “How far above primitive is it?” Archer asked. Architecture was not his strong suit.

  “I’d say a great deal above.” Reed glanced at T’Pol for confirmation.

  “This is the design and architecture of an older race, not a primitive one,” she said.

  “Were there any signals when you flew over?” Archer asked. “Did they try to contact you?”

  “There wasn’t even a sign that they cared.” Reed crossed his arms and frowned. “Here’s the thing: On the surface I found no energy signatures at all. However, when I altered our scanners to look for underground energy sources, here’s what I found.”

  He brought up another image. It showed no sign of energy being used on land, or under the land, but offshore, under the water, there was a lot. Along a small area of coastline, there were so many indications of energy signatures coming from under the water, it looked like a city lit up at night.

  Archer peered at the image. In its own way, it was beautiful. He touched a finger to the screen as if he were checking to see if the image would vanish. It didn’t, of course.

  “There’s no mistake?” Archer said. “This wasn’t the result of faulty equipment?”

  “No,” Reed said. “I double-and triple-checked. When I scanned for large energy signatures of the type typically found underground—”

  “In Earth cultures,” T’Pol added, mostly to herself.

  “—I got these readings. Now look at this. This one’s even more interesting.”

  Reed pulled the image back to show the energy signatures around the entire continent. “We took this from low orbit,” he said.

  It was as if the landmass were surrounded by a halo. “Amazing,” Archer said. “What do you make of all this?”

  “If these readings are accurate,” T’Pol said, “and since we have no reason to doubt them, we must assume they are, then we can reliably state that the culture on the southern continent is a predominantly water-based civilization that is quite advanced. It may be as advanced as the Fazi.”

  “From what I can tell,” Reed said, “they show no interest in building anything for mobility. I saw no vehicles, no carts. The roads appear to be designed for walking only.”

  “On land,” T’Pol said.

  “None of the energy signatures we gathered from under water were moving either.”

  T’Pol nodded.

  Archer stared at the low-orbit image of the southern continent showing energy readings surrounding it. He found this fascinating, even more fascinating than the Fazi.

  The Fazi, if truth be told, unnerved him a little. He disliked their fanatical adherence to structure and organization. He frowned slightly. He hadn’t been willing to think about his discomfort with the Fazi until now, until the Enterprise had discovered a puzzle in the southern continent.

  Had the Vulcans been this uncomfortable when they’d come to Earth? It was clear that the Vulcans disapproved of many hu
man traits, much in the same way Archer disapproved of the Fazi need for structure. Was this part of first contact as well, learning to step over your own likes and dislikes to see a culture for what it was, not what you wanted it to be?

  “Captain?” Reed asked.

  Archer had been so lost in thought he wasn’t sure what Reed was asking him. “Hmm?” he said.

  “I asked if it makes a difference that this culture is more advanced than we originally suspected.”

  Good question. Archer didn’t have an answer for it. As if he didn’t have enough trouble with trying to figure out how to communicate with the Fazi, now he had another race to interact with.

  “It makes a difference,” Archer said, “although I’m not sure exactly what kind of difference it makes.”

  Water-based culture. How difficult would that be to communicate with? He turned toward Hoshi, but she was still absorbed in her work with the Fazi language.

  He sighed. He didn’t want to interrupt her, at least not yet.

  “So now what do you suggest?” Archer asked Reed and T’Pol.

  “Do not try to contact them,” T’Pol said.

  “I agree,” Reed said. “Allow me to do more study and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Archer nodded, then glanced at Hoshi again. She hadn’t even noticed the work going on at the science station. He wondered if she was even aware of the bridge at all.

  “I wouldn’t know how to even go about contacting them,” Archer said to Reed. “Do you?”

  “I have no idea whatsoever, sir,” Reed said.

  T’Pol said nothing. Archer wondered if she had an idea—if Vulcans had contacted water-based civilizations before—but he didn’t ask. She’d volunteer the information if she had to.

  “Well, keep investigating in any way you can next to trying to talk to one of them. And be cautious.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reed said.

  T’Pol raised a single eyebrow as she looked at Archer. He could have sworn he surprised her. He even surprised himself. Be cautious. Where had that come from?

  Where had any of this come from? Going slow, taking his time, studying his options, had never been a strength of his. From the looks of how the exploration of this planet was going, he had better learn how to do it.