Enterprise By the Book Read online

  “Second floor looks much like the first. Windows are missing and the holes give you more light, so you can see the garbage and rubble mounding around the floor. A ramp leads up to the third floor.”

  “For the moment we’re safe,” Mayweather said.

  Cutler laughed.

  Mayweather looked alarmed at her laugh. Clearly he was getting the rhythm of the game. “Safe” was a relative—and short—term in this RPG.

  “Are we safe enough to take a break until after our shifts?” Mayweather asked. “I got to get some sleep. Fighting these Martians is tiring.”

  “Good idea.” Novakovich glanced at Cutler. “You and I both have duty in seven hours.”

  “I suppose your characters are safe enough for that,” Cutler said, laughing. She put the bolts back in the cup, wrapped the towel around it, and stood as the others did. It was amazing how quickly time went by with this crazy game. Just as it had when she was a kid, playing it on her computer. Only linking minds, as they were doing now, seemed to be a lot more fun than linking computers.

  And it was nice to be playing with people who co-operated with each other instead of fighting among themselves.

  EIGHT

  THE TENSION ON THE BRIDGE WAS THICK, BOTH FROM excitement and worry. Archer strolled around his captain’s chair, unable to keep still. He’d left Porthos in his quarters, knowing that the next few hours would be difficult.

  The bridge crew watched him pace. Twenty-two hours had passed since Archer had promised them twenty-four more hours. He’d planned to stay off the bridge for the entire twenty-four so that the crew could do their research and studies, but he hadn’t been able to. He needed to know what was going on.

  The reports had come at him fast, filled with information. He processed it quickly too, hating the discussion that inevitably came when he allowed the crew to interact during this time. He’d vowed not to hold briefings, and so far he’d been able to stick to it, even when he had to use unorthodox methods, like this one.

  The staff was used to more organization and a captain who didn’t pace. T’Pol in particular found his methodology difficult. Even though they’d declared a truce of sorts, she still made him nervous. Right now she served as a reminder of all that the Vulcans had withheld from the humans.

  He wasn’t going to do that to the Fazi.

  The only two people with nothing to report were Mayweather, who looked as if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, sitting at the pilot’s station, and Trip, leaning on the wall beside the lift door. Trip was the only one who didn’t seem on edge. In fact, he was watching Archer with something akin to amusement.

  Apparently the Fazi were more structured than anyone could have imagined. Their civilization, built on a perfect grid pattern, amazed Archer even more than the structure to their language Hoshi had tried to explain to him.

  When the reports were finished, Archer stopped pacing and looked at T’Pol. “Do you think that the Fazi colonized this world at some point in their past? And that the race on the southern continent was here first?”

  “It would be a possible answer to the Fazi engineering puzzle,” T’Pol said. “Building on such a pattern would be more logical if done from the beginning of a settlement. Also, the Fazi seem quite different from the race on the southern continent—not just in technological advancement, but physically as well.”

  “Is it unusual for two such different species to develop on the same planet?” Archer asked.

  T’Pol opened her mouth to answer him, and then stopped, recognizing his trap. He wanted her to tell him information he wasn’t supposed to have.

  “Since we have discovered few similarities between these two cultures,” T’Pol said, carefully avoiding his overall question, “it would be logical to assume that one group originated somewhere else.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Hoshi said.

  “About which part?” Archer asked.

  “The structure,” she said. “I think we’re making assumptions based on who we are. Sure, we tend to be more structured when we colonize, but some creatures are innately structured, like ants.”

  Archer glanced at T’Pol. She was watching Hoshi, her features impassive. Without meaning to, Hoshi had insulted T’Pol. It wasn’t the challenge to her assumption that was the insult; rather, it was the implication that T’Pol had extrapolated from a narrow perspective instead of the open one she subscribed to.

  “I’ll grant you innate structure,” Archer said. “But how can we be sure these people have it?”

  “Their language,” Hoshi said. “It tells me that everything about them is structured. It would then make sense that such structure would carry over into their world building, even if grown into.”

  “But why have such structure in the first place?” Archer asked.

  No one suggested an answer to him, which told him clearly that no one even had the foggiest clue.

  “All right,” he said, taking a different tack, “is there any obvious reason why the Fazi are not on the southern continent with that other race?”

  “The two races are incompatible.” T’Pol keyed in something on her board and nodded toward the main screen. It showed a high-level shot of one of the alien villages. “It would seem the residents of this village are able to live both on land and in the water.”

  “The images that I have studied of the creatures of the southern continent show them to be crab-or spiderlike.” Reed seemed to be pausing for effect. “However, they are the size of cows.”

  In spite of himself, Archer shuddered. “Spiders the size of cows?”

  Reed shrugged.

  “I’ll volunteer to stay behind when you go on that away mission,” Trip said.

  “I would suggest that no contact with such a primitive race be made at this time,” T’Pol said.

  “Fine by me.” Archer didn’t like the idea of having to talk with a spider that big. He paced for a moment behind his chair, then stopped and faced T’Pol. “I assume you have objections to making first contact with the Fazi?”

  “I do,” she said. “This is a complex culture that needs more study.”

  “How much more?” Archer asked.

  “If we continue working as intensely as we have these past twenty-two hours, nine minutes, and seven seconds,” T’Pol said, “it would take at least six days, perhaps longer.”

  “Perhaps longer,” Archer repeated, wondering how she even came to her figures. Maybe she was just using the Vulcan template.

  “There are nuances in this language that may take me months to figure out,” Hoshi said.

  Archer smiled. “You’ve worried about the nuances in all the new languages you’ve been learning. You haven’t harmed us yet.”

  Hoshi did not smile back. “I have not come across a language this detailed before.”

  “I don’t plan on having us sit here in orbit for a week or more.” The very idea of it gave Archer the shivers. He turned to Hoshi. “Ensign, can you program the translators with this language well enough to be understood?”

  “Well enough to be understood, yes, but—”

  “Do you have the translators programmed?”

  “As much as I can, sir,” Hoshi said.

  Archer nodded. His mind had been made up before he came on the bridge and he knew it. Nothing T’Pol or Hoshi or Reed had shown him had convinced him otherwise.

  “Okay, Trip, get a shuttlepod prepped and ready to go. Hoshi, I want you and Reed and Trip on this one. Mayweather, you’re driving. T’Pol, you have the bridge. We go in two hours.”

  “Sir,” Hoshi said, “I’m going to need a little time to prepare you for this language and the structure involved.”

  Archer laughed. “You can always bail me out if I stumble or stutter.”

  “No, sir, I can’t,” Hoshi said. “Having an inferior speak out of turn at such an event as this would cause serious harm and might be a fatal breach of protocol for the Fazi. There is no telling what might happen.”

  Archer look
ed at her. She was clearly serious and worried. “All right, Ensign, you can prepare me, but in the captain’s mess. I need something to eat.”

  “Sir,” T’Pol said, “I would suggest one more thing.”

  Archer stopped and looked at the Vulcan subcommander. “Yes?”

  “I would send the Fazi a message, stating your intention of landing at a certain point, at a certain exact time, and then request an audience with their council.”

  “You want me to call ahead and make an appointment?” Archer asked. “For a first contact?”

  “In a matter of speaking,” T’Pol said.

  “It would be a very good idea, sir,” Hoshi said. “Remember how structured they are.”

  Archer shook his head. He had always figured that first contacts would be different and interesting, but he had never imagined anything like this. “T’Pol, make the call. Unless you believe I should do it.”

  “No, sir. Given their cultural hierarchy, it would not be advisable for you to do such a task,” T’Pol said.

  Again Hoshi nodded.

  For the first time, he was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. The tension on the bridge grew even thicker than it had been.

  Still, a first contact awaited. He grinned. “Come on, people. We’re out here to meet new people. I’d say it’s about time we met the Fazi, up close and personal. Two hours.”

  “All right!” Trip said, clapping his hands before turning and heading into the lift. “Road trip.”

  Archer smiled at his chief engineer. Having him be excited balanced the caution and fear coming from Hoshi and T’Pol.

  An hour later, after having Hoshi lecture him over the dos and don’ts of the Fazi language and Fazi customs while he tried to choke down a bowl of chicken soup, Archer had lost almost all his excitement. Now he felt more like an actor climbing on a stage with only half his lines memorized.

  He wondered if the Vulcans had felt that way when talking to humans for the first time.

  Then he remembered: Vulcans claimed not to feel anything.

  For the first time, he thought them lucky.

  NINE

  ARCHER FORCED HIMSELF TO LOOK THROUGH THE shuttlepod’s windows as Mayweather guided it through the atmosphere. Archer longed to take the controls himself, pilot the shuttlepod to its landing, and then step out, being the first to touch Fazi soil.

  He wouldn’t, though. As much as he wanted to do everything himself, he knew better. This first contact would be a joint mission, and it would go as smoothly as possible.

  The shuttlepod was suddenly engulfed by blue sky.

  “Gotta love that,” Trip said, sinking back in his seat.

  “It is the differences that intrigue,” Reed said, peering through his own window.

  Next to Archer, Hoshi shifted slightly in her seat. She had been nervous from the moment the shuttlepod had left the Enterprise. At first, Archer had attributed that to her nervousness about anything to do with space travel, but now he was beginning to think he was wrong.

  “Sir,” she said, “I think we should circle once.”

  Archer was about to ask why and then he noted the time on the digital display before him. They were early.

  He glanced at Hoshi. Her entire body was rigid. If she thought it was that important to land exactly on time, then they would land exactly on time.

  “Make a big wide circle on the glide path, Ensign,” Archer said to Mayweather.

  Mayweather seemed to be enjoying himself. The long fingers of his left hand pushed buttons while the palm of his right rested on the steering lever Mayweather sometimes called a joystick.

  “You got it, sir,” Mayweather said. “I’ll make sure we touch down exactly on the appointed time.”

  Hoshi still looked worried.

  “It’s going to work out,” Archer said. “You’ll see.”

  She nodded, and he could tell she was unconvinced. The shuttlepod circled over the Fazi central city. Archer wondered if the Fazi were looking up and watching them.

  Perhaps they needed an appointment for that as well.

  “Wow, talk about cookie-cutter construction,” Trip said. “Everything is built exactly the same.”

  “It does save on materials,” Reed said. “Not to mention the fact that you must train your labor force only once.”

  Archer took his attention off his crew and looked out over the impressive expanse of Fazi city. It was so perfectly organized that there were patterns in everything. Even the roofs had all the chimneys in the exact same locations, which meant, more than likely, that every house the same size was designed and laid out inside exactly the same way. For Archer, who had trouble at times keeping things in their right place in his small quarters, this was just about as alien as it came.

  Hoshi had prepped the team on how they were to act, right down to what positions they were to stand in and how Archer was to introduce everyone. But she had warned him a few times that there was still a great deal about this language and culture she didn’t understand, the largest being why it had developed in this fashion.

  He believed the development mattered less than she did. Since she understood the language and had enough understanding of the culture to know the details of protocol, she was prepared enough. The history would come later.

  “We’ll land in five seconds,” Mayweather said as the shuttlepod turned and lowered itself down toward an empty mall area near the capitol building.

  This had been the agreed-upon landing site. The mall reminded Archer of the parks he loved in San Francisco. Large expanses of green, planned walkways surrounded by blooming plants. However, here the walkways did not curve, and the plants repeated in a pattern just like everything else.

  The actual landing surface was in the exact center of the mall—a wide brick area that had obviously been designed for just such a purpose.

  “Good job,” Archer said.

  Behind him Hoshi let out a deep sigh of relief that echoed in the shuttlepod.

  Mayweather laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I didn’t think my flying was that bad.”

  “It’s not,” Hoshi said. “It’s just—”

  “It’s okay,” Mayweather said. “I know how you feel about flying.”

  She smiled at him, but the tension hadn’t left her. Archer studied her without turning his head. For once, her nervousness over flying had been overshadowed by her nervousness about something else.

  The first contact.

  Was she this worried because this was her very first mission of this type, or was she that insecure about the language? He had trouble reading her reactions sometimes. Hoshi’s general caution was foreign to him, and he couldn’t understand it as easily as he liked.

  “Trust me,” Trip said, laughing, “I sometimes feel the same way.”

  Archer laughed, then glanced at his watch. “Let’s go, folks. Stay in the order and the formation Hoshi laid out for us.”

  Mayweather moved out of his chair and opened the shuttlepod hatch. The air was warm, slightly humid, and smelled of jasmine. After the last few weeks inside the ship, the fresh air felt wonderful.

  “Nothing like the smell of an alien planet’s air in the morning,” Trip said. “Don’t you just love it?”

  Everyone sat for a moment, letting the silence and fresh air flow in over them. Much as he loved the ship, Archer liked this feeling as well. If he concentrated, he could sense the differences from Earth.

  The air smelled of jasmine, yes, but something else, something unfamiliar, almost spicy. He knew nothing smelled like that on Earth. And the oxygen content of the air was slightly different, which T’Pol had warned them about. Not different enough to make the air unbreathable—just different enough to be alien.

  Archer wondered if he could sense that too, or if he was reacting to it because T’Pol had told him about the difference.

  He could analyze the details of this place forever, but he didn’t have time. He stood. “Okay, let’s stay fo
cused here. We have a first contact to make.”

  Fazi protocol was similar to protocol in old Earth aristocracies. The leader, contrary to his name, never went first. The junior ranking officials led the way, probably in case of danger. Archer smiled. As if danger bothered him.

  As the junior member of the team, Mayweather climbed out first and stepped to one side, his heels shushing on the bricks. It was amazingly quiet here. No bird noises or animal sounds. No insect buzzes or traffic noise.

  Archer found the silence unnerving.

  Hoshi went out next and stepped to the other side.

  Then Reed, then Trip, and finally Archer.

  As Hoshi had instructed them to do, Archer got out and, without a look or a word to the others, started across the courtyard. Finally he got to lead.

  The capitol building’s shape was similar to all the other buildings they’d seen from the air. Only this building was larger. From the air, the buildings had looked white, but on closer inspection, he realized that they were a reddish white, almost a pale pink.

  Two-story square columns held up a balcony that lined the third floor. The columns were made of the same brick as the walkway. The bricks were amazingly uniform. Archer had seen old brick on Earth, and knew that the bricks crumbled or were sometimes molded to slightly different shapes. But not here. Each brick was the same size and there was no sign of crumbling.

  There was also no sign of life.

  Were all the Fazi in hiding or did they not believe in guards? He felt disconcerted. Somehow he had expected a more formal greeting upon their arrival.

  Trip fell in to his right, a step behind, showing his rank of second-in-command.

  Reed was next, on Archer’s left, a step behind Trip.

  Hoshi and Mayweather were another step behind Reed on either side, staying even with each other.

  Archer could feel that they were being watched from a thousand different places in the buildings that surrounded the plaza, yet there wasn’t a Fazi in sight. It would have been much more natural, in a public plaza of this size, to have crowds around. This way he felt exposed and vulnerable.

  Both T’Pol and Hoshi had assured him there was no need to take weapons. They both were convinced there was no chance the Fazi would turn violent. Hoshi had even said that the chaos of war or violence could never be allowed in a culture this structured. Maybe that was why it had developed this way. Personally, he’d take the chance of war in exchange for personal freedom, music, and art.