For once, the usually argumentative hologram was speechless. A look of open gratitude appeared upon his photonically generated face, and he gulped nervously, seemingly overcome with emotion, before replying. “You're welcome, Doctor. You don't know how much that means to me.” His posture stiffened as he regained his composure. “And may I add that I admired the persuasive manner with which you convinced that irritating turtle-person to let me operate.”
“Thanks.” That wasn't so hard, Beverly thought, enjoying the first cordial conversation she had ever had with the prickly holographic physician. Maybe I need to work on thinking of the EMH as a potential colleague, rather than a bothersome piece of software. She savored the ambassador's salutary return from near death. Who knows? This could be the beginning of a fruitful working relationship.
Of course, he's still going to have to work on that abominable bedside manner of his. . . .
SHIP'S MEDICAL LOG, STARDATE 52501.6
Ambassador Nanimult is responding well to treatment and, provided he doesn't overexert himself, should be able to take part in the conference by the time we reach Penthara IV. All relevant medical records have already been transmitted via subspace to the medical staff at the conference.
And, oh yes, after an application of liquid paraffin, taken internally, Spot successfully disgorged a rather revolting clump of matted fur. Regular doses of replicated pumpkin mash have been prescribed to prevent any further recurrence of her symptoms.
On the Scent of Trouble
By John Gregory Betancourt
Captain's Log, Supplemental
As the Enterprise nears the Pelavos star cluster, long-range sensors are detecting signs of an advanced civilization—six planets and ten moons have been terraformed and colonized. Clearly the beings who live here are spacefaring and highly intelligent. Starfleet has directed us to postpone our star-charting assignment in order to make contact with the Pelavians.
“Sir,” said Commander Data, turning in his seat at the navigator's console. His yellow eyes widened slightly, but Captain Jean-Luc Picard knew it was from programming rather than worry or excitement. “I am picking up a ship on impulse power.”
“On screen,” Picard said, leaning forward. He felt a familiar rush of excitement at the thought of first contact. No matter how old he became, no matter how many times he did it, encountering an alien species for the first time always excited him. He glanced at his second-in-command, Commander William Riker, who sat to his right. Riker hid it well, but Picard had known him long enough to read below that exterior calm: He feels the thrill, too.
“Will it be their first contact?” Riker mused. He scratched his chin through his beard thoughtfully.
“Let's hope so, Number One. We're close enough to the Romulan Neutral Zone that they could have beaten us here decades ago.”
“Don't forget the Ferengi,” ship's counselor Deanna Troi said from the seat to Picard's left. “They have been active in this area, too.”
“Also true.” He nodded. The Ferengi had been exploring the galaxy long before the United Federation of Planets came into existence. On several occasions Starfleet ships had encountered new races only to discover the Ferengi had been there first—pillaging in the name of profit. “Let's hope it goes well.”
An image appeared on the viewscreen at the front of the bridge, showing a spherical silver ship with no sign of viewports or openings of any kind. In space, it was often hard to guess the size of an object; you didn't have enough reference points against the greater cosmic vastness. Yet something told Picard—some instinct, some premonition—that this was a small ship, at least as compared to the Enterprise.
As though reading his mind, Data said, “The Pelavian vessel is approximately thirty-two meters in diameter. Scanners detect twenty-two life forms on board.”
“Distance?” Picard asked.
“Fifteen thousand four hundred ten kilometers,” Data said. “And closing.”
“Full stop.”
“Aye, sir.”
Picard leaned forward, studying the ship. What kind of people would leave out viewports? Didn't they want to see the stars?
“Hail them,” he said.
A second later, Worf replied, “There is no response, sir.”
“What is their weapons status?”
“None that I can detect, sir.”
“Are they scanning us?”
Data said, “Apparently not, sir. I am picking up no transmissions of any kind.”
“Curious.” Picard leaned back on one elbow, considering the situation. No scans, no viewports, no weapons. Clearly this was a most unusual species.
“Their ship contains an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere that should be compatible with our own,” Data went on. “Their artificial gravity reads at one-point-oh-six Earth normal.”
Beside Picard, Deanna suddenly sat rigidly upright. “I am sensing something!” she said.
“What is it?” Picard asked. Her empathic abilities had saved the Enterprise on more than one occasion.
“They are telepaths . . . very powerful . . . trying to contact us—”
“Can you talk to them?”
“I am not a telepath, Captain . . . it's like I am overhearing their thoughts.”
He nodded slightly. “What are they saying?”
“I sense confusion from the Pelavians—perhaps because we have not responded to their hails.” She paused. “It's hard to understand—wait! I think they sense me!”
Picard said, “Are they reading your thoughts? Can you let them know them we mean them no harm?”
“I am not sure. They do not seem hostile, just confused.”
“If possible, ask them to meet with us.”
A sudden mew of pain came from Deanna, and her face drained of blood. Her eyes rolled back as she slumped a little in her seat.
“Can't—” she gasped.
“Deanna!” Riker said, leaping to his feet.
Picard raised one hand, restraining him. “Are you all right, Counselor?” he demanded. “Were you telepathically attacked?”
“No.” She shook her head almost groggily. “I'm sorry, sir. The Pelavians are . . . different from other telepaths I have encountered. They use sense-impressions as much as words. Trying to understand it all was too much for me.”
“Did you learn anything?” Riker asked.
“They accepted our invitation,” she said.
Picard blinked. “Our invitation—”
“To meet with them.”
“Sir,” said Data. “I believe you should see this.”
Picard glanced at the viewscreen. The bottom of the spherical ship had begun to peel back in sections, almost like a flower opening to morning light. A smaller round ship darted out, then began to accelerate toward the Enterprise.
“The Pelavian ambassadors are on their way,” Deanna said softly. “Their names . . .” She hesitated. “I—don't know how to translate,” she said. “Their names are telepathic impressions, somewhere between the scent of chocolate and the texture of cream—that's as close as I can come. It does not translate.”
“There are two life forms on board,” Data said.
“Prepare Shuttle Bay Two,” Picard said. “They can land there. Deanna? Can you convey that?”
“I believe so.” She shut her eyes, then a moment later nodded. Picard noticed that she had begun to grow pale again, and her hands shook slightly. Clearly she could not stand prolonged contact with the Pelavians. They would have to use her talent sparingly.
“Deanna?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “They understand.”
Suddenly her eyes fluttered and she slumped again. She would have fallen to the deck if he hadn't caught her.
With Riker's help, Picard lifted her back into her seat. Then he tapped his combadge.
“Picard to sickbay. Send a medical team to the bridge.”
Doctor Crusher's voice replied: “On our way. What's the problem?”
“Cou
nselor Troi appears to have fainted.”
“I'm all right now . . .” Deanna said, struggling to pull herself up. “I do not need medical attention.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes.” She sat straighter, massaging her temples. “I just have a headache. I'll be fine. I was overwhelmed by their, ah, enthusiasm.”
He leaned back. “Very well. Belay that order, Doctor.”
“Yes, Jean-Luc—but I still want to look her over.”
Deanna said, “As soon as the Pelavian ambassadors are safely aboard, I promise to stop by, Beverly.”
“I'll hold you to that. Crusher out.”
Riker said, “You mentioned being overwhelmed by their enthusiasm—what does that mean?”
Deanna hesitated. “They think too quickly, too loud, too . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “I cannot put into words quite what they did. It's kind of like overthinking someone—you would have to be a telepath to truly understand. My mother did it to me a couple of times by accident when I was a child, only the Pelavians are a hundred times more powerful than she is.”
“It's almost enough to make me wish your mother were here,” Picard said wryly.
Riker gave a wicked grin. “It can be arranged, sir—”
“No, no!” He raised his hands in surrender. “No need to go overboard, Number One. Enthusiastic Pelavians are quite enough for one day.” He turned to Data. “How long until they reach us?”
“Approximately twenty-six minutes at their present speed, sir.”
He nodded, rising. Just enough time to get cleaned up and put on his dress uniform. “Very well. You have the bridge, Mr. Worf. Counselor, Mr. Data, Number One—you will join the greeting party. You have twenty minutes to change.”
As planned, Captain Picard met Riker, Data, and Deanna Troi in Shuttle Bay Two at the appointed time. Pulling his long red dress tunic a little straighter, Picard gave an approving nod to each of his senior staff. All looked more than presentable for such an important meeting.
He turned as the shuttle bay's huge double doors began to open, revealing velvety black dotted with stars. A silver sphere glided out of the darkness. As it passed between the shuttle bay's doors, the force field sheltering them from the vacuum of space flickered faintly.
Then the little ship slowly settled onto the flight deck, extending three stabilizing feet for balance. The low hum of its engines faded. A heartbeat later, a front panel dilated open, and Picard found himself gazing into an unlighted chamber. He could just make out some kind of safety webbing, smooth machinery with visible finger-controls, and plenty of handholds.
No viewports, he thought, as realization settled in. No lights. They must be blind.
“Deanna?” he asked.
“I sense an intense curiosity,” she said. “They mean us no harm. That much is clear.”
Just as he had expected. “Good.”
Slowly two aliens stepped out of their shuttle. Both were short and thickly built, with stubby legs that ended in rounded white pads almost like an elephant's. Their three-fingered hands were small and delicate. A fine white fur covered their elongated torsos. They had small, perfectly round heads—but without eyes, ears, or nose. Tiny puckered mouths stood out from their faces on small fleshy stalks. Other than that, they had no sensory organs of any kind that he could see. Then he spotted a slight flutter of movement on their chests beneath the white fur. He tried not to stare at a line of tiny slitted gill-like openings almost hidden there.
But he could smell them: Soft, almost musky scents tickled his nose, something like fresh corn mingled with vanilla and caraway, then sulfur and coffee and something sweeter than honey. It made his head swim.
“They are making sounds far above the range of human hearing,” Data whispered. “But I am unable to discern any linguistic pattern. May I proceed with my scan?”
“Surreptitiously, Mr. Data.”
“Of course, sir.”
Ten seconds had passed with no action on either side. It was time to get things moving. And, as host, clearly it was up to Picard to take the initiative.
He stepped forward. “I am captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets,” he said firmly. “I wish to welcome you aboard the Enterprise.”
Both Pelavians hopped back away from him. Their arms flapped frantically. He heard a faint, high-pitched squeal.
“Too loud,” Deanna whispered. “I feel their shock and pain and disorientation.”
Data surreptitiously raised a medical tricorder and began a scan of their bodies. “They are like no other race we have encountered before,” he said softly. “I cannot identify the functions of many of their internal organs. But they have what appears to be a highly developed echolocation system.”
“Like bats?” Riker said.
“Exactly. They send out sound waves to map the area around them. They have no eyes as we understand them.”
:YOU ARE PRIME?:
The words suddenly filled Picard's head, driving out all other thoughts. Sulfur, the texture of clay, a taste like copper on the back of the tongue. He opened his mouth. Light flashed behind his eyes. He felt drunk and disoriented, as if he stood in many places at once and saw himself as a warm shape through his thbok-senses.
Thbok-senses?
And abruptly the presence waned like a receding tide. It left him confused and gasping like a fish out of water.
He realized his officers were staring at him curiously.
“Sir?” Riker asked. “Are you all right?”
“They touched your mind,” Deanna said. “I felt it, too.”
“Yes,” he said softly. He blinked and tried to put his words in order. Slowly he looked at the Pelavians. Something still tickled at the back of his head, and he suspected they were reading his surface thoughts.
Yes, I am the commander here. He thought the words clearly, wondering if they could pick them up. No wonder Deanna became overwhelmed. He hadn't been able to hold a coherent thought while they were in his head.
:We Greet You, Prime.:
This time the words came more softly, as though they understood the problem and held back in their contact. The words mingled with tastes and smells and sense-impressions, so many and so fast that he could not quite follow them. Their thought-language was as rich with texture as any he had ever encountered, and he rapidly realized that he must be grasping only a tiny part of their mental dialogue.
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise,” he said, thinking the words as precisely as he spoke them. “We are pleased whenever we encounter a new people.”
He caught a scent of fresh-mown hay, and the sense came to him that the Pelavians, too, were pleased. They seemed to almost glow with happiness.
:We are not alone in the universe.:
“No,” he said quickly. Apparently this was a true first contact. “Many different people live throughout our galaxy.”
:Tell us more your worlds.:
* * *
To Picard's satisfaction, things moved smoothly after that. After relating as much of the history of the United Federation of Planets as seemed appropriate, he led the Pelavians on a tour of his ship, beginning with the shuttle bays. They touched his mind briefly whenever they had questions, and he answered them verbally, knowing they could read his thoughts. This system of communication seemed to work quite well.
As the tour progressed, he made certain he stood close to them, breathing in the sweet scents they seemed to exude so readily. Vanilla mingled with wild berries, Arcturian honeycombs tinged with lilac and rosemary—so many different scents.
When they entered engineering, the two Pelavians stood before the warp core. They remained silent, examining it with senses that Picard could not begin to guess at.
His other officers gathered around for a quick conference, and Geordi La Forge hurried over to join them.
“Is there anything I can do to help with your guests?” the chief engineer asked a little hesitantly. “They seem a little, wel
l, hard to reach.”
“Let me handle them,” Picard said. This was his tour, and he had no intention of letting his crew steal the glory. The Pelavians were his.
“My assessment of their physiology is done, sir,” Data said. “They are communicating with each other not only telepathically, but through sensory emitters in their gills, which release streams of complex airborne chemicals.”
“Airborne chemicals?” Riker said, frowning.
“Those smells—” Deanna said.
Data looked at her blankly. “Smells?”
“Yes,” Picard said. It all clicked together. He knew exactly what Deanna meant. “Whenever they touched my mind, I smelled something. Usually something sweet.”
Data said, “The chemicals do not remain in the air, but break down fairly quickly. I beleive they are designed to enhance telepathic communications—a chemical ‘body language,’ if you will.”
“Interesting,” Riker said. “I don't think I have ever heard of a species that uses scent for communication.”
“Most species, including humans, use scent to enhance communications,” Data said. “Consider your own pheromones, sir. They tell women when you are sexually attracted to them.”
“Er . . . yes,” Riker said. Picard thought he was a little embarrassed by the comment. “Pheromones, right.”
Picard glanced at the Pelavians. I need to get back to them. And I need to get rid of the others.
To Riker, he said, “I'll finish from here, Number One. You may return to your duties.”
“Very good, sir,” Riker said, a trifle too slowly for Picard's liking. “I'll be on the bridge if you need me.”
I'll make sure I don't, Number One, Picard thought. He no longer wanted Riker around, but he couldn't quite say why. He's always been insolent. Always been after my ship and my command.
“And I should see Doctor Crusher,” Deanna Troi said. “I promised her I would stop in. I still don't feel completely well.”
The Amazing Stories Page 5
