Enterprise By the Book

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Although he didn’t have to like it.

  THIRTEEN

  ONCE AGAIN, THE GAME HAD BECOME HER WORLD. Ruined buildings, green Martian hordes, and her favorite—the flying Martian lizards—were all there waiting, waiting for her players to stumble onto them. Waiting to challenge the entire group.

  The three men had been studying the map of the ancient city for at least an hour, discussing their options, asking her sideways questions that she wasn’t answering, shaking their heads. At one point, each player had gotten up, circled the table, hands behind his back, like those ancient generals she’d studied in school. Then they would sit back down and argue a bit more.

  Of course, they were now the only people in the mess. Everyone else had left. She would have thought that she would force them to play by reminding them that Mayweather’s Unk character was nominally their leader, judging by his charisma score, but she didn’t. She found the arguments as fascinating as the game.

  However, if the men took much longer she was going to have a horde of Martians come into the building below and force them into a decision. But she didn’t tell them that.

  “Let’s take the right sky bridge.” Anderson drew his finger along what he thought would be the best route to the prize. “This way we only have to cross five sky bridges.”

  “I didn’t even see that,” Novakovich said, “and I thought I’d studied the map from all angles.”

  Cutler thought he had too—and some of them were angles she hadn’t even thought of.

  “All right,” Mayweather said. He picked up the supply and weapons list she had made for them. “We have rope. Let’s tie ourselves together for this first crossing, just in case this sky bridge has rotted out.”

  Cutler hid her surprise. Mayweather was ahead of her again. There were rotted sky bridges in this city, although this wasn’t one of them.

  Mayweather looked at her and smiled, but she kept her face as blank as she could. She was getting better at hiding information from them. Thank heavens. She thought the first part of the game had been too easy, partly because the players had read the answers to their questions on her face.

  “Okay, we’re tied,” Novakovich said. “Mayweather, I think Unk should go first, since he’s the weakest. That way Rust and Dr. Mean are here to pull him up.”

  “Got it,” Mayweather said. “Setting out across the bridge.”

  Cutler picked up the cup of bolts and handed it to Mayweather. “Let’s see if Unk gets across.”

  Mayweather dumped out the cup onto the towel, four red bolts up.

  “He made it,” Cutler said. She didn’t tell them that to make it all he had to do was show anything better than two red bolts on this first bridge. That number would go up as they crossed more bridges.

  Anderson’s Dr. Mean followed and made it safely with six red bolts. Novakovich’s Rust brought up the rear, also safely, with three red bolts.

  “So which way next?” Cutler asked. “You have two sky bridges or you could go up or down inside the building.”

  “Since we’re still tied together,” Anderson said, “let’s head across another sky bridge, see if we can get closer to the center of this city.”

  The other two agreed and they repeated the process. This time Cutler knew they had to have four or more red bolts to make it safely. All three did.

  “The sky bridges in this building are two floors in either direction.” Cutler pointed at the map. “The one headed toward the center is two floors up. The other two are down.”

  “Up,” Novakovich said.

  “We’re trapping ourselves higher in a tall building,” Mayweather said. “Are we sure we want to do that?”

  “Are there any signs of Martians living in this building?” Anderson asked.

  Cutler shook her head. “No Martian nests within two floors, however, most of the windows have been broken out, and there are signs of large birds living here. Most people call them flying lizards because of their long, sharp claws and scales on their tails.”

  She barely hid her delight. She’d worked hard on the flying lizards. She’d be happy when they got into play.

  “How large are they?” Mayweather asked.

  “Large enough to use a Martian as a midnight snack,” Cutler said. “Ugly green Martian is one of their favorite foods.”

  “I still say we go up,” Novakovich said.

  “Man, you’re a glutton for punishment,” Mayweather said, but he didn’t disagree with Novakovich’s decision.

  “Okay, we’re untied,” Anderson said. “Let’s do it.”

  Cutler shook the cup of bolts and tipped it out onto the towel. Six red. “No problem making it to the next sky bridge.”

  “Okay, let’s get tied back up,” Anderson said.

  “This sky bridge has piles of garbage in places across from it,” Cutler said. “And most of the windows are broken out. The Martian wind is pretty strong and you can see some of the flying lizards circling in the distance on updrafts.”

  “Can we stop and enjoy the view?” Anderson asked. “It sounds like something I’d want to look at.”

  “You have a real death wish,” Novakovich said.

  Mayweather was ignoring them. “Is it clear from where we stand that they use this bridge as a perch?”

  Good question. Cutler was becoming more and more convinced that if she ever got into trouble again on an away mission, she hoped it was with Mayweather. He seemed to be an extremely clear thinker. She hadn’t realized that before.

  “Yes,” she said. “They use the bridge as a perch.”

  Novakovich shuddered. He started to pick at the sand pimples on this face, and then stopped.

  “But are there any flying lizards on the bridge now?” Anderson asked.

  “No, there are not.”

  “How about we take a break right here?” Novakovich said. “I have a feeling this bridge isn’t going to be as easy as the last two, and I need some sleep.”

  Cutler glanced around the mess hall. Again they were the only four from their shift left, and the lights in the other half of the room had been dimmed.

  She wondered who had done that, and when. She really did lose track of time when she was playing, just as she had as a kid on the computer. In some ways, she preferred playing this way. It felt less contrived somehow, almost like pure imagination. It was as if this group, through the power of their minds, had created a whole new world.

  “Good idea,” Mayweather said. “I have duty on the bridge when Captain Archer tries to contact the Fazi again. I don’t want to miss that.”

  Cutler smiled. “You think the Fazi are more interesting than flying Martian lizards?”

  Mayweather’s eyes twinkled. “How am I supposed to answer that? If I say yes, I insult you and the game.”

  “I think seeing a real Martian flying lizard, when we’ve been told they don’t exist, would be a lot more exciting than seeing Fazi,” Anderson said.

  “You haven’t seen Fazi,” Mayweather said.

  “Not yet.” Anderson collected the bolts. “But I hope to someday.”

  “Do you hope to see a Martian flying lizard?” Novakovich asked.

  “Only in the game,” Anderson said. “Only in the game.”

  FOURTEEN

  Captain’s log.

  We have discovered that there are two fairly advanced races inhabiting this planet. The humanoid Fazi are so similar to us that we had no trouble figuring out what stage of development they’re in. We almost missed the other race. If it weren’t for Lieutenant Reed, we would have.

  We have no name for the other species yet. It’s crab-or spiderlike, and it does most of its living underwater, which presents interesting problems of its own.

  I thought the Fazi were difficult to understand. I’m very worried about a water-based culture. We may have even less in common with it than with the Fazi.

  The other thing that concerns me is how these two races developed. My science team tells me that independent developm
ent of two such vastly different races is very unusual. Apparently, it’s quite common to have different races on a planet—and even different sentient races—but it’s very unusual that more than one race would become advanced independently of the other.

  Usually, if more than one race evolves, it has contact with the other races and they evolve too—or they destroy each other in a war.

  T’Pol has confirmed the science team’s findings. She also volunteered some information of her own, which surprised me. She’s done very little volunteering on this mission, and what she has volunteered has mostly been words of caution, words I haven’t heeded.

  She says she has only heard of two other planets where two cultures, so vastly different, evolved. And one always destroyed the other before they reached spaceflight capabilities. Considering Earth’s history, I can understand that. Yet here the Fazi are far from warlike, and the two races do not even have a common border.

  Each must know that the other exists, but I can’t even be certain of that. The Fazi’s need for structure may have kept them away from the oceans and from discovering the other race. Although that doesn’t entirely make sense to me either. Why not explore your own planet first before turning to outer space?

  Of course, there I go again, making assumptions based on my own experience. But how else does a person understand his environment? And what is experience for if it doesn’t inform the decisions you make down the road?

  I am usually not this contemplative. I much prefer to take action first and suffer the consequences later. I’m beginning to think that if the only way to have contact with alien races is to study, study, study, and then tentatively open dialogues, I’m the wrong guy for the job.

  In an hour we’re going to try to contact the Fazi again and if they will listen I will apologize for my gaffe in protocol. If somehow we can set up a dialogue with them, I hope to ask them about the race on the southern continent. Maybe then we can start figuring out how this place works.

  ARCHER PACED FASTER THAN USUAL AROUND HIS captain’s chair. Once the dialogue with the Fazi began, he wouldn’t be able to move. He was trying to get all of his nervous tics out of the way now, so that they wouldn’t tempt him later.

  The crew was trying to ignore him, all except T’Pol, who had a slight frown, as if she were worried that he had somehow lost his mind. Maybe he had. He was so wrapped up in trying to figure out what to say when that he felt like a kid about to ask the very first girl he was attracted to—ever—on a first date. He’d blushed and stammered back then. He was afraid he’d do the same thing now.

  It wasn’t a first date, dammit (and damn Trip for giving him that idea in the first place). It was a first contact—well, a second contact really, and he was going to do it right this time.

  Trip was on the bridge in his usual spot near the lift, watching Archer with amusement. These last few days, Archer felt as if he’d been placed on the ship solely to amuse Trip. At least that was working.

  Hoshi was finishing her preparations on the translator. Reed was monitoring all of the communications for other security problems. Mayweather was keeping an eye on the orbit as well as the dark screen ahead. He seemed preoccupied by something, but when Archer had asked him what it was, Mayweather had mumbled something about Martian flying lizards and then refused to elaborate.

  “You have thirty seconds, Captain,” Reed said, as if Archer didn’t know that.

  “Relax, sir,” Hoshi said, even though she was far from the picture of calmness. “I have the translator programmed so that no matter what you say, it will come out in the correct grammatical fashion for the Fazi.”

  “Great.” Archer stopped and faced the screen. He shook the tension from his arms, then squared his shoulders. Do not move, he reminded himself.

  “Just remember not to speak until it is your turn,” Hoshi said.

  “That’s not going to be easy,” Trip said.

  Archer turned and gave him a dirty look, which only made Trip chuckle.

  “Three seconds, sir,” Reed said.

  Archer faced the screen again just as the image of Councilman Draa appeared. Draa was standing in front of a black cloth that outlined his skull and made his white hair shine with a light of its own.

  Hoshi had told Archer that he would speak first, as was custom, since he had asked for this second audience. It had taken her a while to find the procedure on this, since apparently, a single audience was customary. Rarely did anyone return for a second.

  “Councilman Draa,” Archer said, “thank you for allowing me to speak with you again. I apologize for my previous breach of Fazi etiquette. I am new to your culture and beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is the council who wishes to apologize,” Councilman Draa said.

  Archer could sense movement around him. His staff was surprised by Draa’s admission. Neither T’Pol nor Hoshi had expected it.

  But he didn’t let their reaction distract him. Archer remained focused on the screen.

  Draa was saying, “We should not have held someone alien to us and our culture to our standards.”

  Archer wasn’t sure if that was an insult or not. It probably was. All cultures thought they were superior to other cultures, even if the other culture was more sophisticated. Humans knew that Vulcans were technologically advanced, but thought that Vulcans came up short in the personality department.

  Draa said nothing further. Archer waited two beats, making sure that the councilman was finished before he spoke. “It is the hope of the people of the planet Earth that a dialogue may be set up that would benefit both races.”

  “Your arrival caused us great turmoil,” Draa said. “It forced us to change our belief that we were alone in the stars.”

  “As others arriving on our planet not that long ago changed that same belief with my people,” Archer said.

  “That is welcome information,” the councilman said. “May I ask how many races there are among the stars?”

  “I wish I could give you an exact count,” Archer said, “but I do not believe anyone, of any race, knows the true answer. My people have met many alien races so far, and we have not ventured very far from home.”

  “So those of us who have believed the universe is full of life have been correct?”

  So there was discussion and debate in the Fazi culture. Archer hadn’t been sure, and Hoshi hadn’t been able to give him an answer.

  “Very much so,” Archer said. “We have a member of another race, the Vulcans, with us.”

  Archer motioned for T’Pol to step forward. She did, her hands clasped together before her. Her movements were economical. She did not move any part of her body above the waist because, she had told Archer before the dialogue began, some cultures used gestures for communication even more than words.

  “Greetings,” Draa said. Archer wasn’t certain, but it seemed like his sideburns had rippled.

  T’Pol stayed one step behind Archer and bent slightly at the waist. “Greetings from the Vulcan people, Councilor.” With that she stepped back, without turning away, and out of the line of the viewscreen.

  Well done, Archer thought. Maybe that was what he should have done at the first meeting.

  Draa certainly didn’t seem upset about the brevity of T’Pol’s greeting. “Your starship must be wondrous to have two races existing in it at the same time.”

  “It is,” Archer said. “But we are just as surprised to learn that there are two races existing on your planet.”

  “Two races?” the councilor asked. “I do not understand.”

  Archer glanced back at Hoshi, whose face was white. T’Pol stood motionless, giving him no help either. So he decided to just venture forward. “The race that inhabits your planet’s southern continent. They are also very advanced.”

  The councilor looked for a moment as if Archer had shot him. Archer dared not say anything, so he stood and waited as the head of the Fazi council clearly gasped for breath. Then finally Draa reached forward and cut off t
he signal.

  The image of the councilor’s face was replaced by the image of the Fazi world from high orbit.

  “You have to be getting tired of chewing on that foot of yours,” Trip said.

  Archer stared at the screen for a moment, then turned around to face his crew. “So what just happened there?”

  “You insulted them again,” T’Pol said.

  “Because I moved my head?” Archer asked. His entire body ached from being so still. The head movement had happened before he had even thought about it.

  Hoshi, her face white, just shrugged. “I can’t imagine that a simple movement would create so much trouble.”

  “It does happen,” T’Pol said. “However, he seemed distressed before you moved.”

  “I thought things were going great,” Trip said, “up until you mentioned that other race. Maybe that’s like mentioning the other woman to a man’s wife.”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Archer said. “Before I screw up this first contact for a third time, I want to know everything there is to know about both of these cultures.”

  “It was what I said should be done from the first,” T’Pol said, her voice level and calm.

  “I know, I know,” Archer said, waving away her justified I told you so. “Just do it. And do it quickly. I’m not staying here one minute longer than I have to. Understand?”

  The bridge was silent as everyone nodded.

  FIFTEEN

  MAYWEATHER FLEW THE SHUTTLEPOD THROUGH THE atmosphere, heading toward the alien village on the southern continent. Behind him sat Ensign Elizabeth Cutler and Crewman Jamal Edwards. Cutler had been unusually silent during the flight; Mayweather had gotten used to her guiding missions, not participating in one.

  In fact, it felt odd not to have Anderson and Novakovich here, asking questions and determining the course of action. They had become a little team in just playing that silly game, and the camaraderie had spread to real life.