By the Book (14 page)

"Those of you who were off duty," Archer said to his bridge crew, "can return to your cabins. Make sure the second team gets up here. I want you all awake and sharp when you report for duty at 0600."

Several members of the bridge crew nodded. Hoshi made the announcement about regular shifts again, and behind Archer, the lift door opened as the evening crew reported back for duty.

He was still tense and angry. Nothing should have happened to his men standing guard in sickbay. It had been pure luck that whatever had attacked them had avoided Dr. Phlox. Next time, the ship might not be so lucky-and without Phlox, they would be in real trouble.

The lift door opened again, and Trip got off. He went to one of the workstations, pushing buttons and checking a screen. Supposedly he was off duty as well, but the alert had obviously put him back in work mode. At least he wasn't in engineering, worrying about the warp drive.

After a few minutes, Archer would tell Trip to relax. Until then, he could stay on the bridge and finish whatever he was working on.

Archer stood, too restless to stay in place. He walked toward T'Pol's science station. She had also spent a lot of extra time on the bridge lately, yet she looked her normal controlled self. Her nostrils flared as he came close. He suppressed a smile. He had forgotten about the Vulcan female's sensitivity to smell.

Apparently the stench that had followed him to the bridge didn't just coat his nostrils. He decided to ignore it, glad for once that protocol forbade anyone to mention the fact that he smelled like fish guts.

Like it or not, T'Pol had more experience with other races than he did. She might have encountered something like this before. With that in mind, he outlined what had happened in sickbay.

"Do you have any idea what happened in there?"

"The incident in sickbay sounds similar to the incident with Crewman Edwards on the planet," she said.

"Yeah," Archer said. "I got that much."

She didn't seem offended by his tone. Instead, she tapped a few keys and the images of Edwards and the aliens came up. "I do not believe this was an attack."

Archer stared at the screen. Edwards was holding his head and screaming, his eyes filled with terror. Fortunately the sound was off, but his anguish was plain. The aliens were approaching him, one in front and the others close behind.

"It looks like an attack to me," Archer said.

"Me, too," Trip said from behind him, and Archer jumped. He hadn't noticed Trip, and that wasn't like him.

Trip saw the reaction and grinned at him. "What, Cap? Didn't you think anyone would come close when you're wearing that lovely new cologne?"

So it did smell as bad as he feared. "No," Archer said. "Just a little too focused, I guess."

"The alien scent is pungent," T'Pol said, "although so far as I can tell it has no other dangerous properties."

"I didn't even touch it," Archer said. "I just stood near it."

"Apparently," T'Pol said, "that was enough."

"Or too much, depending on your point of view," Trip said. He pointed at the screen, his finger brushing the small image of the closest alien. "I still don't see how you can say this wasn't an attack. They approached him, he's in pain, and we have an emergency beam-out. Seems like an attack to me."

"One always makes assumptions based on one's own culture," T'Pol said, her nostrils still flaring.

Archer noted the intended insult and decided to ignore it. "Since your culture's different," he said, "what assumption are you making?"

She looked at him sideways, tilting her head up so that she could see him. She was such a formidable presence, he often forgot how small she really was.

"Vulcans do not make assumptions," she said.

Trip snorted. "Vulcans make assumptions all the time. They assume they know more than anyone else, they assume they're superior-"

Archer held up his hand for silence. "This isn't the time or place."

"Vulcans," T'Pol continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, "make informed opinions based on logic and observation."

"Logic and observation," Trip repeated as if he didn't believe it.

"What is your informed opinion?" Archer asked, struggling to keep the sarcasm from his own voice.

T'Pol leaned toward the screen. Archer got the sense that she was also leaning away from the smell.

She pointed at the lead alien. "You will note that it is not carrying anything, and it is not moving as fast as the other aliens. The others appear to be trying to catch up."

"So?" Trip asked before Archer had the chance to do the same.

"So," T'Pol said, her voice controlled and yet somehow still showing contempt in the single word, "I would consider the possibility that they were simply coming to greet a stranger."

Archer stared at the screen. Greeting a stranger calmly was what a Vulcan would do. But he couldn't ignore Edwards.

"I'd agree with you," Archer said, "if Edwards weren't screaming."

T'Pol crossed her arms and tilted her head up toward him. Her nostrils still flared and her greenish skin tone seemed more pronounced than usual.

"Many things can disturb a person," she said. "While they are unpleasant, they are not always an attack."

"Like what?" Trip asked.

"Smells," T'Pol said with a delicacy that Archer had to admire. "They assault the senses, sometimes drive sensitive people to illness, but the smell is not always intentional."

"On Earth, we have animals that spray their scents, sometimes to mark territory, sometimes to keep predators away," Archer said.

"Yet you are covered with an odor that was not sprayed upon you as a deliberate territorial marking or as a defense," T'Pol said.

"And it offends you," Archer said with a hint of a smile.

"I am sure I am not alone," she said calmly.

"She's got you there, Captain," Trip said.

"Some species react so strongly to smells that they pass out when the smell is particularly strong," T'Pol said. "Others suffer through watery eyes and swelled mucous membranes. Still others get physically ill almost immediately. All of these reactions might look to an outsider like a reaction to an attack-and technically, they are. They are an attack on the senses, but the attack is not a deliberate one."

Archer frowned and looked at the screen again. "It has bothered me that they never touched him."

"Yeah," Trip said, "and there are no signs of weapons-at least not any we recognize."

T'Pol inclined her head forward as an acknowledgment of what they were saying. "We see what we expect to see. If we assume this is an attack, we look for invisible weapons, other methods of hurt. If we assume this is a welcoming party, then we have another dilemma."

"I can tell you right now, no human reacts to a strong smell that way," Archer said.

"Clearly," T'Pol said dryly. "But I do not think smell is the problem here, although I do believe that Crewman Edwards suffered an assault on his senses."

"What kind of assault?" Archer asked.

"An unintentional one, just as your cologne, as Engineer Tucker calls it, is assaulting mine."

"They're doing something to him that's as natural to them as breathing?" Archer asked, trying to follow this.

"In a word," T'Pol said.

"What would that something be?" Trip asked.

"Telepathy," T'Pol said.

"These spider-folks are telepathic?" Trip asked.

"What informs this opinion of yours?" Archer asked.

"Logic," T'Pol said.

"That's as good an answer as if I said my idea of an attack was based on a hunch," Trip said.

But Archer wasn't as convinced. "I want to hear this," he said to Trip. Then he nodded at T'Pol. "Explain this logic to me."

"Telepathy would function just as well on land as under water," she said. "It would be a logical development for creatures who need to exist in both environments."

Hoshi stood and moved to join the discussion. She looked intrigued for the first time in days. "I understand there are a few races that employ limited telepathic communications."

T'Pol nodded. "I have heard of such telepathic races, but never had the pleasure of encountering one."

"Pleasure?" Trip asked. "I don't think Edwards considers what he is going through a pleasure."

Archer agreed. Edwards had screamed like he was in hell.

T'Pol looked at the chief engineer. "I believe the only luck we've had here is that a human crewman was not killed by a telepathic encounter."

Trip started to say something, but Archer stopped him with a wave of the hand again.

"What makes you say that?" Archer asked T'Pol.

"I do not believe the human mind can withstand a telepathic encounter. Humans lack the ability to control their most simple thoughts."

"Even if I were to accept that statement as true, which I do not," Archer said, "what does controlling thoughts have to do with telepathy?"

"A weaker mind cannot block a telepathic encounter if the mind cannot block its own random thoughts," T'Pol said. "The level of control needed to withstand an invasive thought is considerable, especially if that invasive thought comes from the outside."

Archer was about to argue when Hoshi took a step closer.

"That might explain the rigid thought and cultural structure of the Fazi," Hoshi said, more to herself than anyone else.

T'Pol nodded. "It would be a logical development of a culture in close planetary contact with a telepathic race."

"Huh?" Trip said.

"I think this does need some explanation," Archer said.

Hoshi turned to him, her face animated. "The theories on telepathy hold that without control, it will drive someone mad. So in order to use telepathy as a communication device, the minds involved must be completely restrained, structured and guarded."

"Precisely," T'Pol said. "Vulcans have developed limited telepathic ability in certain circumstances, partially due to our control of our emotions."

Archer gave her a sideways glance. He'd heard rumors that Vulcans had telepathic abilities, but the abilities were considered so personal, so private, that humans had been cautioned not to talk with Vulcans about it.

He was amazed that T'Pol had brought this up on her own. She was probably doing so because he had goaded her on her own assumptions.

"Let me see if I'm clear on this," Archer said. "The alien we stunned was only trying to talk to Edwards and the other two crewmen?"

"It would be logical, considering the circumstances and what we observed on the surface," T'Pol said.

"And by trying to talk to our men," Trip said, "the alien did something to their brains?"

"If what we postulate about the telepathic communication is true," T'Pol said, "then the logical conclusion is that the human mind is not structured enough to handle telepathic thought."

"And your brain is structured enough?" Trip asked, clearly getting angry.

"Yes," T'Pol said.

That was enough. Archer didn't want to hear the bickering at the moment. "We're still operating on assumption here. There's no way to prove that was a benign telepathic communication. For all we know, it could have been a telepathic attack-or something else equally invisible, such as a sound that caused damage while being outside the register of the human ear or, as T'Pol has already reminded us, a smell."

T'Pol raised a single eyebrow.

"I still consider your theory a hunch, T'Pol," Archer said.

She stiffened and he realized he had offended her. He didn't care.

"I'm not willing to risk your mind. I don't want you to try to talk to this alien, no matter how structured your thoughts are. There has to be another way and I want you people to find it. Understand?"

Hoshi and Trip nodded. T'Pol inclined her head again.

"Now would be a good time," Archer said, glaring at them.

Hoshi returned to her station. Trip grinned and headed to the lift. Archer hadn't moved. T'Pol was watching him, still leaning away slightly.

"T'Pol," Archer said, "I want you to inform Dr. Phlox of your theory. See if he believes it will help with the affected crewmen."

"I will do so at once." She walked around him and headed for the lift. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but she seemed to be moving faster than usual.

He needed to leave as well, get cleaned up, and then come back to the bridge. He felt as if they were close to solving this, even though he didn't completely buy T'Pol's telepathy explanation. The problem with logic was that it always sounded so appealing and wasn't always right.

Still, it seemed as plausible if not more plausible than the attack theory.

Archer turned and stared at the big screen. The Fazi planet slid by. From orbit it seemed like such a normal, peaceful world. But it was far from that. And for the first time, Archer understood how easy the Vulcans had it when they came to Earth.

It felt odd to return to the game. Cutler's heart was still pounding double-time, and she'd had nothing to do during the alert. In fact, she had just gone back to her quarters when Mayweather had contacted her.

"Now I'm hungry," he said. "Can we play while I have dinner?"

"If the others agree," she had said. Apparently they had, because she had set up the table for the second time that night. Anderson, Novakovich, and Mayweather had their padds ready.

Mayweather was eating some sort of sandwich he'd concocted out of the leftovers that the crew was allowed to dig in. It was huge and dripping with various multicolored juices. She recognized pickles, a white cheese, and some kind of tomato, but nothing else looked familiar. She hoped the thick brown slab in the middle was meat, but she couldn't tell from this distance.

To his credit, Mayweather turned and took bites off the sandwich away from the playing table. Anderson, who had taken a cookie while Mayweather was making his sandwich, was chomping away merrily, getting crumbs all over the towel.

"Okay," Anderson said around the cookie, spraying even more crumbs as he spoke, "we left me hanging, literally, when the alert went off."

In spite of herself, Cutler smiled. "We left Dr. Mean hanging from his fingers under a Martian sky bridge."