By the Book (8 page)

Reed shrugged. "They have dictates for everything. I presume they would also have dictates for learning. Protocols, procedures. A certain rhythm to the way that things are done."

"And I'm supposed to just know this?" Archer asked.

Hoshi sighed. "I should have guessed it. I mean it was right there before us."

"We needed more study," T'Pol said.

"If the culture has so much structure that they haven't even figured out how to deal with outsiders," Archer said, "no amount of study in the world is going to tell us that."

"After time," T'Pol said, "we would realize those protocols were missing."

"We would?" Archer said. "How much time?"

"Study like this can take years," T'Pol said.

"If we spent years on one planet," Archer said, "we'd be wasting our time."

"I disagree," T'Pol said. "Caution is always preferable to haste."

He stared at her. She tilted her head, her dark eyes cool. Her cap of brown hair hadn't moved when her head had, but the new position made her pointed ears more prominent. The superficial differences between humans and Vulcans were slight as well, masking the truly deep disagreements they had about the way they viewed the universe-and themselves.

"You value caution too much," Archer said.

"And your haste is what got you into this situation," T'Pol said.

Archer turned away from her, looking instead at Hoshi. "Okay. We've already established that the Fazi had put me between the proverbial rock and hard place. We don't know if they would have been insulted if we left before they did either."

"Not for a fact, no," Hoshi said. "But a lot of their rules center around speech. Action seems prescribed as well, but not to the same extent. Before we left, I mentioned the rules of the High Council. They were clear. No one could speak out of turn."

"But they can leave out of turn," Archer said, his head spinning.

"I don't believe that leaving was out of turn," Hoshi said. "If this had been a normal away situation, I could have told you that."

"But, because we were following Fazi rules, you couldn't speak up," Archer said.

"Right," Hoshi said.

He spread out his right hand. "Rock." Then he spread out his left. "Hard place."

"More study-" T'Pol started.

"T'Pol." Archer made his voice sting with command. "You're coming dangerously close to violating a rule of the bridge. Don't nag the captain."

"I hadn't been informed of that rule," T'Pol said with great dignity.

Archer grinned at her. "See my dilemma? And how long have you Vulcans been studying humans?"

Her eyes narrowed. He had gotten to her. That pleased him on a small, petty level.

"The insult," Hoshi said, ignoring Archer's interaction with T'Pol, "was not in your words, but in the act of speaking itself. Since it was out of turn, the Fazi had no choice but to leave as they did."

"How do these people get anything done?" Archer asked, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

"By the book, it would seem," Trip said. "And if it's not in the book, you have to wait until it is."

"Exactly," Hoshi said. "A society of complete control, both in structure and language."

Archer sighed. Then he glanced at the screen. The planet looked so innocuous, so familiar. The way that the Fazi faces had looked familiar. The way that Vulcan faces looked familiar.

"Okay," he said. "Tell me this. Did I do all right with the greeting?"

Hoshi smiled. "You did fine, Captain."

"So there is some hope," he said, circling around his chair. After a moment he sat in it, then stared at the planet again. Maybe this was more important to him than it was to the Fazi. Maybe they didn't care about visitors from the sky. Maybe they lacked curiosity in the way that Vulcans lacked emotion. Maybe they had buried their own curiosity so deep they couldn't even access it anymore.

No one answered his hope remark. He'd expected T'Pol to disagree. Maybe she was afraid she'd stepped over a protocol she didn't understand.

Archer suppressed a smile. His mood was improving. He leaned back in his chair. "All right. How do I take my foot out of my mouth with these people?"

"Give me another day and I might be able to tell you," Hoshi said. "With T'Pol's help."

Archer glanced at the Vulcan subcommander.

Her level gaze met his. "You already know my opinion on continued study," she said.

"I believe I do," Archer said, letting a bit of that smile out. "One more day."

She gave him a nod that was nearly a bow. From his position near the lift, Trip grinned. He seemed to like T'Pol's discomfort as much as Archer did.

"But this time," Archer said, "I want to be included every step of the way. I don't think I can handle another silence like the one with the High Council again."

"Like a bad date, huh, Captain?" Trip said.

Mayweather made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.

"I wouldn't know," Archer said. "Is it?"

Mayweather leaned forward, his shoulders shaking. T'Pol watched them in silence.

Reed wasn't paying attention at all. He was frowning at the screen near his station. "Captain?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"With your permission," Reed said, "I would like to continue to investigate the race living on the southern continent. Something about them doesn't quite make sense."

No one had mentioned the race on the southern continent. Archer wasn't even certain the rest of his crew was looking at them. He frowned at Reed.

"A hunch, Lieutenant?"

"More like an anomaly," Reed said. "It feels like I've seen something that doesn't quite figure, but I can't pinpoint it."

"There's a ton of stuff about this planet that is plain weird," Trip said. "Just add it to the pile."

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-isuggestions 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.

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 more 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.