Star Trek Enterprise By the Book

“I am Captain Jonathan Archer of the

Starship Enterprise …

… I represent the people of the planet Earth.”

Archer waited now for the Fazi Draa to speak. Hoshi had warned him a number of times to only speak

in the same length of sentences and on the same topics as the councilman addressed. But what those

topics might be, Hoshi had had no idea.

“This is an historic day,” Councilman Draa said, “for the Fazi people.”

“It is also an historic day for the people of Earth,” Archer said. He felt constrained by this structure. He

wanted to talk with them, not parrot their words.

But he didn’t want to scare them either. Maybe, over time, they’d get used to human impulsiveness.

After Archer spoke, Councilman Draa sat down. The silence in the large council chamber seemed to

grow with every second. Archer had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

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This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-4872-3

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For Kevin

in memoriam for his favorite RPG character, Seymour.

[Kev, does this mean I can finally

stop apologizing for killing him? KKR]

ONE

Martians aren’t green,” Ensign Hoshi Sato said, her delicate features twisted into a frown. “Actually,

there is no life on Mars except a human colony.”

The mess hall of theEnterprise fell silent, only the background drumming of the engines keeping it from

feeling completely tomblike. The room was slightly cold, the faint smell of dinner hung in the air, and

outside the windows the now familiar streaking of the stars during warp drive painted a picture of a ship

in smooth flight.

Everything was going well except in here.

Ensign Elizabeth Cutler sighed and looked at the other two players. They were watching her expectantly.

Ensign Travis Mayweather crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his expressive chocolate brown

eyes filled with amusement. Crewman James Anderson, looking frail next to Mayweather, leaned

forward as if the fate of the galaxy rested on Cutler’s answer.

Cutler shook her head in amazement and stared down at her notes. She’d spent a week’s worth of her

off-duty hours designing this science-fiction role-playing game, trying to come up with good

scenarios—and trying to remember the rules. None of the other three crew members had ever played an

RPG before, but they wanted to give it a try if she acted as game master. And like a fool, she had

agreed.

When she was a kid, Cutler and her friends had played role-playing games, one right after another, their

computers linked into a network of make-believe, eating up hours, days, entire weekends with the flights

of adventure and fantasy. But now she was dealing with three adults who had only heard of RPGs—and

with only her memory for help. The ship’s computers just couldn’t be used for this kind of recreational

activity.

So she had worked out details of a science-fiction role-playing game. She had even gone so far as to

convince Chief Engineer Charles “Trip” Tucker to give her a small cupful of square-shaped, very short

bolts. Since there were no dice on board, she had to come up with something to let the players of her

game move their characters and make decisions. She had painted the bolts red on one side, white on the

other. Red was always positive. White meant nothing.

But with all her preparation, she had never expected to run into players who just couldn’t seem to let

their minds make things up. And that was critical to a role-playing game. Everything that went on in a

game happened in the mind and through the imagination. She was going to have to get that across

quickly, or this entire idea was going to be a giant bust.

“For this game,” Cutler said, looking up into the attractive face of Hoshi, then glancing at Ensign Travis

Mayweather, “Martians are green. And little, and have big ears and very sharp teeth.”

“Can’t we call them something else?” Hoshi asked. “Perhaps they came to Mars on a transport or—”

“We said we were playing a twentieth-century RPG,” Anderson said. He raised his pale blond

eyebrows as if for emphasis. “They believed in Martians, right, Elizabeth?”

“Right,” she said, grateful for his interruption. Cutler liked Anderson. He was one of the smartest and

most imaginative of the younger members of the crew. He had bright green eyes and brownish hair and a

smile that could charm paint off a bulkhead. Like her, Anderson was stationed in the science department.

His specialty was geology, while hers was exobiology.

“Now,” she said, “let’s pretend here. The Martians are like no alien race we have run into. Okay? They

are the first bad guys you’re going to have to deal with.”

Hoshi still looked confused, but Mayweather and Anderson were nodding.

“What exactly is our goal in this game?” Mayweather asked. He gave Hoshi a sidelong glance. She

ignored him.

Cutler couldn’t think of two more different players. Hoshi was the ship’s language expert and she’d

already shown herself to be a mixture of brilliance and timidity. Mayweather had experience in deep

space already, because he had grown up with his parents on cargo ships flying slowly between outposts.

He seemed to love adventure, but sometimes his desire for new experiences made him seem impulsive.

“Your main goal,” Cutler said, “is to keep your character alive through all the adventures.”

“That’s a good idea.” Mayweather’s eyes twinkled.

“If you’re really successful and you like the game, then we can use these characters in a future game,

months down the road.”

“Months?” Hoshi said.

“We wanted something that would take a long time,” Anderson reminded her.

“I was thinking of a game that would spread out over a few nights, not a few months.”

“Nights, months.” Anderson shrugged. “Out here, we got all the time in the world.”

“Universe,” Mayweather corrected.

“Universe,” Hoshi repeated, and closed her eyes.

It was well known that she hadn’t wanted to come on this trip, and rumor had it that she’d asked

Captain Archer to find someone to replace her when the first mission ended. He had refused. She was

trying to get accustomed to the trip, but she still seemed nervous.

Cutler was of the private opinion that some people were cut out for space travel and others weren’t.

Cutler knew she was; she suspected Hoshi wasn’t. That was why she’d been surprised when Hoshi had

volunteered for the game.

“Your second goal,” Culter said, “is to collect enough parts of a Universal Translator as to be able to

build it.”

“A complete Universal Translator will never be possible,” Hoshi said, her frown deepening.

Cutler bit back a retort. She’d decided on a Universal Translator as the goal because she’d known

Hoshi was playing. Cutler thought it might make the game more interesting for the ensign.

But Cutler should have known better. Hoshi Sato was one of Earth’s top linguists, personally brought on

board by Captain Archer himself. And she had already helped them through a number of tough situations

with alien languages. So if anyone knew if a perfect translator was ever going to happen, it was Hoshi.

But being right or wrong about a translator at this point didn’t matter.

“This is just a game,” Cutler said, smiling at Hoshi. “Remember, we’re making all this stuff up. A group

of humans and aliens—your characters—were taken to Mars for this mission. All this is make-believe.

Okay?”

“It has to be,” Mayweather said, “since we’d only gotten to the moon in that century.”

“And Mars doesn’t have little green aliens,” Hoshi said. “Or a translator.”

Cutler sighed. “Exactly. Nothing is real in this game. Okay? Just let your imaginations roam all you want.

That’s the fun of this.”

None of them were smiling. Not a good sign, as far as Cutler was concerned. This might turn out to be

the shortest role-playing game in history.

“So,” Anderson said, “what are the rules?”

Cutler glanced down at the notes about the game that she had worked out from memory and logic over

the last few days. With luck she had most of what they were going to need. Some things she figured she

would just have to make up as they went along.

“Well, first we need to figure out each of your characters. Anderson, pick a name for your character.”

“We only get one?” Anderson asked.

Cutler resisted the urge to shake her head again. “Believe me, one will be plenty.”

“Okay,” he said. “My character’s name is Mr. Doom.”

“Mr. Doom?” Mayweather asked. “What about Dr. Doom?”

“Been done,” Anderson said. “It’sMr. Doom.”

“Human and male?” Cutler asked, smiling at the great character name.

Anderson nodded. “You got it. Very male.”

She picked up the cup of bolts, shook it, and handed it to Anderson. “Roll the bolts to determine your

character’s strength.”

He took the cup and dumped it on the table between them. The clatter of the bolts hitting the hard

surface echoed in the empty mess, as if some machine had just fallen apart. Luckily, they had the room to

themselves at the moment. Cutler would have to find a cloth pad to dump the bolts on for the next

session. That sound was so loud, it was no wonder Captain Archer didn’t hear it on the bridge.

“Five red,” Cutler said, counting the red-up bolts. “That means your character, on a scale of one to ten,

has a five strength quotient.”

“What good are they?” Mayweather asked.

“Your character runs into a situation, just like in real life, you have to have abilities and tools to use to

solve the situation.” Cutler looked at three frowning faces. She waved a hand in dismissal of their

questions. “I’ll show you how it factors in when we get to the first situation. Anderson, roll the bolts

again.”

Again the noise of the bolts clattering on the tabletop filled the mess hall.

“Five intelligence factor,” Cutler said.

“Your guy is sort of average,” Mayweather said, “for someone with the nameMr. Doom.”

“Mr. Mundane,” Hoshi said. “You should change the name.”

Anderson just glowered as the others laughed. For the first time Cutler felt this might have a chance. She

led Anderson through his next few rolls, giving his character charisma (another five), dexterity (a four),

and luck (another five). She had decided to leave out all the skills relating to magic, since this game was

science fiction, and that shortened the character rolling time considerably.

“You’ll all start with zero experience points,” she said, “but you’ll acquire them as the game goes on.”

“I get how strength, dexterity, luck, and intelligence help,” Anderson said, “but I’m not getting the

charisma and the experience.”

“I’ll say,” Mayweather said with a smile.

Anderson gave him another glower.

“Charisma determines leadership,” Cutler said. “If your five is the highest charisma roll, you lead the

group.”

“Fighting force, led by the evilMr. Doom,” Mayweather said in a theatrical voice.

“The evil, mediocre Mr. Doom,” Hoshi added.

“You haven’t rolled yet,” Anderson said ominously. “What about experience?”

“I would think that’s obvious,” Culter said. “The more experience you have, the better choices you’ll

make.”

“Let’s hope,” Hoshi said, and somehow Cutler thought she wasn’t talking about the game. But she let

the comment slide.

Cutler made Mayweather go next and he came up with an alien named Unk. After two loud rolls, Unk

came up weak with only three bolts, but smart with eight bolts. He had a charisma of seven—“Sorry,

Doom,” he said to Anderson—a dexterity of five, and a luck of seven.

“I don’t like how this is shaping up,” Anderson said.

“We can’t all be equal,” Mayweather said.

“I remember something about being created equal,” Anderson mumbled.

“Not in an RPG,” Cutler said, unperturbed. They were getting interested now. She only hoped she could

hold Hoshi.

Hoshi called her human woman Bertha, which broke them all up. Hoshi would not explain her reasons

for the name, no matter how much the others pushed. She rolled a strength level for Bertha of eight bolts

and an intelligence of four. Her charisma score was ten, her dexterity an eight, and her luck was nine.

“Well, this is a crew,” Mayweather said. “A weak but smart alien, an average guy, and a strong but not

too bright woman. Sounds like the perfect away team to me.”

“Except the dumb one will lead us,” Anderson said.

“Hey!” Hoshi said. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to lead.”

“Then order someone else to do it,” Cutler said. “You’ve got the charisma.”

“Great,” Hoshi muttered.

Still, she seemed interested. Cutler could sense the excitement at the table. No one had looked out the

windows in the last fifteen minutes—and the crew was still new enough to look out the windows all the

time.

“You people ready to tackle Mars?” Cutler asked.

“You have the place we are going all made up?” Anderson asked.

“I do,” Cutler said, not wanting to admit she had only the first part of the adventure worked out. She had

wanted to see if anyone was interested in trying it before she spent any more time on it.

“Well, let’s try this then,” Mayweather said.

Cutler nodded, took a deep breath, and then with a glance at her notes, started to outline what the three

were facing.

“You’ve landed on the side of a massive red sand dune, not more than a hundred paces from the banks

of the grand canal.”

Hoshi said “There aren’t canals on—” before she stopped herself and smiled. “Sorry. I’ll get into this. I

promise.”

Cutler smiled too, but continued. “The canal runs beside an ancient Martian city, now in ruins. You have

been informed that there might be part of the illusive Universal Translator buried in a vault in the center

building of the city. Your job is to find it and return to your ship. You have six hours of daylight to cross

the canal, get into the city, and find the part.”

Cutler looked at her three players. The men looked back at her. Hoshi was actually taking notes.

“Now remember,” Cutler said, going on, “this is a dangerous place. You have been told that there are

large serpents in the canals and that the green Martians who live in the ruins of the city love to attack

humans and aliens.”

“Are we going in there unarmed?” Mayweather asked.

“Sounds like a suicide mission to me,” Anderson said.

Cutler pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

She consulted her notes on weapons. “Listen up,” she said. “I’m not letting you look at this.”

Mayweather and Anderson searched for their own padds. Hoshi waited, poised and ready.

“I had no idea this was going to be like school,” Mayweather said under his breath to Anderson.

“We never fought green Martians in my school,” Anderson said, then set his padd on the table.

Mayweather placed his beside Anderson’s.

When they were ready, Cutler read them the weapons information. They dutifully wrote it down.

“Each of you will start off this mission with these weapons,” she said. “When these weapons are used up

or destroyed, you can’t get more without returning to the ship. Understood?”

All of them nodded while reading.

Cutler pushed on, feeling as if she had almost got them to the point where they actually might like

role-playing. “I ask you questions about what you want to do. You can ask me questions about the

settings. When you take an action, I will tell you if there is a consequence to the action or not. Then we’ll

roll the bolts to see how you do. Okay?”

“Roll the bolts,” Anderson said, trying the phrase.

“Like rollin’ dem bones,” Hoshi said.

“What’s that?” Mayweather asked.

“It’s a slang term that came from—”

“Ready to start?” Cutler interrupted on purpose. She knew from experience that sidetracks could

prolong a game. She’d seen it on the nets when she played as a kid. “So what do you want to do first?”

“Okay, we’re standing in front of the canal,” Anderson said, obviously checking.

Cutler nodded.

“Is there a way across?” Anderson asked.

“There’s a small boat tied to the bank, just barely big enough for the three of you. And one hundred

paces down the canal there is the remains of a bridge that might be crossed.”

At that moment a faint glow came through the windows of the mess as theEnterprise dropped out of

warp. Mayweather, Anderson, and Cutler scrambled to their feet and went to the windows. Entering a

new system was always exciting. Even, Cutler had to admit, better than making up an adventure in their

heads.

She glanced over her shoulder. Hoshi clung to the edge of the table, her expression neutral, but her body

rigid. She hated any unusual movement of the ship—and she seemed terrified of the changes in speed.

Cutler turned away. The crew had tacitly agreed to ignore Hoshi’s reactions, hoping, perhaps, that they

would go away.

The yellow sun of the system seemed warm against Cutler’s face, even though it wasn’t possible to feel

heat through the port. A reddish-tinted planet was spinning into view. Greens and blues and reds swam

by below them as they dropped into a high orbit.

“Wow, that could be a terraformed Mars,” Anderson said.

“Too much water,” Mayweather said, pointing at the oceans that covered about a third of the planet.

At that moment Captain Archer’s voice came over the communications speakers. “Ensign Hoshi, Ensign

Mayweather, report to the bridge.”

“We’ll start this game later,” Anderson said as the two headed for the mess hall door.

“You can count on it,” Mayweather said. “After this much setup, I’ve got to see if we at least can get

across the canal.”

“Piece of cake,” Anderson said, laughing.

Cutler said nothing as she picked up the painted bolts and cup. She knew what she had planned for the

three of them crossing the canal. And there wasn’t going to be anything easy about it.

TWO

Captain Jonathan Archer was standing beside his captain’s chair, his arm resting on its back, when the

sound of the lift caught his attention. It always caught his attention. He was still as excited as a boy about

commanding his own starship. Even the word “starship” gave him a slight thrill.

Ensigns Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato stepped off the lift. Hoshi’s cheeks were dusted a faint pink

and she looked down as she moved toward her station. Mayweather had a telltale twinkle in his eye.

He’d been teasing her about something, and Hoshi, still uncertain about many things on the ship, provided

an easy target.

Archer suppressed a smile as he turned back toward the screen. In experience, in attitude, they were the

most different members of his crew. Yet they shared something the rest of the crew did: they were the

absolute best at what they did.

The image on the screen caught him and made him forget his two ensigns. The image of the red and blue

and green planet floating there was a beautiful sight. Sometimes he found himself staring at all the new

planets, the new space anomalies, with his mouth half open in wonder.

Then he’d catch T’Pol staring at him, and realize he looked like the biggest rube. No wonder she had

trouble taking him seriously. The thrill he enjoyed every time he stumbled on a new sight probably

seemed like incompetence to her.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and contain the excitement he was feeling. He glanced at the

readings in the arm. Everything looked good. They had taken a high orbit over this planet and from what

he could tell, there was a decently advanced civilization here.

“I have confirmed a recent warp trail signature,” T’Pol said, glancing up at him from her science station.

Her dark Vulcan eyes were as intense as always, her expression blank.

A warp trail signature? Really? Finding other aliens was as thrilling to Archer as orbiting a new planet.

Maybe more.

“Can you track it?” Archer struggled to sound as dispassionate as T’Pol did. He’d never achieve that,

but at least he’d keep the puppylike enthusiasm out of his voice.

“I can,” T’Pol said. “It originated from high orbit near the second planet, moved a short distance away,

and then terminated.”

“A test flight,” Archer said, more to himself than anyone.

“That would be a logical deduction,” T’Pol said.

“There are a number of satellites and what you might call ‘space junk’ in low orbit,” Lieutenant Malcolm

Reed said. “I see nothing threatening.”

Archer turned and leaned on the railing separating him from Hoshi. The metal was cold. “Is anyone

hailing us?”

Star Trek Enterprise By the Book

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