"Fine. We'll send a full introduction to our species as soon as the translation matrix can process it. Then, we look forward to meeting you!"
Captain Archer signs off on a cheerful note, and there are smiles all around on the Bridge (well – almost all around). After two weeks of boredom, anything of interest is generally welcome; and though the Minshara-class planet doesn't prove to be particularly interesting after all, the inhabitants of the ship orbiting it are apparently on a mission much like ourselves – to explore their part of the galaxy and extend the hand of welcome to anyone happy to grasp it. It isn't every day that First Contact is made with a species who give every indication of being as keen to make friends as the explorers from Earth are; and the ship we've encountered is as graceful and elegant as the people in it.
The Sotoaret, they call themselves, which apparently translates as 'The Friendly Ones'. They're generally humanoid in shape, though with faces that appear to be far more sharply divided on a vertical plane than Humans'; it wouldn't be too unjust a comparison to say that the face had a slightly comical resemblance to an axe, with the ridged brow and chin completing the line of a rather narrow nose. But the faces are admittedly cheerful nonetheless, and the species apparently merits a somewhat dismissive footnote in the Vulcan database of 'Gregarious. Believed to be harmless'.
'Gregarious' is clearly music to Jonathan Archer's ears. And, indeed, to those of all the rest of the officers and crew, with possibly the exception of the sole Vulcan on board, and me – a Tactical Officer who is always inclined to view any strangers with whom the ship or her crew interact with a distinctly jaundiced eye, at least until said interaction is safely past without any unfortunate incident occurring. 'Gregarious', to my apprehensive ears, holds overtones of potential disaster. It's with an expression of unrelieved gloom that I exchange glances with T'Pol that say 'Warning – proceed with caution'.
As for 'harmless', well. We'll see about that.
The Sotoaret ship proceeds on its way after exchanging information with Enterprise as to the location of their home world and the various protocols that will smooth the way for establishing friendly relations. It will take us several days to reach it at a comfortable cruising speed – time in which the officers and crew can bring ourselves up to speed with the 'do's' and 'don'ts' of this promising new contact. Deterred not at all by the Vulcans' somewhat patronising dismissal of these potential new friends, the captain is plainly determined to make the very most of the opportunity.
"'Bout time we found someone out here who wants to talk to us," comments Trip, meeting up with me in the Mess Hall for lunch the following day. "I'd have thought you'd be over the moon they weren't takin' pot shots at us."
"Yet," I reply darkly, spearing an asparagus stem with my fork.
Tucker had claimed to be famished as we sat down, but at this he pauses and looks across in exasperation. "Don't you dare tell me you weren't bored out o' your brains like the rest of us!" he scolds. "Now we've actually met some decent folks, who actually want to make friends with us, I swear to God, you're already suspectin' the worst!
"Malcolm, do you really never have one good impression of absolutely anybody you run into?"
"Certainly not. My job doesn't depend on 'impressions'. I simply don't allow my optimism to have free rein before the evidence has given me reasonable grounds to do so."
The look I get for this observation suggests that Trip is unconvinced I actually know what 'optimism' is, let alone how to spell it.
"'Optimism' is an excellent thing in its place," I continue. I'd have liked to add waspishly 'But 'Optimism bias' is potentially disastrous, especially on the bridge of a starship', but that would be criticism of a senior officer, so with an effort I keep my mouth shut. I studied psychology in school, and am horribly aware that 'In an uncertain or rapidly changing situation, the optimist's relative inattention to detail, failure to seek new information and selective inattention to unpromising data can lead to poorly informed decisions.' This quote could practically sum up Captain Archer's attitude to risk, and the rather less reverent observation that 'God guards fools' could sum up rather neatly the fact that so far none of the crew has been lost because of it.
"I'll tell you what," my companion says after a moment. "I don't think there'll ever be a better chance for you to try lookin' at things through somethin' other than those damn pessimism lenses you wear all the time. So barrin' anything that actually presents itself as a threat to life an' limb, why don't you actually try to hope for the best this time?"
I compress my mouth on the retort that 'hoping for the best but preparing for the worst' is actually my modus operandi. I still have rather unpleasant (if slightly blurred) memories of being called the 'Grim Reaper' back during that noteworthy occasion when the two of us were imprisoned together in Shuttlepod One, and for all that I'm certain that a sober Trip would never repeat such a hurtful gibe, it occurs to me now that my friend is still irked by my inability to view the world through rosier spectacles.
"Very well," I respond at last. "I shall do my very best to look forward to the occasion just as much as the rest of you appear to do."
Trip almost chokes on a slice of tomato. "You mean it?"
I shrug, though I'm careful to look down at my plate to disguise the rather cynical curve of my smile. "One can but try."