One thing that immediately became clear as soon as the Vixlettes came on board, at least to Reed, was that the protocols for visiting species needed to be updated to include some kind of prohibition against random idle groping. In close quarters, the tails proved more appalling than Reed had expected.
The tails were everywhere, touching, grabbing, leaving slime wherever they slithered. The Vixlettes were just as free about sliding tails around one another as the floor, walls, and railings, and didn't even seem to realize what they were doing. They were equally free in grabbing at Enterprise crew.
Reed had heard enough lectures from T'Pol about alien species and cultures, and what humans perceived as normal. Possibly the tail activity was as natural to the Vixlettes as breathing was to Reed. They might not be aware of it at all, might not even be doing it voluntarily. Complaining at this moment would be rude, especially from him as a subordinate of Captain Archer, with whom the Vixlettes were having most of their dialogue. So Reed endeavored to stay away from them as best he could, while still providing escort through the ship. At least the Captain had allowed him that much, though he'd made some pointed remarks about Reed's paranoia on the way down to where the Vixlettes' shuttle had docked with Enterprise.
Archer's casual invitation for the Vixlettes to come on board was enough to drive Reed crazy, especially as his purview was threat assessment and he hadn't even gotten the chance to finish that. Was that pocket concealing a weapon? Did the clothing suggest armor or military affiliation? Had the visible bridge crew been wearing weapons? Was the ship one of war? The shape and size of a vessel said as much about its relative friendliness to him as a soliloquy would say to Hoshi. Every inch of a ship said something about its function, if it was designed for speed, if it had weapon ports on all sides, or multiple types of weapon. The way the crew addressed each other, relaxed and casual, or precise and brusque, orderly responses or haphazard bare minimum to be kept below the threshold of chaos… it all meant something, and to Reed it was processed as whether or not this friendly encounter was likely to turn swiftly unfriendly and, if so, how much Enterprise would suffer in the altercation.
But Captain Archer had taken his first impression of the ship as a full appraisal of it, and moved forward at once with the friendly overtures, much to Reed's quiet annoyance. His one job was to keep the crew from being caught unawares when weapons were drawn… and it was a job the Captain continually made harder. Archer didn't like polarizing hull plating or charging weapons as a first gesture with a new species; he thought it sent a bad message. Reed thought it sent the message that they were willing and able to defend themselves should the need arise, which would resolve a lot of conflicts before they fairly got started.
On the other hand, races like Klingons tended to shoot first and ask questions never, and typically judged any sign of weapons as proof of hostile intent. At least, that had always been Reed's impression of them. Sometimes he wished Captain Archer was a bit more Klingon-like. Klingons seemed to believe in crew armament, and always meeting strangers with teeth bared for battle as it were. Perhaps a trifle too aggressive, Reed supposed. Somewhere between Archer's way and the Klingon way there was a perfect balance for avoiding unnecessary hostilities and, more important, casualties.
As per usual, Archer hadn't even been interested in having the aliens go through decon first, this over Reed's objections (also as usual). He had ordered the humidity in the ship raised for the duration of the Vixlettes' visit, based on the bio data they had sent over before their arrival. Something around unbearable humidity for Reed was apparently just about tolerable to the three Vixlettes that had come on board.
It also looked like Commander Tucker was enjoying it. Sometimes Reed thought the man was half fish, which probably explained why he liked water polo so much. Captain Archer looked pretty comfortable with the humidity level too. T'Pol looked vaguely stressed, though it was hard to tell with Vulcans. But, coming from a desert planet, it seemed likely T'Pol appreciated humidity even less than Reed himself.
Though Reed provided escort to the Captain's Mess (Archer's one grudging concession to security this time), he was not part of the actual dinner. As per usual, that honor went to Subcommander T'Pol and Commander Tucker. And they could have it. Reed wanted no part of trying to remember his table manners, avoiding gawking too much at the aliens, and hoping not to offend them by pouring salt on the mashed potatoes… or whatever it was that set aliens off one way or another during First Contacts. He preferred to get a list of rules to follow after someone else had learned the hard way just what had been overlooked in the exchanged list of protocols.
Besides which, the Vixlettes were exhausting just to listen to. They talked fast and switched which head was doing the talking often. It was hard enough to keep track of what they were saying without being expected to actually come up with anything to say back. Besides, Reed wasn't sure he'd be able to keep the irritation about the unwonted tail grabbing out of his voice if he was asked to speak. So really it was a massive relief to be dismissed from the group on reaching the Mess Hall.
Still, it bothered him that Captain Archer insisted on having his first and second officer, who also happened to be the science officer and chief engineer, join him in a room with complete strangers. It all seemed unnecessarily risky to Reed. Archer always assured him it all made sense and usually his explanations sounded pretty good at the time, though later Reed would puzzle over them and conclude that Archer hadn't actually made very many points, but had mostly dismissed Reed's concerns with some verbal hand waving. It seemed to him that it would be a lot simpler for Archer to just say he wanted to do things a certain way, rather than making a speech trying to justify it. Reed was more than ready to accept orders that didn't come with an explanation, particularly if the explanation was largely empty. But that wasn't Captain Archer's way, for whatever reason. He liked words. And lots of them.
Captain Archer hadn't ordered it, but nevertheless, Reed left two security personnel posted outside the Captain's Mess. He would have stayed around himself but for two reasons. One, the Captain had made it eminently clear how he felt about Reed's loitering around "like an overprotective Rottweiler." Two, Reed wanted to double check some of the sensor readings they'd gotten when they scanned the Vixlettes' ship, just to be sure their first impression of it had been accurate.
Besides, he was pretty sure Ensign Travis Mayweather was currently running things on the bridge, and Reed had never been very comfortable with ensigns being in charge of anything. After all, he'd been an ensign once, and one helluva screw up at the time. If he were faced today with his past self, he wouldn't trust that bumbling idiot with a phase pistol, let alone bridge command.
Sure enough, Travis was running the bridge, albeit from his post at helm. Not that there was much to run at the moment. After all, they were stopped where they were, just sort of hanging about in space within visual range of the other ship, which was likewise sitting there, practically inert.
"Any communication from the other ship?" Reed asked as he took his seat at tactical.
"No sir," Hoshi replied, sounding a little disappointed.
She hadn't gotten to do much translating before the Vixlettes' own translators kicked in and took over. She clearly wanted another crack at their language.
"Good," Reed said, though not without sympathy, "Let's hope it stays that way."
No communication meant things were proceeding along neutral lines. Nobody was getting too excited or acting out while their captain was away. So long as the ship's engine and (admittedly pretty much nonexistent) weapons weren't powering up, Reed could relax a little in the silence. Of course, one might ask what sane crew would fire on a ship -or turn tail and run- with their captain on board… but only if they hadn't had all that much experience in space. Out here, anything could happen. Sane from the human perspective meant nothing to other species, as the Subcommander was so fond of reminding them all (though especially Archer).
All that being true, Reed could still understand that Hoshi wanted the chance to do her job. It was the one reason she'd allowed herself to be persuaded to come all the way out here. Alien languages were her forte, and that's what she was here to study. No doubt it stung her pride that the Vixlettes translators had worked more efficiently than she had. Likely it offended her as much as Reed was offended by one of the crew being hurt on his watch. Inevitably it happened sometimes, but he didn't have to like it. And neither did Hoshi. They just had to live with it, and hope to do better next time… although sometimes they had to first hope that their mistake wasn't so great that there wouldn't be a next time.
It didn't look like they'd have to worry about that today, however. Nothing in their scans suggested their first impression had been wrong. The ship out there in front of them looked as benign on close inspection as it had from the start. And no one had sent him an alert saying the aliens were bellowing about some perceived slight and demanding to leave, so dinner must be going well.
Things were going smoothly. Entirely too smoothly. It was making Reed nervous how smoothly things were going. He'd tried to learn to occupy a more optimistic mind space ever since the Romulan minefield, but it wasn't easy.
His pessimistic outlook wasn't inherent. It too was learned, and letting go of those old lessons wasn't easy. Not when his father (followed by several COs) had so diligently, if unintentionally, drilled it into him. Reed's father had been dreadfully fond of military stories in which the naval officer died at the end, the upshot of which was to create a certain idea about the natural flow of events in his son's mind. An officer got his moment for heroism, took it, and died. That was just the natural way of things.
That Reed had taken his shot several times and survived still astounded him, and he'd started to wonder if Captain Archer's blindingly sunny outlook on life might not be the better one.
For such short notice, Chef had done a fantastic job with dinner, though it was actually a little early in the day for it, a compromise between Captain Archer and the Vixlettes own captain. It was early for Enterprise, and late for the Vixlettes. But Trip was always ready to eat, and had no trouble getting started while Captain Archer told the Vixlettes about the Enterprise.
The Vixlettes seemed most keen on how she'd gotten her name, and Captain Archer was more than happy to spend a few minutes talking about that, and then segueing smoothly into the exploration mission of Enterprise and her crew. The Vixlettes Ooh'd and Aah'd appropriately while their tentacles slid around inappropriately; Trip had to pull one off his leg about a half dozen times over the course of dinner, and tapped one away when it slithered absently in the direction of his plate. It was a little bit like swatting flies during a picnic, only you had to be gentle with these particular flies so you didn't offend 'em… at least, that was Trip's assumption.
He'd actually been startled by the first tentacle to land on his shoulder and slapped it away reflexively, and then felt a pang of alarm that he might have upset their guests. But the Vixlettes did not appear to have noticed at all, as if the tentacles were no part of them and simply had minds of their own. Trip had been more delicate in his handling of subsequent tentacles, but continued to peel them off or push them away, watching all the time for signs of annoyance from the Vixlettes… assuming he could read their mood… which he wasn't all that sure of. In all, there were three Vixlettes on board (six if you counted each head separately), and they were all hands… or rather tentacles, and none of them seemed to react noticeably to having their tentacles unceremoniously relocated.
Captain Archer had taken the same tactic as Trip, but T'Pol stoically sat and ignored the tentacles, determined that she would be an example of accepting other cultures even if they were very different from her own. She favored both Trip and Captain Archer with scathing looks of disapproval whenever they dislodged a tentacle. But she herself didn't look any too comfortable with it, and it was all Trip could do not to laugh at the expense of stubborn Vulcan pride. Stubbornness and pride were both (according to T'Pol) human traits, but Trip had yet to meet a Vulcan that was innocent of either one. In fact, Vulcan stubbornness was one of the few qualities in the species he understood and actually grudgingly admired, though of course it made them a damned nuisance to argue with.
After a few minutes, one of the Vixlettes held up a spoon in its claw-hand and said, "This is great," and its second head chimed in, "I am enjoying this very much," the first head asked, "What is this?"
"We call that mashed potatoes," Trip answered without even thinking about it, because the Vixlettes had been looking at him when it asked.
"I would like to try this with one of our spices," said the Vixlettes, and the second head agreed at once, "I think it would be very nice. We could-" the first head interrupted, "All try it together."
The other Vixlettes at the table immediately agreed and then looked to the Enterprise crew expectantly. T'Pol glanced up, first at Trip and then at Captain Archer, who was also looking from one to the other, gauging their reaction to the proposal. Trip knew what the Captain would say, so he said it first.
"I'm game if you are," Trip said.
Captain Archer smiled and addressed the Vixlettes captain, smiling indulgently, "Go for it."
The Vixlette who had brought it up reached into a pocket, one of its tentacles sliding over its claw while it did so, and then it produced a small glass spice jar. The jar was semi-transparent, but colored sea green, so Trip couldn't get a good look at the spice immediately.
It flitted through his mind for a moment that all good spice jars should be clear glass so you could see and judge their contents by appearance before ever having to open the jar and take a whiff (which was how you really judged spice, in his opinion). It also crossed his mind that Malcolm would have been immediately set on edge about not being able to see the contents clearly, but Trip was merely filled with impatient curiosity. Glancing at Captain Archer, Trip saw his friend felt the same way.
They didn't have to wait long, for the Vixlettes quickly popped the top of the spice jar off and demonstratively poured some out onto their mashed potatoes, politely giving the Enterprise crew a look at the spice before expecting them to take it in hand. They even sniffed the newly seasoned potatoes and took an appreciative bite before a tentacle wrapped around the jar and passed it down to Captain Archer, then slithered back where it had come from.
Apparently the tentacles were somewhat connected to the rest of them after all.
Captain Archer took the jar and tried not to look like he was keenly watching the retreating tentacle before examining the contents. He gave the jar a bit of a sniff, then poured a little spice into the palm of one hand so he could get a better look at it before committing to eating it.
Looking at the spice in the Captain's hand from where he sat, Trip was oddly reminded of the maypop flowers back home. The spice contained so many shades of purple that it looked like it was sparkling, but Trip didn't think it actually was, though he was less convinced the longer he looked at it.
One thing he'd never expected to think about spice was that it was pretty. In his experience, spices mostly came in a variety of browns, each its own clear and unvarying shade when broken down into a powder form and made ready to sell. A pinch of spice was for flavor, not to look at, except insofar as judging whether it was a good looking example of itself. Never having seen this spice before, Trip had no means of judging whether this was a good example of it or not.
But Trip had taken on the unofficial job of tradesmen aboard Enterprise, on the occasions when they'd come across a planet or ship where trading was a possibility. New foods and spices in particular were of deep personal interest to him, because he liked eating almost as much as he liked being an engineer.
It helped that Trip had a general liking for most people, and enjoyed the process of negotiation when it was for peanuts (sometimes literally). When it came to bigger deals like signing treaties, Trip figured he'd always be happier if someone else did that. His temper tended to get the better of him at the wrong time when things were on that scale. But when it came to spice for spice, he was in his element, and already his mind was working on what spice they had an abundance of onboard that he could show the Vixlettes in exchange for this one… if it happened that the Captain wanted it.
Captain Archer gave the spice a little taste before putting it on the potatoes, and his eyebrows shot up in evident surprise. Watching alertly for the signs he knew how to read, Trip determined that Captain Archer did like the spice, and would be wanting more of it, well before Captain Archer looked at the Vixlettes, smiled, said, "The spice is very good," and passed the jar to Trip for sampling.
"It is good, yes," the Vixlettes said, "Very good, we know," they continued, "That is why we brought it with us," was their conclusion.
No crippling modesty there, for sure. But Trip supposed they had no reason to be. After all, the Vixlettes weren't the producers of the spice, merely buyers, and now sellers. And Trip tended to take it as a good sign when sellers were willing to eat their own product and at least appear to enjoy doing so. The worst dining experiences Trip had ever had were at restuarants where the chefs in the kitchen refused to taste their own food.
Trip considered following Captain Archer's example by pouring some spice into his hand first, but watching the Captain enjoy the spice on his mashed potatoes for a second told him to simply trust his friend's word that the spice was good. He poured some on and took a bite.