Fatal Error - Keith R. A. DeCandido [11]
Undlar looked like he was about to argue, but then he cut himself off. “Of course, First Speaker. I will await word from you.”
“Excellent. You should hear from me soon.”
And if—no, when this is all over, Reger Undlar, we will have a long talk on the subject of appropriate behavior for the clergy. Undlar was the last of the priests left, and whatever new ones were ordained after this would look up to him as their leader, for better or for worse. Which meant that his naïveté would have to be dealt with, and quickly.
But first things first, Ansed thought, steeling herself against the ordeal of another endless hike and heading once more into the cold.
Sonya Gomez took one last look over the schematics that presently occupied the display on her tricorder. Thankfully, the Eerlikka had, several years back, allowed a team of Federation computer experts (including a group of eight Bynars) to inspect Ganitriul, so Starfleet had detailed specs on the installation.
Which was, in a word, huge. Fully twenty-five percent of Eerlik’s moon had been excavated in order to house the computer. In fact, most of that equipment had fallen into disuse as—typically, with advancing technology—the Eerlikka were able to miniaturize over time. Only about ten percent of the original installation was still active, though the autorepair components included small robots that could cannibalize the older equipment as need be.
All in all, a very efficient system.
She looked up to see that 110 still hadn’t arrived yet. She stood in the transporter room with Corsi and two other security people, Drew and Hawkins. Sonya had thought that three security people was a bit excessive to guard a two-person team, but she trusted Corsi’s judgment.
“Where the hell is he?” Corsi said, after inspecting her phaser rifle for the fortieth time.
“He’ll be here. Cut him a little slack, Commander. He’s been through a lot.”
“With respect, sir, if he’s too wrecked to even show up for a mission on time, then I have to question whether or not he can perform the mission.”
“And it’s a valid question, but I’d like to give him at least a chance to answer it.”
Corsi let out a breath. “Yes, sir.”
Just then, the doors parted and 110 entered, walking even faster than normal. “My apologies, Commander Gomez. I—I can offer no excuse.”
“I don’t expect you to,” Sonya said gently. “Let’s go.”
As she moved to step onto the platform, the doors opened again, and Carol Abramowitz entered. “Yes?” Sonya asked.
“Commander, I just wanted to let you know that speed is of the essence here. I’ve been reading up on the Eerlikka, and they have two major facets as a culture: they are fanatical about maintaining order, and they pride themselves on being well-informed. Both of these stem from Ganitriul. So it’s likely that conditions on Eerlik are deteriorating and going to get worse the more time passes. Don’t dawdle down there.”
Sonya smiled. “Wasn’t planning on it anyhow, but I appreciate the report. Thanks, Carol.”
“No problem.”
The five of them arranged themselves on the transporter pad. To the transporter chief, Sonya said, “Energize.”
They materialized into pitch-darkness. Oh, great, Sonya thought. She switched on her wristlamp, and the others did the same. Now the space they were in—which felt cold and stuffy—was illuminated by five light sources that cast odd shadows. Unfortunately, this did nothing but make it bright, cold, and stuffy. . . .
Drew played his light over one of the walls. “Rocks,” he deadpanned.
“Hello,” said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere. “Are you from Starfleet?” The voice was very pleasant—Sonya couldn’t place it, gender-wise, but it set her at ease immediately.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m Commander Sonya Gomez of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers.”
“Excellent. I am glad you replied to