Fatal Error - Keith R. A. DeCandido [26]
Fighting through the haze that was starting to cloud his vision, 110 entered the last of the codes needed to activate the manual override on the ventilation system in this cavern. The next step was to actually get the vents going, but he had to fight his fingers to make them work properly.
He wished 111 was there beside him. Together, they would have worked twice as fast, and gotten the vents clear before the forcefields failed.
But she was dead. He had felt her die. He still could feel it, even now, as his consciousness started to fade. . . .
In the background, he heard two filtered voices. One sounded like Ganitriul, and he caught the words phaser rifles, but he couldn’t make out the rest. The other was Lieutenant Commander Corsi.
The world started to go an odd shade of green. 110 just wanted to lie down and off-line. But, no—then he’d relive 111’s death again. Besides, if he did, the three of them would succumb to the gas, and then they’d be left for dead. It was bad enough that 111 had died; 110 would not be responsible for letting Gomez and Hawkins die as well.
He entered the command.
Within seconds, his vision cleared. His thought processes once again settled into the orderly pattern he was accustomed to. And the green haze faded.
Gomez was coughing furiously, but she managed to get out the words, “Good work, 110” between coughs.
“I did what any of us would have, Commander,” 110 said, not wanting to take undue credit for something so routine.
“Don’t sell yourself short.” More coughs. “You’re the only one who knew your way around Ganitriul’s circuits well enough to perform the override.” Yet more coughs. “So stop being so modest and take credit for your work.”
110 blinked. He supposed that the commander was right.
So why did he feel like he hadn’t done anything special?
“Corsi to Gomez, are you there, Commander?”
Tapping her combadge, Gomez managed to say, “I’m here. We had a bit of a scrape with some gas, but we’re okay now.”
Prompted by those words, 110 went to the mini-medikit that Hawkins—who was coughing even more than Gomez—had on his belt pouch and removed the medical tricorder.
“Well,” Corsi was saying, “I’m out of the forcefield, and we’ve got full weapons now. I nailed both prisoners with heavy stun, so they won’t be a factor for a while.”
“All right, head for Drew’s position and see if you can cut him free from the bulkheads—or at least cut a hole for some air for him. Then get to the core. We’ll meet you there.”
“Yes, sir. Corsi out.”
110 said, “According to the readings, both of you suffered minor damage to your esophageal passages from the gas. It can be repaired when we return to the da Vinci.”
“How about you?” Gomez asked between two more coughs.
“No deleterious aftereffects,” he said calmly.
Smiling, Gomez said, “Lucky you. C’mon, let’s get a move on to the core. How much further?”
“Approximately fifty meters,” 110 said, consulting the tricorder, “then down another ladder, and we will be there, Commander.”
The two humans’ coughs were now coming at longer intervals, which was a good sign. Gomez said, “Let’s go.”
Undlar had finally disposed of First Speaker Ansed’s body. It had been a revolting task, and one he never wanted to be even remotely involved with again as long as he lived. He swore that, one day, he would kill Emarur for forcing him to commit this depraved action.
But, for now, he needed the owner of the Senbolma, so he restrained himself.
As he reentered the flight deck, he said, “Contact the surface. Hagi hasn’t checked in, and I want an update.”
Emarur asked, “Is the body—”
“Yes, the body is disposed of. I hauled the damn thing to the transporter bay and dispersed her atoms into space. Now, contact the surface!”
Turning his back on Undlar, Emarur opened a channel. “Senbolma to Hagi.”
There was no response. Angrily, Undlar leaned over Emarur’s shoulder and said, “Hagi, this is Undlar; answer me, dammit!”
“Something must have happened to him,” Emarur said, showing a phenomenal grasp of the blindingly obvious.
“Close the channel,” said Undlar.