Fatal Error - Keith R. A. DeCandido [3]
“Really?”
Scotty nodded. “It knows it’s broken, but it can’t fix itself.” Shaking his head, the older man said, “In my day, when we saw a planet that had been taken over by one’a those— Ah, but that’s neither here nor there. Your priority is to get the thing up an’ runnin’, pronto. No time to report to Starbase 505.”
Gold said, “But I’ve got crew to replace—and one to drop off.”
“Aye, I heard about the Bynars. Extend my sympathies to 110, will you?”
“Of course. And we need a new computer specialist.” He had been about to finish that sentence with the words, to replace 110 and 111, but that wouldn’t be possible. They’d find someone to fill the position, but Gold doubted that he’d find anyone who could fill their shoes. A damn shame, too, he thought. The Bynar pairing wasn’t even Starfleet; they were civilians, part of an exchange program—although they had agreed to abide by all Starfleet rules and regulations.
Not wanting to dwell on the recent unpleasantness, Gold added with a sardonic grin, “Plus, La Forge is itching to get back to the Enterprise.”
“Nothin’ worse for a chief engineer than to be separated from his ship,” Scotty said with a chuckle. “I understand the difficulties, lad, but Eerlik’s whole bloody socioeconomic structure’s collapsin’. They canna wait.”
“I know the drill, Scotty. When they put that funny-looking ‘A’ on your chest, you dance where they tell you.”
“Aye, that you do. Oh, by the way, I took your advice. Had dinner with your wife last night. Lovely woman. Makes a fine matzoh ball soup.”
Shaking his head, Gold chuckled. The universe is full of damn strange connections. For months, Gold’s wife—Rabbi Rachel Gilman, the finest cook on the east coast of the Americas—had been bugging her husband to get “the legend” to come over for dinner.
Returning the chuckle, Scotty said, “ ’Twas a lovely evening. I now know everything there is to know about your entire family. Oh, and your granddaughter’s pregnant again.”
“You’re kidding,” Gold said. I’m a great-grandfather again, he thought, with a certain pride.
“She only found out yesterday, and Rachel asked me to pass it on. She really is a fine woman, lad. Pity she’s all alone. . . .” Scotty had a slight twinkle in his eye, visible even on the viewscreen across the gulf of lightyears.
“Don’t even think about it,” Gold said with an amused glare. “Otherwise, I’ll set her mother on you, and then you’ll be sorry.”
Grinning, Scotty said, “In any event, she really is a fine chef. You should convince her to make haggis.”
“Sorry, but she’s a Jewish mother—she’s only allowed to make edible food.”
Putting his hand over his heart, Scotty said, with mock indignation, “My dear lad! Haggis is a delicacy!”
“I refuse to accept culinary judgments from a man whose idea of a good drink is liquid peat bog.”
“Lad, people who live in slivovitz houses shouldn’t throw stones.” Shaking his head, Scotty said, “In any event, I’ll be off. The Sugihara will be in the area if you need any kind of backup.”
“Good.”
“Scott out.”
The screen went blank again. “Computer,” Gold said, “leave messages for all personnel about our course change, and let the S.C.E. crew know that there’s a staff meeting at—” he thought a moment, then finished, “—0800.” That left him with three more hours to sleep, and would still give everyone over ten hours to prepare for the mission. “Leave copies of the mission profile with Commander Gomez and Lieutenant Commander Duffy. Oh, and instruct Duffy to compile a complete report on Eerlik, based on the profile.”
“Acknowledged.”
He thought a moment, then added, “Also, let Lieutenant Commander La Forge know that he’s welcome to sit in on that meeting.”
“Acknowledged,” the computer repeated.
Within three seconds, David Gold had set his head on his pillow and was fast asleep again. A few seconds after that, he was dreaming of drinking a nice