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FATAL ERROR

Keith R.A. DeCandido

CHAPTER

1

The holo in the center of Ansed’s living room showed a comedy program that had stopped production a decade earlier, and for which Ansed owned no recordings. A minute ago, it had been showing archival footage of the landing of the Pevvni ship that had colonized the ninth planet fifty years ago. A minute before that, it had been showing a real-time image of the weather on Hendorf Island.

But, for the life of her, Ansed, First Speaker of Eerlik, could not get the holo to open a simple communications channel.

That was only part of the problem.

Ansed looked around the living room— currently illuminated by candles, since the lights no longer worked—and out the window at the hailstorm that should’ve been stopped by the weather control system. She pulled the blanket around her teal shoulders with her short arms—necessary, as the house’s heating system was no longer functioning properly.

The unthinkable had happened. The great Ganitriul was breaking down. And if someone didn’t stop it from doing so, the entire fabric of Eerlikka society would collapse.

Suddenly, the staccato slamming of hail against the outside of Ansed’s house ceased. She looked out the window to see that the storm had finally abated.

There was no chance she’d be able to convince the holo to go to communications mode. She’d tried for hours to contact anyone she could, from her fellow speakers and the priests who kept the knowledge of Ganitriul on-planet, to the Pevvni colony, or even the nearest Federation outpost off-planet. Nothing worked. The priority at this point was to consult the clergy. Ansed feared that even they could do nothing—after all, the transporters and spacefaring vessels were also operated via Ganitriul, so they probably weren’t functioning any better than the weather control system, the heat, the holo, or the lights. Still, they were the experts . . .

Left with no traditional method of speaking to the priests, Ansed was forced to go outside and walk to the temple. Ansed couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked outside, nor the last time she’d gone from place to place in that manner. The necessity annoyed her, and the thought that the situation might continue was frightening.

She almost bruised her forehead on the door, which did not open at her approach as it was supposed to. Sighing, Ansed opened a window. She had closed her living room window for the first time in years today; usually, there was a nice breeze coming in. Now, though, she had to use the window as a door.

Clambering out, she was assaulted by the bitter cold. Since the construction of Ganitriul—long before Ansed’s great-great-grandparents were born—the capital city had had an even climate. She was forced to continue to huddle inside the blanket in order to stay warm, since she did not have proper clothing for this weather, and the clothes-provider wasn’t functioning any better than any other device.

For three millennia, the computer on the moon had provided every creature comfort the Eerlikka could want or need. Since Ganitriul’s autorepair components had been installed a century ago, there had never even been a hint of a problem. Though tourists did make regular pilgrimages to the public parts of the caverns that housed Ganitriul’s terminals, there had been no need for anyone to travel to the moon to effect repairs in a hundred years.

Until now.

After an exhausting walk of almost fifteen minutes, Ansed arrived at the temple. It was the only structure in the capital city that still retained the hideous Yarnallian architectural style, and Ansed had to admit to finding it painful to look at. But the priests insisted that the temple look as it had when it was first constructed, and Ansed could not blame them for that.

Of course, the temple’s greeter wasn’t working properly. She wondered how she would be able to gain the attention of those inside.

Then, noticing the ornate handle in the center of the door, she remembered that the temple still had one of those old-fashioned doors that opened manually.