The Garden - Melissa Scott [92]
couldn't find that entirely comforting. After all, she thought, / want this system to work, not blow up in their faces. All around her, the machinery-covered walls hummed gently, a soft harmony that filled the air just at the edge of hearing.
She checked her tricorder again, then extended the little pink-gold wand that the Kirse used to adjust the screen models, and touched the series of tiny blue triangles that should correspond to the phase transition matrix. A string of text sprang to life, unfamiliar, curling Kirse letters, and she glanced at her tricorder for the translation. This was the transition matrix, all right, and she shifted her grip on the wand to tug them into their new position. A warning light flashed on the tricorder's screen-she was exceeding the recommended link distance by almost thirty centimeters- but she ignored it, and returned to the palette to select the dynamic modulator. She set it into the circuit between the phase transition matrix primary energizing coils, and painstakingly redrew the lines that represented the circuits. A red light flashed- unbalanced output, indicating an unstable phase-in- and she swore under her breath, and touched controls to run a virtual diagnostic. An instant later, the trouble spot fluoresced orange, pointing to a miscon-nected microfilament, and she swore again as she reached to correct it. If they were back in the Federation, there would be machines to do this sort of work, she thought. If they were back in the Federation, there would be no need to do this kind of work in the first place, mating Starfleet technology to unfamiliar, incompatible alien systems-
She shook her head, watching the warning lights fade. It wasn't true, of course, or at least it had never been true for Starfleet-or, for that matter, for her
time with the Maquis. It sometimes seemed, in fact, as though she had spent most of her adult life trying to make two incompatible systems fit together.
"Tuvok to Torres."
The words were loud in the humming quiet of the engineering chamber, and Torres made a face, setting her wand carefully aside before she answered. The wand was on whenever fingers touched its surface, and didn't need to touch the screen to function; she had already discovered how easy it was to accidentally erase a component with a misplaced gesture.
"Torres here." She knew she sounded gruff, but didn't care. She had been supposed to be left alone for at least the next four hours, needed that time if she was to modify the Kirse schematics-
"Report at once to the citadel's control chamber," Tuvok said. "The planet is under attack."
"What?" Torres heard her voice rise.
"The planet is under attack from the Andirrim so-called trading fleet," Tuvok said. "The away team is to assemble in the control chamber."
"I don't know where that is," Torres snapped, frantically gathering her tricorder and the various datablocks she had brought with her. As far underground as this room was, it seemed unlikely that the Andirrim could reach it without destroying the Kirse, but there was no point in taking even remote chances.
"Silver-Hammer is on her way to join you," Tuvok answered. "She will escort you here."
"Right," Torres said. Even as she spoke, the door slid back, and Silver-Hammer's now-familiar figure stood silhouetted against the darkness. "She's here now, Tuvok. I'm on my way."
"I will expect you. Tuvok out."
And that, Torres thought, is Vulcans for you. She
stuffed the last cartridge into the case, and Silver-Hammer said, "Good, you're ready. They're still a good way out,