The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [169]
Now, Worf realized, the cat was essentially locked in with him. Some duties were definitely more onerous than others.
Freedom! It stretched itself, working out muscle cramps it had developed from its time in confinement, and tried to determine where the others might be. It got no sense of their locations but could tell they were somewhere in the vicinity.
A curve of plain carpet led away from the container that had been its home for the past several days. There was no sign of any other beings around, which was good. It should have complete freedom of movement now, to find the others. They would be doing the same.
Wasting no more time, it set off.
Spot cautiously watched the large Klingon. The last time she had spent any length of time in his presence, he had sneezed on her several times. She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to repeat the offense.
The bed, though clean, still held an odor of him. It was strong and distinctive, reassuring in a way that his appearance and manner were not.
Ejected from the bed, Spot prowled round her new territory. The distinctive scent of the one she would be sharing her quarters with, Worf, adhered comfortingly to the furnishings and to the strange objects that adorned the walls. It was a much stronger scent than that of Data, who used to share Spot’s other quarters, but it was good. Spot liked it. She wondered whether the scent or the pose was the truest sign of the real being. She kept her distance for the moment but began to have hope that he wasn’t going to sneeze in her face this time.
She peered around the corners of the bed and the storage areas. There was nothing in the tiny gaps between the furniture and the walls. Gentle breezes wafted in from vents near the floor, and she followed them to their sources, wondering whether there were any openings through which she could fit. She had approached the door, of course, and it had not opened for her. She didn’t mind; she was only curious as to whether it would work for her or not. This was a territory she could be comfortable with.
There were several blades supported on the walls. One was large and curved, like a huge double claw. The scent of old blood clung to it, and to a pair of smaller angular blades. They had all been cleaned and smelled of disinfectant as well as the blood, but that tang of victory couldn’t quite be erased. Spot considered this. Worf must be from a worthy lineage. Cats value lineage, though they believe that each generation should go off and make its own way in the world—or galaxy.
Spot missed the golden-skinned companion who had shared so many years of her life. He had fed her well and responded well to her needs and wants. She had no doubt that this new companion was going to be very different.
Worf sat, preparing to enjoy the rokeg blood pie that his adoptive mother had had transported up to the ship for him. She always sent him some home-cooked food when the Enterprise was in Earth orbit. The replicators on board synthesized a reasonable approximation of the Klingon dish, which was nutritious enough, but they did not use the true ingredients. The replicator could not properly create live gagh or blood that had oxygenated a living creature. To put it simply, it could not replicate good home cooking.
Just as he was about to eat, Spot jumped up onto the table.
The dish smelled interesting. It smelled like fresh prey. She looked at Worf, who glared back. This was interesting; Data the Golden had never brought forth the spoils of a hunt. This one liked his food raw and fresh caught; that was much more understandable. And the smell…Much stronger and richer than Data or any of the humans. A scent of vibrance and full of life, yes. Like all cats, Spot preferred scents that were strong and clear.
Spot didn’t mind the glare, or the tone of voice, or any other aspect of the Klingon’s demeanor. He was not the doting kind, she recognized, so he wouldn’t interfere with much-needed sleep to make baby talk. He seemed able to keep himself to himself, and he understood the value of just sitting