The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [170]
Worf let out a low rumble in the back of his throat and put Spot back on the floor. He moved to the replicator and said, “Feline supplement number…” How many of these cat food recipes had Data programmed? He recalled Data once mentioning number twenty-five being Spot’s favorite, so there must be at least that many. “Twenty-five,” Worf finished. A glass dish with the requested food materialized in the slot, and Worf put it down for Spot.
Spot was nearby, watching, but made no immediate move toward the food. Worf ignored the cat’s behavior. It would either eat the food now or not. It was the cat’s choice to make, and if she wanted to go hungry, or save it for later, then so be it.
Picard had long since got into the habit of making walking tours of his ship when he had the time, and not just when there was an important event in the offing. Originally he had conducted inspections, but he and his crew had now been working together for so long that keeping tabs on them wasn’t necessary. However, he took pleasure in seeing his crew—many of them his friends—working at their best. In turn, they were reassured by his interest.
Leaving the bridge, he had taken a turbolift down to Deck 16 and walked into main engineering. Geordi La Forge was standing near the dilithium chamber, overseeing the sealing of its articulation frames. “Captain,” he said, alerting others in engineering to Picard’s visit. Nobody sprang to attention or began working harder; they were all doing their jobs to the best of their ability, and they knew that was all that Picard asked.
“Mister La Forge. How is the engineering refit going?”
“It’s going pretty well, Captain, if I do say so myself.” He squinted one last time at the dilithium chamber and ticked off something on a padd. “The final engine upgrades have been installed and all systems reset.”
“Good,” Picard said with a nod. “I’ll want to begin engine tests as soon as possible. Run her in, so to speak.”
Geordi nodded in agreement. “We still have some simulations to run, and it’ll take a while for the warp core to reach optimal settings, but we can begin impulse testing anytime.”
“We’ll start with maneuvering systems while we’re within the moon’s orbit,” Picard said. “It’s a straightforward engineering test in friendly space, ideal for a skeleton crew and new recruits.”
“Before going out on a real mission?”
“Just so.” Picard took a last look around and smiled. “Carry on, Mister La Forge.”
Worf could feel Spot’s eyes on him throughout his meal, but she had either the sense or the decorum to not try to steal any of it. Afterward, it was time to check the progress of the crew rotation. Picard had asked to be notified when the last of the week’s new arrivals had boarded. According to the data downloaded into his padd, this had now happened.
Leaving his quarters, Worf headed toward the nearest turbolift. He had made only one turn when he had to stop. A trunk was sitting in the middle of the corridor. Worf stood over the trunk and looked both ways along the corridor, seeing no sign of its owner. It was a standard piece of Starfleet-issue luggage; he had at least one in storage himself.
For a moment, Worf wondered if the trunk might contain a bomb, or be booby-trapped in some way. He discounted the possibility immediately. If it was a terrorist bomb, it would have been placed out of the way, where it would not likely be discovered, rather than left to trip anyone walking down the corridor. Crouching beside it, Worf saw that the lid was slightly open. He briefly returned to his quarters and collected a tricorder. The scan showed no signs of explosives or active devices. Satisfied, he opened the lid. The trunk contained nothing but clothing. There was a Starfleet code on the lid, which the