The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [177]
He had no fear of such a toothless creature, living or dead, but had been trained to follow Starfleet protocol in case of biological hazards that might carry disease or contamination. So he used the metal to turn the body over. It was definitely dead. He rose and fetched a box, hoping that Doctor Tropp was still on duty.
Spot was still looking up at him, and he realized the sounds had been a victory call, the signal of having made a kill. He approved. “You are,” he said, “a good cat.” He called up to the captain. “Captain, Worf here. I am in Commander Data’s quarters. There is…a creature here.”
“An intruder?”
Worf shook his head. “No, sir. It is some kind of animal, vermin.”
“How did you find this creature?”
“It was already dead.”
“Dead?”
“Data’s ca—Spot,” he corrected himself, “killed the creature. I do not know where she found it.”
“It’s reasonable to suspect that if one…rodent, if that word applies, has found its way aboard, then perhaps others have too. Have environmental look into it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain,” the conn officer said suddenly, “we’re drifting off course. Half a degree. No, a full degree…The moon’s gravity well is affecting us more than it should.”
Picard glanced at the main viewer, where the pitted and sterile lunar surface was passing by. “Compensate.”
The ensign calmly made an adjustment, then paled. “Captain!” An alarm began to blare, and Picard knew the malfunctions were back in force. “Maneuvering thrusters off-line!”
“Go to impulse.”
“Impulse power off-line!”
“What’s our degree of drift? It seems clear it isn’t enough to draw us onto the lunar surface.”
“No, sir, but it has altered our slingshot course.” The ensign was definitely paler than before. “Earth-orbital insertion won’t be possible. We are now on a collision course with Earth. I estimate we’ll impact off the coast of Madagascar in a little over an hour.”
Picard could feel the blood try to drain from his face. He pressed a button on the arm of his chair. “Mister La Forge, is our warp drive active yet?”
“No, sir. Simulations will be finished in a couple of hours, and the core temperature should reach optimal about an hour after that.”
“I’d appreciate if you could hurry that process along, Geordi. We’ve lost maneuvering thrusters and impulse power, and are on a collision course with Earth.”
La Forge’s voice was crisp when it came back. “I’m on it, sir.”
“Contact Starfleet. Have—” Picard’s voice tensed. He knew that everyone would know how much he hated saying anything like this. “Have a ship tractor us out of danger. Request they stand by with transporters in case of need.”
Tropp was pulling a sheet over a recumbent form as Worf entered. “Is this Ensign Davis?”
“It certainly is,” Tropp agreed. “Or was, I should say. I was just finishing the autopsy.”
“Have you determined the cause of death?” The creature Spot had killed could wait, as far as Worf was concerned.
“It was the power surge from the ruptured EPS conduit, just as Mister La Forge and yourself suggested. No mystery about it.” He looked at the pet carrier Worf was holding. “Which is more than I can say for that.”
Worf put the carrier on a biobed and opened it. “Spot brought this as a trophy.”
Tropp peered at the creature with interest. “A most interesting specimen, Commander,” he said. “Most interesting.”
An Akira-class ship had dropped into formation with the Enterprise a few minutes earlier. The conn officer looked up. “The Korolev is ready for tractoring, sir.”
Picard gave a curt nod. “Make it so.” He let out a short breath through his nose, and Worf understood completely. They both shared a sense of loss of face at having to have his ship towed to safety from such a short trip.
“Well,” said Tropp, after Worf had returned to sickbay, “I have managed to conduct an analysis on the dead…creature.”
“What species is it?” Worf demanded impatiently.
“Oh, I haven’t the faintest idea.” Worf gritted his teeth. “None