The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [180]
Spot hissed at the very thought. How many times would she have to kill the same prey? As if called by her thoughts, the creature she had already killed ran out of the darkness at her. Spot darted forward, claws digging in and fangs tasting it. This time the creature fought harder than before, and Spot narrowly avoided its bony claws.
The lower ceiling here favored the creature, as Spot couldn’t jump, but she could twist around almost within her own skin.
Together they rolled around the crawl space, Spot hissing a warning, and the creature eerily silent.
On the deck above, Worf saw the tricorder display change. “This creature is dead.” Several others showed as being nearby, and he wished he could find a way to direct Spot to each.
The muted shriek of a phaser beam came from nearby, and he turned to see one of his men approach another motionless creature. “Is it dead?” Worf asked.
The security guard scanned it. “I don’t think so, but it’s definitely out of action.” Worf nodded. So far Spot had killed two, and two more had been phase red. He wondered how many parts the creature was actually composed of.
Spot reappeared out of a duct. She did not carry a prize this time, but Worf’s tricorder had shown him all he needed to know. He picked up the cat and carried it to a duct closer to engineering. His tricorder showed another creature within three meters of the vent. Sure enough, he heard hissing and snarling almost immediately.
Suddenly, one of the creatures burst out of a vent. Then another and another. Worf phasered one on heavy stun, his men doing likewise. He checked the tricorder again. No more creatures were showing.
He allowed himself to relax and lowered his phaser. “Spot. You may come out now.” The cat did not return. He considered sticking a hand in the vent to try to grab Spot but then straightened. Spot was an effective predator, and she did have a tactical mind of sorts. She was a calculating hunter and an efficient killer who lived by her own code. He knew where that code would be taking her.
A force field shimmered in the air not just across the entrance to the brig’s holding cell but against the walls and ceiling too. The creature that stood in the cell was much like the one Worf had seen in Bussard control, except it was now quite short. Shorter than the average human, certainly. At least two of its component creatures were dead.
“Who are you?” Picard asked. He stood with Worf. Tropp was nearby.
“We are Feledrin,” it answered. “We were. We are less now.”
“Who were you working for?”
“We don’t remember.”
Picard’s expression showed what he thought of that, but Tropp cleared his throat. “Actually, that’s probably true, Captain. The gestalt creature’s intelligence center is spread throughout its component creatures, and several are dead now. It’s almost certainly suffering from the equivalent of brain damage.”
Clearly frustrated, Picard nodded. Worf said, “The Feledrin had smuggled itself aboard by stowing away in several different packages and items of luggage belonging to the new crew members. It was attempting to make it look like a series of minor bugs caused by the repairs would lead to the destruction of the Enterprise. Ensign Davis was killed when he saw it, or part of it.”
“And we don’t even know whom to repatriate it to.” Picard sighed. “Very well, Mister Worf. It looks as though you—and Spot—have earned a shift off.”
Worf retired to his quarters for the night. As he walked in, Spot approached cautiously and rubbed her neck and shoulders against his legs. Worf resisted the urge to shove her aside with his foot. Her attempts to show some alien kind of affection by trying to trip him were more irritating than he had expected.
When he sat in his chair made of black globes, Spot settled into his lap and purred while he scratched behind her ears—two warriors who had shared a victorious battle, now enjoying the silence.
Trust Yourself