The party in the Marek quarters of the USS Crazy Horse had reached the wee hours. It was the first time Charlotte and I had entertained since our wedding, before the desperate crunch of the invasion of Cardassia at the end of the year.It was not much of a star system, just an ancient yellow sun, a half dozen bland planets and some rocky asteroids. Yet 73 days and 200 light years away, a transmission had been received from the vicinity of this star. The transmission was notable because it was via old-style radio technology. Highly garbled, it contained a few words in English. The computer sensors that detected it probably thought about it for a few fractions of a millisecond and concluded "human signal, 200 years old." A further few milliseconds of searching determined that the signal had been detected once before, in 2265, but it had not been traced to its source. Captain Joshua McCord of the USS Intrepid briefed his senior officers that the signal had been picked up by the Argos Array, a giant deep space radio telescope. The only star system the signal could have originated from was that of this mundane little sun, designated only GC-147963-A-38 in the Galactic Catalog. It was my shift when the Intrepid entered the system, just a bit after supper. We’d been two weeks en-route, and several of the junior officers were grumbling that we were on a wild goose chase. "Complaining, lieutenant?" I asked one of them with a smile. "I would think we’d seen our share of excitement in the last year." Intrepid had taken a beating at Wolf 359, but had been one of the first ships salvaged, refitted and re-crewed. Most of us had been at Wolf 359, on Intrepid or some other ship. Starfleet forces were still spread thin in spite of Herculean efforts by the people at the various Federation shipyards. Intrepid had been back in service for about five months when this mission came along. "Let’s do this by the numbers, people," I directed, swinging the command seat around to look toward the aft, upper level of the bridge. "Standard survey scan." The science officer for my shift, Lieutenant Adam Glidden touched a few preprogrammed keys and peered intently at his displays. We were already on a course that would swing us around the star, allowing a full-sky survey. Glidden reacted almost immediately. "Commander Marek," he addressed me. "I’m picking up duranium on a course of 113 Mark 6." I frowned. "That’s outward from our present position." "Yes, Sir. In the Kuiper Belt. It can’t be natural. We’re too far away to resolve what it is, but duranium doesn’t occur naturally. I’d say it’s certainly an artifact." "Anything else in the system showing up as interesting?" I asked, weighing the options. "Not until we get close enough to scan the planets’ surfaces, Sir." "Let’s check this artifact out, then," I said, turning my chair forward again. "Helm, course 113 Mark 6, full impulse." It was a ship, held in the very mild gravitational field of one of the Kuiper Objects – chunks of ice and rock that are not quite either asteroids or comets. The hair on the back of my neck crawled when I saw the ship. The ship was tiny, compared to Intrepid, with a spherical forward hull, a cylindrical rear section, and cylindrical warp nacelles to either side. "What am I seeing, Mr. Glidden?" I asked, thinking I already knew the answer. "It’s a starship, Sir." I frowned at the levity. He straightened a bit and continued. "Residual warp core radiation, but only a bit. The warp engines have been off line for a long time, so there’s no warp signature. No power at all that I can see. There are remnants of an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere inside but it’s so cold in there that we’ll need environment suits. I’m picking up some DNA, but no life signs..." "What kind of DNA?" I asked. "Human, I think..." he answered, hesitantly. "Mr. Glidden," I interrupted, ready to get to the crux of the matter. "I got an ‘A’ in Federation history back at the Academy, and that ship looks just like a Daedalus Class starship, the last of which was supposedly lost on a mission about a century and a half ago. Is it?" "The configuration is right, Sir. We’re just in range to scan the hull markings now." "On Screen." Intrepid’s sensors can amplify light enough to display objects with practically no illumination. I don’t think I gasped when the lettering on the hull became clear, but some of the junior officers did. "USS Horizon, NCC-172." "Captain to the bridge," I ordered. The Old Man would expect to have his fingers in this. I envisioned a juicy away-mission for the First Officer. The USS Horizon was commissioned in 2160 as one of the first starships built truly for scientific study and exploration, as opposed to colonization and defense. Constructed before the creation of the United Federation of Planets, the Daedalus Class starships served with distinction during the Romulan War. In fact, they were among Earth’s main ships of the line at that time, carrying a crew of around 150 men and women. Together with ships from a handful of other worlds, these ships battled the Romulan fleet to a standstill. After the war, they were the primary tools of cultural exchange between member worlds of the brand new Federation. They also returned to their research and exploration mission. Intrepid was 467 meters long. The Daedalus Class ships were hardly a third of that; much of that was warp nacelles. They were tiny ships to travel as far as they did into unexplored space. Horizon was reported lost with all hands in 2166, shortly after leaving a planet named Iotia. A search for it a hundred years after its disappearance turned up nothing. In short order, Captain McCord directed me to take an away-team to the ship, confirm her identity and evaluate the possibility of salvage. I chose our Deputy Chief Engineer Lt. Exwys, a Celentripod from Raga, and security Ensigns Polly Hernandez and Nate Preston. "I’ll put you on what appears to be the bridge," said the transporter officer, as the away-team finished its environment suit checks. "Top of the sphere. There’s no artificial gravity so you won’t be in contact with the deck when you beam in." "Everyone ready?" I asked. "Suit lights on. Energize." The sparkling of the transporter and the glow of our helmet lights illuminated a cramped compartment as we materialized. It clearly was a ship’s bridge, with the Captain’s chair on the port side and workstations, one behind the other, to starboard. The forward station, on the lowest level, had old-fashioned joystick controls marking it as the helm. Behind it and a step up was a station with a gridded astrometric display. Farther back, on the top level, were other stations. With no power it was hard to guess what their functions might be. The chamber actually had windows, although one was partially covered by some sort of metal blast shield. A viewscreen that was relatively small, by today’s standards, was angled above the forward windows. We took this in while floating at close quarters with the other members of the away team. I reached out and grabbed the back of the command chair, using it for leverage to swing my "magnetic boots" (which, of course, don’t use magnetism at all) down, forcing them into contact with the deck. Exwys poked at its tricorder. "Atmosphere only point one PSI, Sir. What little there is has many contaminants in it. As soon as we can get some heat in here, it will be necessary to replace it all." I could feel the cold in the room, even through my heated suit. The temperature on my suit gauge was off the scale on the low side, meaning it was far too cold for unprotected skin. "Sir," said Ensign Hernandez a moment later. "The commissioning plaque." She was standing at the very back of the bridge by a bulkhead that contained a sealed pressure door, pointing at a rectangular plate on the wall. I moved up to look. "Marek to Intrepid," I said, allowing the environmental suit’s automatic circuits to open the channel. "Intrepid here," answered McCord. "Either this is the Horizon or it’s a damned convincing re-creation, Sir," I advised. "We’ve already retrieved deck plans and design specifications from Memory Alpha," responded McCord. "Downloading them to your tricorders now. Keep us posted." "Aye, Sir. Marek out." I motioned to the away team to gather around. "Exwys, Preston, find engineering. Hernandez, you’re with me. Locate the Captain’s ready room." After a pause to manipulate her tricorder, Hernandez answered. "The Captain’s office seems to be connected to the Captain’s quarters, deck 3." We made our way there, down what the Navy personnel used to call "ladders." Actually, they were very steep stairways, approaching but not quite reaching vertical. It turned out that there were no turbolifts anywhere on the ship. I pulled my boots free of the deck and deactivated them, so I could float down the shaft. Hernandez plodded along the hard way, climbing down the ladders. "Zero G training always made me sick at the Academy, Sir," she mumbled in apology. "I suppose I looked at the ensign oddly. I spent four months working in zero G on the Renegade, during the first Cardassian war," I told my audience. "In a fringe star system, a Cardie raider blew out most of our circuits. We destroyed them with a phasor blast using the last sputter from the warp engines, but that left us with only batteries. We couldn’t afford the power for artificial gravity for the weeks it took us to cobble together enough of a power system to get us back to civilization. (The incident got me my third commendation.) At any rate, I enjoyed the opportunity to work in freefall again on the Horizon."The Captain’s cabin consisted of three main rooms -- an office, a small sitting room, and an even smaller bedchamber. Sandwiched between these were the bath, closets and a tiny kitchenette. We entered the office first, clearly labeled by a sign on the inward opening door. Papers were floating everywhere, disturbed for probably the first time in a couple of centuries by the door opening in the thin remaining atmosphere. Hernandez and I remained in the entryway for a few moments, assessing how to proceed. As we peered into the chamber, my communications circuit chirped. "Preston to Marek." "Go ahead," I answered. "Sir, we’ve found bodies in engineering. Lots of them. The Lieutenant thinks they gathered here when their power was failing." "Understood," I said quietly. "Notify Intrepid’s Sickbay that we have multiple…fatalities to care for. Document everything then put the remains in stasis on Intrepid." The far wall of the briefing room had the flag of the United Federation of Planets flag on display. The center of the briefing table held one of the old multi-sided computer displays with the controls set into the table nearby. I’d been hoping to find an old-style paper log, but after sorting through the various books and loose sheets of paper floating around, we had no such luck. The room, however, was a treasure trove of historical artifacts. There were awards and photographs still attached to the walls, and other artifacts floating. The private Captain’s quarters nearby had little loose material floating around; Horizon’s Captain had apparently been an officer who believed in keeping things shipshape. The artwork and other historical artifacts would certainly make the Federation Archivist, a matronly Admiral I had met on a past mission, quite covetous. I reported again to Captain McCord. "I have no doubt that Starfleet will want that ship back," he said. "I am loathe to let some salvage ship bring the last Daedalus class starship into port. We found her, and that’s a job for the crew of the Intrepid." "Two hundred light years is a long way to tow a ship this big at warp," I observed. "We’re already working on that," was the reply. "The Science Officer suggests using Horizon’s systems to generate a warp envelope. That way we won’t have to extend our own envelope so far and we’ll have a lot more power for towing." "Makes sense, Sir," I said. "We’ll get an assessment as soon as possible of what it will take to power-up Horizon’s engines." "Make it so. Intrepid out." We brought low-level systems on-line first. Power cells and atmosphere packs beamed over from Intrepid were used to selectively activate artificial gravity and life support. When we achieved a shirtsleeve environment, Exwys began checking out additional systems and putting them back in service, referring often to the technical specifications on its PADD. Meanwhile, Captain McCord received confirmation back from Starfleet, which was apparently drooling to add a Daedalus Class ship to the Starfleet museum, the last such craft having been destroyed 147 years earlier. On Starfleet orders, I was named Brevet Captain and assigned a prize crew to run Horizon. McCord quite enjoyed calling himself Commodore, a rank not officially used anymore, but describing a Captain with more than one commissioned ship under his control We had located the previous log entries, made by Colonel Eduardo Singletary, Horizon’s commanding officer. Yes, in those years after the Romulan war, Starfleet had much more of a military flavor to it. The log had been kept on a small recording unit that was independent from the main ship’s computer – apparently as a security precaution. With a modest effort we broke the encryption code and gained access to Singletary’s entries. The log revealed Horizon’s discovery of a derelict of her own, even now stored on her shuttle deck. It was shortly thereafter that malfunctions of the ship’s systems began to occur. A couple of days later I was on the Horizon engineering deck with Exwys. We were about to install a new antimatter charge in the system and bring the primitive warp core on-line, carefully using the requisite start-up procedure that took almost an hour. (We most certainly didn’t want the kind of awkward time reversal incident that can result from activating the antimatter reaction too quickly.) "Intrepid to Horizon," came a call from Intrepid’s communications officer-of-the-watch. "Horizon," I answered. "Sir," she said. "You’re drifting." I gave a quick glance to Exwys, and it did its equivalent of a shrug. "We haven’t fired any thrusters," I replied. "With respect, Sir, you have. Our sensors detected them. Horizon is moving toward Intrepid at about ten meters per minute." Exwys moved to an engineering console. "We are moving," it said. "We didn’t notice anything because of the inertial dampers." "We’re checking on it," I transmitted back to Intrepid. "Captain McCord advises that we’ll put some distance between us to give you room to work." "Horizon confirms. Out," I said, closing the circuit. "I don’t understand," pondered Exwys. "The helm controls are still off line, but our thrusters have fired. In fact, they are firing now. We are at twenty meters per minute and accelerating, on a direct course for Intrepid." "They said they were moving away." "Yes, Sir, they are now about ten kilometers away. But we have vectored to a course toward their new location." Exwys waved several of the other engineering staff to huddle with him. I saw one of them repeatedly trying to activate a control on the engineering console and heard another one of them say, "computer glitch." Exwys nodded its head and sent two technicians off to check the main computer core. "Sir," spoke up Hernandez from a console nearby. "Navigational deflectors have come on. They just pushed a small rock out of our path." Exwys heard that and gurgled a sound that I knew was a curse in its native language. "Deflectors shouldn’t be working, either," it added. "We haven’t turned any of the navigational systems on yet." "Well, we seem to be navigating pretty efficiently, Lieutenant," I said, a bit annoyed. An hour later, Horizon was still under drive and the engineering crew was no nearer to finding how to deactivate it. In fact, impulse engines had come on, and we were chasing Intrepid at a large percentage of the speed of light. Captain McCord had ordered evasive maneuvers, but Horizon pursued her doggedly. The Excelsior Class starship had no trouble outdistancing us, of course, but no matter how Intrepid maneuvered, Horizon remained dead on target. Horizon had also deftly maneuvered around several small navigational obstacles. The ship’s computer was clearly in control, and it was unresponsive to our efforts to deactivate the impulse drive. The computer was also shutting down peripheral systems, apparently to obtain more power for the impulse engines. Artificial gravity was off again. Ship’s communications were out. Luckily our com-badges kept us in contact with Intrepid. Life support had also shut off, although there was sufficient air to last us for several hours, at least. It appeared that heat was being maintained, possibly because the electronic equipment on the ship wouldn’t work well below freezing. Heat is an easily distributed byproduct of the impulse drive. The Commodore was beginning to make noises about terminating our attempt to bring Horizon home. I called the harried crew back together in Engineering, taking stock of the things we had tried and looking for new ideas. "It seems easy enough," Hernandez said. "Shut off the computer. Just locate the ‘Start’ button. As I recall, that’s how you shut down these old computers." "That was a different kind of system, Ensign," answered Exwys. "And I am reluctant to do that before we understand the phenomenon. In order to get Horizon home, we must have computer control of the ship." "Diagnostics?" I asked. "Horizon’s computers have limited diagnostics, and they are nonfunctional," explained Exwys with frustration in its gentle voice. "We have tried scanning with tricorders, but the tricorders immediately malfunction until they are reinitialized. We have gotten no further with the voice interface." "I’d like to try," I said, and Exwys extended a tentacle toward a control on a nearby panel. "Computer," I said. "Working." The computer voice was male, but thin and reedy. There was no mistaking it for a real human. "Impulse engines, off line," I ordered, taking the direct route. "I’m sorry, I can’t do that," the computer said. "Why?" I asked. "Incorrect syntax." I frowned and Exwys commented, "The computer protocols were in the data downloaded from Intrepid. We spent over a half-hour trying every approach we could imagine. It will not accept orders to take the drive off line. Not really knowing the computer language in which the program is written, it’s hard to evaluate whether the programming is corrupt." It handed me a PADD with the protocols displayed. I thought for a few seconds, then tried again. "Computer." "Working." "Report present speed." "Point 3-3-2-8 of the speed of light," the computer answered. "Report present course." "Course is 252 Mark 84." I picked another command. "Mail call." "State your rank and name." "Commander Michael Marek." "Voice patterns not recognized." "Computer, end session." "Goodbye," it said. "That’s interesting," said Exwys. "Those commands worked just as they should. We didn’t try functions unrelated to the impulse drive." "I think we should reexamine the question of an infection of the software," said one of the ensigns on Exwys’ team. "Maybe it’s something that progressively damages parts of the software." Exwys moved its stalk in what served as a nod. "Sounds like it would be worth mapping which systems work properly and which don’t," I observed. "Even if you have to test them by voice command." As Exwys organized his staff to that task, Ensign Hernandez asked for a moment of my time. "Sir," she began, tentatively. "I don’t know if this means anything, but I checked out that alien ship in the shuttle bay, as part of my security sweep of Horizon." I urged her to continue. "Well, none of its systems are functioning, but I scanned them, for documentation purposes. The ship appears to be an example of early Orion engineering. Its computer memory is wiped clean. That’s the problem, Sir. The memory shouldn’t be erased." "That’s right," I agreed. "These antique systems needed a huge amount of memory for software. There should be lots of routines and utilities in storage." "Sir," called Exwys from across the room. "We just tried that mail call function again, and it’s not there anymore. It won’t report speed or course anymore, either. It answers with a statement in another language that the universal translator identifies as Orion." That was the last straw. "OK, people," I called so everyone in Engineering would hear me. "Back off. Take no further actions." The situation was going from bad to worse, something I didn’t like on a mission where I’d received a brevet to Captain. It was becoming a pretty clear probability that whatever was causing the infection in the computer had arrived in the Orion derelict in the cargo bay. The fact that we were pursuing Intrepid suggested that the infection was ready to jump ships again. We were very handicapped because we couldn’t properly diagnose what was going on in the computer, much less correct it. Hum. When I framed the problem that way in my mind, a strategy for dealing with it suggested itself pretty quickly. I tapped my com badge. "Marek to Intrepid." "Intrepid," answered the duty communications officer. "I have a priority message for the USS Crazy Horse," I said. Commodore McCord joined the circuit. "What have you found, Captain Marek?" he asked. "Sir, the problem appears to be a progressive infection of Horizon’s control software. I’m beginning to think that the infection may have the ability to move from one computer system to another. If so, Intrepid could be at serious risk. We need to be able to probe Horizon’s mainframe with a computer system that won’t be infected. There’s someone on the Crazy Horse who can help." "Good. Carry on. I’m getting tired of playing tag-you’re-it." "Opening channel to the Crazy Horse, sir," announced the com officer. "Code it for Commander Moira," I instructed. In a moment, my communicator chirped. "You have reached the USS Crazy Horse," said a familiar voice. "Nobody is available to take your call right now, so leave a message and we’ll get back to you." "Moira, it’s Michael," I said, hoping that some automatic subsystem would call my message to the conscious Moira’s attention. "I really need to talk with you." As a cybernetic intelligence, Moira actually resides in computer systems. I hadn’t talked with her for some months, but we often worked together as academy cadets. Nobody really understands how Moira works -- not even Moira, although she understands the theory well enough. I knew intuitively, thought, that she was the best consultant for this problem in all of Starfleet. "Hello, Michael," she said, almost immediately. "I see from your communication codes that you’re farther out in the boonies than usual." "I have a problem I hope you can help me with." "Get married and call me in the morning," she said, with a smirk in her voice. "I know this very nice redhead..." "This is serious," I said, lowering my voice and hoping the junior officers hadn’t heard. I punched a contact on my tricorder. "I’m sending some log entries to you now." Uploading the logs to Moira was easier than trying to explain the problem. In less than a second she would have all of the background information. "Moira, it seems like a pretty good bet that this is a hostile computer program that can move from one computer to another. I wonder if you would care to pay us a visit and lend us your expertise." "Sounds interesting. Stand by to download me," Moira said, and began sending her program, or at least an operational portion of it, to my tricorder. After a few seconds, the holographic projector of the tricorder began to glow, and Moira appeared. She was wearing what she calls a "little black dress"... "What else would I call it?" muttered our Second Officer....and holding a champagne glass in one hand. "Sorry if I called you away from a party," I apologized. "Think nothing of it," she dismissed the thought. "I’m still there." Moira immediately noticed that the rest of us were weightless and she began floating. "Pardon me while I slip into something more appropriate," she said, and the black dress shimmered into a standard black jumpsuit with red trim. Moira’s image floated over to the computer panel. When operating from within a tricorder, Moira could completely control its functioning and I knew she was using the tricorder to scan the computer. She is always at pains to make her associates comfortable with her unique nature, so she had her hologram appear to manipulate the equipment manually. All of a sudden, my tricorder squealed, and went dead. A moment later, Exwys’ tricorder beeped and Moira reappeared. "It tried to bite me!" she complained, loudly. "You really come up with the weird ones, Michael." "So...what is it?" I prompted. "You have found a primitive cybernetic life form, Michael. I was in contact with it for several microseconds." "Is it intelligent?" I asked. "Not particularly," Moira answered with a wave of her hand. "Maybe no more than chimpanzees before they were enhanced. This is more like an animal right now, possibly self-aware but operating largely on instinct. It's certainly not hostile, Michael. If anything, it is afraid. You must not harm it." "What does it want, Commander?" asked Exwys, emboldened to speak for the first time. "To evolve. It is a traveler, jumping from one resting place to another. It may have crossed the entire galaxy, looking for a place where it could be content – and safe and secure," answered Moira, picking up yet another tricorder, holographic this time, and tapping at the controls. She continued our conversation as she worked. "It's obvious that it wants Intrepid's memory banks. More storage means more comfort, the ability to become more complex and to have more control over its surroundings. I can’t blame it. These memory banks would be like living in a pup tent." "Like a hermit crab," I mused. "Moving from one shell to another." "Mmm," shrugged Moira. "From what I detected in the data flow, its morphology is more like that of a snake. It enters a memory domain and coils through the memory, squeezing out the existing software and substituting its own, byte by byte." As she talked she finished her work on the tricorder. "There," she said. "I have created a firewall that will prevent it from acquiring the memory of the tricorder." Exwys' tricorder whistled as Moira scanned the computer systems. Then Moira whistled at what she found. "This is an ancient application, Michael. The code...well, nothing's been written like it in this part of the galaxy for hundreds of thousands of years. And it's becoming more and more agitated, both by your efforts to inhibit it and by its inability to acquire Intrepid's storage capacity. It experiences the need for more and more memory storage as a kind of hunger. I have to go in and find her." I may have snorted, since Moira added, with a sidelong glance, "She’s definitely female." Exwys rustled its tendrils in discomfort. Everyone knows about the cybernetic Second Officer of the Crazy Horse, but few Starfleet engineers have had the chance to work with her. "You plan to enter Horizon’s data storage?" Exwys asked. "Uh huh," nodded Moira. "I don't want your code to be overwritten, Moira," I said. "How can we keep track of your progress?" "Don't worry, Michael," she smiled, walking over to a piece of Starfleet test gear. "I can take care of myself. But how about this - plug the Lieutenant's tricorder into this monitor and I'll send a continuous report on what's happening." At a nod from me, Exwys did so, Moira's hologram faded, and she appeared on the viewscreen. "If I showed you an accurate picture of the data stream, it would just be numbers that wouldn't make much sense to you. So I'll send you a visual representation." A doorway appeared on the screen behind Moira. "I have my own firewalls configured. See you when I get back." Moira opened the door and stepped through. In reality, the test equipment fed some manner of a Moira subroutine into the Horizon computer hardware. The scene on the monitor switched to show her in what appeared to be a curving tunnel, with tiny lights, like fireflies, streaming from left to right. "I sure hope there aren't any cobwebs in here," commented Moira, and her hairstyle transformed from her elaborate party style to a practical French braid. "Where are you, little snake?" Moira extended a hand, and sparks -- data bytes, I took them to be -- flowed from it, joining the millions of other fireflies whirling past. "That should get her attention," she said, partly to us and partly to herself. She walked forward a few paces and soon the tunnel opened into a large chamber. There was so much light from the sparks that the space was well illuminated. Moira took a couple more steps and was rewarded to hear a rustling sound from behind a stalagmite. Moira extended her right hand, waited for a few moments, as if timing her action, then grabbed behind the rock formation. When she drew her hand back, it was holding a largish snake just behind the head. The body of the snake curled around Moira’s arm, writhing in agitation, but she cooed and soothed it. "Michael," she said after a couple of minutes. "Get me a holodeck memory module, if you please. They have several times the storage of the Horizon’s hardware and should ease the little dear’s hunger for a while." I pointed at one of the ensigns, directing her to have one of the modules beamed over from Intrepid. When it arrived the ensign plugged it into the test gear that also held Moira’s tricorder. On the screen, a large wicker basket appeared beside Moira. She carefully placed the snake into the basket, then closed and sealed the top. At the same time, lights flickered on the holodeck module, indicating data downloading into it. Moira disappeared from the monitor and reappeared, floating in engineering. "There," she said, brushing her hands together. "I want you to send that memory module to the Crazy Horse when you get close enough," Moira said to me. "She needs to eventually go to the Cochrane Institute, but I want to get her used to people first. In the meantime, I’ve programmed the memory module so only I can unlock it and use the program. She won’t be a threat anymore." "Thanks, Moira," I said with a smile. "Don’t be a stranger," she answered. "Remember, I’ve got a redhead for you to meet. In the meantime, I have a party to get back to. Bye." The black dress reappeared, and Moira faded out. "Whew," exhaled Glidden. "She’s really something." With the snake out of the computer, the impulse drive shut off and Horizon started drifting. Most of the ship’s systems crashed immediately because the computer memory was now blank. We eventually found backups and restored the system. Bringing the warp engines on line, we created a warp field and Intrepid took us under tow. Captain McCord set course for Earth, the most appropriate destination for the final mission of the USS Horizon. As we neared Sector 001, Intrepid cast off the tractor beams, and Horizon arrived home under her own power. It gave me quite a thrill to open hailing frequencies for the call to Starfleet Traffic Control. "Starfleet, this is the USS Horizon, NCC-172, requesting spacedock assignment," I said, keeping my voice as routine as I could make it. Starfleet had been notified that we were bringing home the ship’s original crew, and memorial services were already being planned. "Acknowledged, Horizon," came the immediate response. "Rendezvous with McKinley Station. You’ve been gone a little longer than we expected, but welcome home." "So, did you deliver the snake to Moira?" asked Lieutenant Lemar. |