Useless piece of junk

Who: The usual lot
Where: The usual place
When: The usual time
As the flying dinosaur (smegged if I'm going to try to spell it) took
off, Cerebrum managed to regain control of the tricorder.
"Let's see know," he said aloud, "We need to get to coordinates
(523523, 39432, -23943)."
There was a brief 'are you mad?' stare from Jay at him, and a
longer, 'what the hell are you going on about?' stare from everybody
else.
"You want us to fly three thousand kilometers straight down?" Jay
asked.
"No, wait, the tricorder's malfunctioning," Cerebrum said, "The
thingambob's fluctuating and affecting the whatchamacallit because of
all the damnedifIknows in the air. We just have to fly north for a
while."
Cerebrum threw the tricorder over his shoulder, "Bloody useless piece
of junk. It must use Windows 95."
There was a thunk, an ow and a scream. Cerebrum suddenly became aware
of a large weight holding onto his leg. He looked down.
"Keto? Why are you hanging onto my leg?" he asked. One guess as to
who was sitting behind Cerebrum and was directly in line with the
thrown tricorder.