Savant pondered the swelling nebula wistfully. She longed to send her
probes forth and caress the gentle eddies, the whorls and weave of
interstellar hydrogen; she yearned to stretch her broad hand across the
stars and, through them, stretch herself thin across the cosmos. She
wanted to feel the pass of time, to embed herself into the deep
celestial mystery. Such wonders were written in the space between the
stars! The churning symphony of electromagnetic fields, keeping time
between the long, slow swelling chords of gravity. How the organics
could possibly delay in the investigation was utterly beyond her - to be
concerned about anything else, when they were in such majestic
surroundings! It was beauty enough to make one weep for joy at ones'
fortune for being born in such a universe.
But, no. She found more and more of her threads drawn inwards, back to
those organics, back to the orchestra within - the interplay of
personality and biochemicals. It had its own beauty, but had nowhere the
majesty of the stars. At least, not unless one chose to look deeply -
which Savant rarely had the time for, nevermind having the permission.
No, this was a call back to the mundanity of the political moment.
Vulcans and Romulans, forever opposed, forever denying their unity. Just
like all organics. She grieved for them.
Her hologram appeared on Charon's bridge, to one side, away form the
bustle of the various terminals. She had no need for them, though she
did summon a shell of floating view screens about her, transparent and
iridescent with power, glimmering holograms showing potentialities.
Ships' systems pulsed with their simplistic version of biological
networks; maps showed the local area with vectors for the various
members. Information poured from her avatar like a waterfall, spitting
sparks of light like droplets. She floated at the centre of it all, placid.
"Alert mode activated, Commanders," she reported smoothly to Sakarra and
Eithne as she appeared, "All systems are operating within predicted
tolerances. I am conducting deep scans of the target vessel, but local
x-ray interference is making standard methods difficult. I am conserving
use of the lateral sensors at the moment, as they will likely be
required to boost the annular confinement beams. May I suggest that the
Helm approach to within five kilometers?"
Savant responded perfunctorily, allowing her less sentient functions to
take care of replies. She instead pondered the stars, taking what
seconds she could to delve deeper into the mysteries. She had a valid
reason - knowing the surroundings of a tactical engagement site was the
primary advantage of the defense - but her deeper reason was simply to
swim with the stars for a few moments longer.
The Temep'Shar loomed like a damaged gull nearby, framed in starlight
and coruscating electromagnetic fields. Savants' first thoughts were not
on the plight of the Vulcans aboard, or the politics of extricating the
wounded ship, or even of the fortunes of the away team. No, it was the
halo that hung around the ship like a ring, a disc, framing the
elliptical hull. She scanned, deep and long - such beauty needed to be
preserved. What other reason where they out there for at all, in the end?
Savant
