Wednesday, August 25, 2010

[USS Charon] SD241008.25 || Joint Log "Fatal Attraction" Part I || Savant, LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax, Itsak tr`Sahen

[IRW Endless Sky]     


Although the ship's corridors were nearly pleasant in their lighting and temperature, even and especially to a Vulcan, the room which Sakarra found herself in now was decidedly …cold. In degrees as well as in appearance, and quite likely it was meant to be so.

In fact, one might safely assume it was meant to cause apprehension – after all, why not let fear and terror help along the way, it was as effective a torture as any physical instrument.


A Vulcan with full control of her inner self would have been able to observe these facts with near clinical detachment, perhaps even ponder the philosophical implications.

General consensus held it was about as pointless to try and induce fear in a Vulcan as it was to throw rocks at a mountain. And even those who knew the pointy eared children of Nevasa somewhat better than that would have agreed – with one caveat. That should one by chance or design indeed succeed to frighten a Vulcan … one would soon find that it was not a good idea after all.


As it was, the slight, sable haired woman taking in her surroundings with a dispassionate gaze was far too busy keeping her temper in check to even scoff at the ridiculous show put on by her captors. The only thing she found worth pondering was whether the tray with glittering instruments would make a satisfactory noise if it was placed squarely on the head of a certain Vaek'Riov. And of course whether it had sufficient mass and stability to cause the harm she would rather like to inflict.

Her musings were rudely interrupted by Hanaj who was not content to merely shove her into a chair but seemed to take an undue amount of delight in removing the uniform jacket which had been at least a small shield from the room's chill. One could hardly say the same for the light, red shirt that was left to her now, but in either case they could not be so foolish to think …

When the cold water hit her, Sakarra understood.

Well, yes, that would about do it of course.

Not even bereft of all her clothing would she have ever given the merest sign that the temperatures were rather … uncomfortable. Dripping with water that was barely above one degree Celsius … she might. Sooner or later.


She did not deign to quirk an ironic brow at the gazes resting on her now quite clearly outlined form, but the temptation was there all the same.

She did however blink when another Vulcan was led into the room, for all intent and purposes looking as tranquil as the Voroth Sea at dawn and also decidedly not … a Vulcan.

"This is the one?"

"Ie, Rekkhai."

"Well, then." Itsak tr`Sahen's appreciative gaze lingered on the soaked little Vulcan for a second longer before he turned to smirk at the new arrival "How boring. Another thaessu? Somehow I had hoped for something more … entertaining."

Stoic as the guards' faces were, they managed to radiate wholehearted agreement nonetheless.

As the Vulcan who was none was pushed into another chair, Sakarra did her best to not betray even the slightest hint of puzzlement even though she was experiencing a fair amount of it.

"Pretty, though. Ah, well. Ihlla'hn. What's her name?"

The guards sneered as they sheared off the black-haired Vulcan captive's uniform and strapped her down as they had Sakarra, "She won't tell us."
Hanaj smirked and sauntered forwards, momentarily forgetting about his greater prize as he grabbed the woman's square chin and yanked her head upwards, "Don't want to sing, pretty bird? What's your name?" he leered.
"Yyaio," she retorted as sharply as a measured Vulcan could without losing her cool. Their interrogator released her, only to strike a fist across her face for her insolence. Her cheek and eye immediately bruised dark green, but she remained silent. She did, however, spare a message-laden glance at Sakarra.
Her eyes were crystal-blue, polished like gems. Savant's eyes.


For a mercy, their captors were about as apt at reading the delicate subtleties of Vulcan expressions as they likely were to read the weather patterns over Sas-a-Shar. A shift in the still, scorching hot air, not worthy to be called a gust or even a breeze, only molecules of air jumbling and rearranging themselves in mysterious patterns before the deadly silence returns. But somewhere a Shavokh would be spreading its wings, staring into the void, knowing the signs.


In plain non-Vulcan, Sakarra was as bemused as ever one of her kind could be and therefore resorted to the only logic left to her. When your fighter tumbles out of control over an ice planet, don't bother with a diagnostic. When a wall of Sandfire races towards you, don't be a fool and wonder why there is a cave where none has been last month or appreciate the marvel of volcanic activities and earthquakes. When you are in enemy hands and a Vulcan who has not even the most basic hallmark of one – a unique telepathic signature for one – but the startling eyes of a familiar being … improvise.


"She is not able to give you information. Your bringing her here is therefore illogical."

For a species who is decidedly horrible at playacting, Sakarra thought she had pulled off the cold but displeased Vulcan rather well. Then again, she had had a bit of practice in recent months …. before her thoughts could lose their carefully maintained focus, the young woman fixed her night black eyes on the scowling face of Hanaj.

"Illogical. That is all you have to say, Vulcan? What tender love there must be between you and your own adjutant."


"You have yet to state what it is you wish me to say."

Her dry but far from malevolent remark nonetheless almost earned Sakarra a blow as well, but a near imperceptible gesture of his commander stopped Hanaj.

"It would be a shame to ruin that exquisite face …" circling her like a predator pondering how to best bring down an interesting new prey, the Vaek'Riov almost absentmindedly let his fingertips brush over high cheekbones and an aristocratic little nose "… when there are so much better ways."


Yyaio, as she was calling herself, sat still and stern, a rock in rough waters. Beneath the veneer was Savant, her android quickly altered to look somewhat different and her local software filled to brimming with covert operations routines. Heaven knew what compelled the AI to intervene in this interrogation instead of simply holing up with the others. Beneath the cold exterior, her shining eyes slid malevolently across the room, hostile and impassive. Her one eye was already swelling up impressively as the green-coloured lubricants and dyes clotted together, using a variant of the cupric hemoglobin molecule already prevalent in Vulcan blood. It looked like a painful shiner, and a credit to the Vulcan she was pretending to be that she didn't wince.

Of course she didn't wince, she had no nerves to feel any pain. It was a convincing enough act to fool anyone but a doctor, and that's all she needed for now. She watched the Romulan assistants fuss over their implements blankly while she worked.

Because she was here to work. Communication and computer systems here were significantly better in the local area, and Savant needed every transmission advantage she could get. The tiny transceivers she had incorporated into what would have been a Vulcan brain were sophisticated but passive and very low powered, feeding off of ambient energy for their work. Savant reached out into the surrounding data network - not invading, for she didn't understand the language. No, this was purely Intel gathering. It was unfortunate that she would have to pay for her learning time in suffering and blood.

Completely unaware of the complex thought processes churning and racing through the android and too occupied with other matters to ponder Savant's motives, the Vulcan still had to assume there was a logical purpose to her presence. Determining that purpose was hardly possible so for the time being Sakarra had to see about not interfering at least … perhaps aid in some small way by distracting their would-be torturers.

At least in the Vaek'Riov's case, she needn't bother. He appeared quite content to leave the blue eyed adjutant in his people's tender care.


There are Vulcans who are quite skilled in the art of 'needling' as it were, oftentimes not even on purpose. Others are capable of causing splendid irritation in other species without ever missing a beat or losing a shred of composure. Unfortunately, in the few cases Sakarra had elicited such reactions it usually was utterly unintentional and thus they were not exactly helpful instances to re-create such a scenario.  

"You are of course aware that torture is quite ineffective against Vulcans, yes?"

Sometimes it helped to stubbornly point out the obvious. But tr`Sahen only chuckled – that low, menacing sound she was beginning to find rather irritating herself – and busied himself with loosening her tightly coiled braids until the dripping wet curls fell loosely over the chair's back, nearly all the way to the floor.

"Yes. If I were to be foolish enough to go about it the usual way. There. So much prettier."

Usual way?

Keep … needling. Somehow.

Putting on her best 'displeased matriarch' expression, Sakarra managed a rather impressive huff

"I stand corrected. Paying such undue attention to the aesthetic appearance of your captives is unusual indeed. Though I still debate whether it has sufficient effect for your purposes."


A long stare and a smirk was her only reply, and she was not all too surprised when a cold ring of metal was slid over her head while two nodes affixed themselves to her temples.

Reining in both a flare of temper and the desire to laugh into the Vaek'Riov's face, Sakarra settled for another huff. It did not have quite the desired effect. Unless one counted the brief furrowing of brows before another smile emerged.

"Have no fear, lady Vulcan. My purpose … will be served."



[To be continued ...]


LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Executive Officer


Aka Yyaio the insolent Vulcan


USS Charon


Vaek'Riov Itsak tr'Sahen

Fleet Commander