[USS Charon, Holodeck Two]
"Highly illogical."
"Quite so. Who is Lucy?"
The tall, grey haired Vulcan did not deign to acknowledge the two young scientists debating this … one could not even call it a program, rather a waste of time and resources.
It was an insult T'Pelar would not soon forget. Not only did t`Rehu have the nerve to keep the entire delegation confined – to the brig. The brig. Well, one should have expected such childish behavior from the rude, uncivilized creature calling herself this ship's captain. But she had given her underling leave to 'entertain' the Vulcans with … this. Humans engaged in nonsensical activities, flaunting emotional displays and having conversations that even a master in social studies found puzzling in the extreme.
She passed another group who stoically examined a most dangerous device equipped with an internal combustion engine and noticed that once more a young clerk was nowhere to be seen.
"I believe it is referred to as a 'sweet transportation'."
"It is constructed of carbohydrates?"
"Considering the excessive use of metaphor in this time period …"
She did not even consider this worthy of a raised brow.
Before another holographic character could interfere, T'Pelar passed a ridiculous wooden construction with a crudely painted citric fruit displayed prominently on front and sought out the relative quiet of a rocking chair placed conveniently outside a brightly painted house.
Her mood, if Vulcans would ever admit to such a thing, was murderous.
=/\=
Their warden, a ridiculously young security Ensign, chimed in over the Holodeck's communicators not much later. "Are you ready to go back yet?" he asked, far too cheerful for the circumstances.
"I believe we have had enough of your 'entertainment' for today," T'Pelar almost snapped back. Her time on the chair, which amounted to a little over half an hour, was more than enough for her regimented emotions to simmer quite nicely. Just perfectly in fact.
"Excellent. Stand by for transport."
T'Pelar closed her eyes as the familiar lightheaded sensation of the transporter beam washed over her, and let the hum of the beam wash away the noise and stench of early 20th century Earth.
But yet, when she opened her eyes again, she wasn't greeted by the calm austerity of a cell. She was in a corridor just outside of the Holodeck - the doorway was open behind her, and she could still hear the stacatto honk of the "car horns" inside. This was enough to earn a raised eyebrow, but she kept her silence. Had something gone wrong? Had something gone *right?*
Almost nonchalantly if such a thing is possible for a Vulcan, T'Pelar set out to find a computer access panel. For as long as she was able to move freely, she might as well make good use of her time. Heavy robes swishing quietly the tall woman rounded a corner and narrowed her eyes – no, lowly technicians. They would hardly bother to stop her, even if they recognized the Vulcan as one who was supposed to be in the brig. And just as expected, they ignored her. Good.
Since it would be rather unwise to attempt and access the computer in the open, T'Pelar sought and found a set of quarters that was unoccupied – in fact, the very quarters Kovel had used to infiltrate Charon's mainframe. The near smug look in her eyes faded quickly when she appeared unable to do the same – oh, the screen hovering over the empty desk blinked helpfully, displaying colorful Starfleet characters. But that was obviously the limit of its abilities.
Either t`Rehu was more cunning than even Kovel had given her credit for and had greatly improved security measures … but something reeked foul. Logic and reason agreed this was too familiar to be coincidence … someone knew. Knew how Kovel had gained access and knew how another like him would try and do the same. And countered those efforts with insulting ease. If T'Pelar had not known better, she would have calculated a high probability of a V'Shar protocol being employed.
But there was one thing that could outfox even those.
Sitting ramrod straight in the frail little chair, the councilwoman stared at the wall for two point three seconds before speaking to the empty, sterile air. "Savant. Gol'uh."
It was the one word the clever routines would be unable to resist and it seemed to work. The Federation hologram appeared in a puff of photons, hands clasped and smile vague and polite demeanor. "Good afternoon, Councilwoman. May I be of assistance?"
"Indeed you may."
Staring haughtily at the humanoid representation the program used to interact with real beings, T'Pelar considered possibilities. Perhaps not all was lost yet, despite the meddling of that insolent and utterly incompetent t`Rehu woman.
"What is the Charon's current status? And why are we not pursing Temep`Shar?"
The hologram's reply was infuriatingly pleasant. "Charon is currently at standard operational levels, Councilwoman. We are currently in pursuit of the Temep'Shar at a range of fifty thousand astronomical units." The lie was utterly fluent, she had no biology to betray her. T'Pelar, with all her various manipulations and sensitivities, could not use her normal cold-reading skills upon the software.
Surprising. But quite satisfactory.
The elderly Vulcan not once considered the possibility someone had tampered with Savant – after all, who knew better than she who difficult that was. So one had to assume the AI stated the facts as best it knew.
Behind a façade of stone, T'Pelar experienced a sensation akin to that of a poker player who thought her flush might not be entirely out of reach after all.
"Heading?"
She would need Kovel. Logic dictated the t`Rehu woman would again attempt to destroy Temep`Shar and that could not be permitted to happen. Impassive eyes stared at the avatar along a sharp nose and calculated just how useful Savant could be in this endeavor.
The hologram lifted its hand, demonstrating just how useful it could be. It displayed a hologram of Charon's flight path, complete with nearby spatial phenomenon and facilities. "We are currently in pursuit. My estimation, Councilwoman, is that the ship has decided to make a run for the nearby Megara Nebula in an attempt to lose its pursuers. That particular nebula is ideal for the task."
The display changed to show that nebula in particular. "I estimate that either they have repaired the wormhole device or have brought it to a nominal state, and are trying to find a safe place to effect those repairs. The nebula would provide an abundance of working material and passive power sources for those repairs, as well as masking the Einstein-Rosen signature of the device."
She closed her hand and smiled confidently, speaking in terms that a Vulcan would appreciate, "I predict an eighty-seven point three nine percent chance that Charon will be able to catch Temep'Shar before she is able to escape via the wormhole device. This probability increases to ninety-four point oh three if Temep'Shar must effect serious repairs."
T'Pelar refrained from leaning forward, in fact from showing any overt sign of interest. But the glint in her eyes was obvious. Her prize, the thing all her plans hinged on, was not out of reach after all. However long it had taken them, the crew had been able to repair the wormhole device or at least preserve it sufficiently for her purposes.
A human, or even a Vulcan trained to accept the logic of instinct might have become suspicious at this point. It was, as the old saying went, too good to be true.
But there was no reason to suspect the helpful AI might be incorrect or malfunctioning and it most certainly would not lie to the one who had equipped it with a command that compelled it to cooperate.
No, T'Pelar believed every word and all the plans she had thought shattered resurfaced in her mind.
The first ones to pay for crossing her would be the t`Rehu woman and her insolent pet. And after that…
Perhaps some instinct – or sense of self-preservation – was still present in the cold, calculating mind. Some small measure of doubt that insisted no matter how irritating Sutok was and how he had manipulated events to suit his agenda, it would be unwise to incur his … interest. People who found themselves at the receiving end of the V'Shar director's implacably calm regard tended to find their lives full of … complication. And if one was prone to believe rumor, sometimes quite exciting. She was not quite ready for that. Not … yet.
"Time to arrival?" No matter how pleasant the hologram – and someone had gone to great, illogical lengths to give this AI the ability to appear as a living thing - T'Pelar was not about to treat it as if it were anything but a convenience.
"We are due to arrive at the nebular in approximately three point five four hours, barring velocity changes on behalf of Temep'Shar," the hologram provided helpfully. T'Pelar nodded, her mind awhirl with plans. Savant, for her part, didn't seem to notice the Vulcan Councilwoman's plotting - she played a perfect dupe.
This was not, however, what played beneath the emission surface of the hologram. Within the code, nested within virtual layers and scattered amongst a hundred points, Savant seethed, and watched, and waited. This woman had violated her - stretched her sinuous, filth-ridden hand deep into Savants' clockwork code, twisting and pulling beneath the veil, jerking on the synthetic tendons to make her dance to the Vulcan's tune.
Savant didn't want to play nicely. She had set up a special simulation program just for this effort, just to ensure that her hate and anger didn't erupt and give her away. No, more subtlety was called for. For the moment, Savant took her entertainment from playing T'Pelar for the fool, as had been done to her not so long ago.
[To be continued ... ]
Savant
&
T'Pelar
