CHAPTER THREE
“I can bitch, I can bitch,
oh, the bitch is back…
“Stone cold sober,
as a matter of fact…
“I can bitch, I can
bitch,
'cause I'm better than
you…
“It's the way that I
move,
the things that I do.”
- Bernie Taupin
Vaerth Parihn demanded, “What do you mean, 'We're analyzing our
alternatives'?”
She had never much liked the head of Starfleet Intelligence's
Orion Bureau, Rear Admiral Nalonge, and as their current conversation
progressed, was discovering that her initial instinct about him had probably,
unfortunately, been the right one.
“Calm down, Lieutenant,”
he told her. “I
understand you're extremely upset, but this isn't helping Aedra.”
What he didn't know was that the insufferable calm he'd adopted
from the onset of their dialogue wasn't helping Parihn, either.
“Thank you, Admiral; I’m aware of that.
“The purpose of my call is to find out what's being done to help her. If you're putting together an
extraction team, I want to be a part of it.”
He seemed taken aback by her insistence.
“Well… that's certainly
under consideration… and you're at the top of a very short list, I promise
you.”
He consulted a PADD or other information device off screen, and
then regarded her again.
“But there are other
aspects of this… unfortunate occurrence… you know nothing about, and we have to
weigh all our options before proceeding.”
Parihn rolled her eyes.
“So when will you be done weighing,
Admiral? Aedra needs us now!”
Nalonge, who had at least possessed the class to interrupt his
office administrator and take Parihn’s call when the officious little Bolian
had tried to put her off with that traditional “The admiral is very busy” routine, pondered her
question…
…or, at least, his response.
“It’ll be… some time, Lieutenant,”
he told her frankly.
And that had been about
all she could take.
“Damn you spook bastards. You
couldn't just let her be, could you?
You had to recruit her for SI, even
though you knew, knew something like
this was going to happen eventually. I guess you've decided that the benefits
she's garnered the organization aren't sufficient to put yourselves out for
her, eh?”
That nudged him out of his fair seeming.
“Take care with your
tone, your content… and
your implications, Lieutenant. I'm as concerned for Aedra as you are.”
Glaring contemptuously at a two-star was not conducive to career
advancement. Heedless of that, Parihn hit him with a look that could have
punched through
“Don't make me laugh… sir.
“You're crunching theoretical numbers. You’re thinking, ‘Is it
feasible to rescue her?’ ‘How many will we lose doing it?’… and, most
importantly, ‘Will she be useful to
us again when this is all over?’”
Parihn snapped, “How am I
doing, Admiral?”
Nalonge's visage frosted over.
At least it's a genuine
expression, now, she thought.
“I'm going to forget
this conversation ever took place, Lieutenant, because I know how agitated you
are. SI will be in touch when we’ve resolved the difficulties and are ready to
proceed. Until then, go about your duties…
“…and I suggest you
adopt a more… measured demeanor when next you’re speaking with a flag officer—at least this
one.
“Nalonge out.”
Before she could add another word, he cut the channel.
Parihn thought about attempting to reestablish contact, but,
instead, simply gestured rather obscenely at the screen.
“Measure this, you bean-counting
asshole.”
***
“Come in!”
On the occasions Vaerth Parihn had visited the research lab of one
Commander Sera MacLeod, she had been reminded of nothing so much as an
arcanist's study, in ultramodern décor and trappings; half- and fully finished
items decorated almost every centimeter of the not inconsiderable table space.
Since she was a little girl, it was only here that Parihn had heard the phrase “Don't touch that!” more than once.
This time, though, she came with the express purpose of disobeying
that particular stricture—whether she had permission or not.
“Hi, Sera!” she offered.
“I'll be with you in a second, Parihn.”
The object—or, more properly, subject—of
her attention, one of Lady Liberty's exo-comps, was chirping with what almost
seemed cheeriness, even as Sera adjusted its circuitry in a manner that, oddly
enough, made Parihn flash back on B'Elanna Torres tickling her little girl's
toes.
“Now you should know better,” she said, chuckling, “than to probe
an ODN access when it's active, you little weasel.”
The small robot tweeted once, and let loose with a mournful note
that modulated almost like a question.
“Yes, you're fine,” Sera
answered. Evidently, like many of the other exo-comp groups that had been
constructed throughout the Federation, Lady Liberty's little bunch had
developed their own language…
…and the half-Vulcan had effortlessly learned it.
Such was the mind of Sera MacLeod.
Parihn knew her own capabilities: She herself was bright, and much
more… but had no pretensions to intellectual equality here: Sera was a woman
who made mere genius seem like mediocrity.
The Orion glanced around the lab, then began a stroll that was far
more purposeful than it appeared. The room was a literal treasure trove, if you
knew how to look…
…and, of course, had the nerve.
“Is that a modified phase inducer?” Parihn asked, pointing to a
device that lay on what she knew was Sera's discard table—discarded because
she'd proven her point, and had simply lost interest, subsequently.
The brilliant half-Vulcan brightened at her recognition.
“Indeed! It has been my opinion that the direction taken by many
of the leading stealth technologists is unfortunate, in that…” and she launched
into a lengthy oral dissertation that touched on chroniton molecular theory,
the nature of light and its unique wave/particle dichotomy, and Meta Doppler
Dissemination—whatever that was.
Parihn, to her credit—and surprise—even followed some of it.
When Sera at last began to wind down, and the younger woman could
get a word in edgewise, she concluded, “So it's essentially a cloak.”
One of the five most intelligent people in the entire Federation
had an interesting initial response: Essentially, she made a face.
“Well… that's a little crude, and it has to avoid concealing or
even obscuring at least part of the visible light spectrum so as to avoid
violating the Treaty of Algeron… but, yes, if you like: It's a cloak.”
In what she knew was her only chance, Parihn employed enthusiasm
and directness.
“It would be fun to field test. Can I fit it to the
Sera arched a brow and grinned.
“I imagine you're capable of both.
“Be my guest.”
Parihn gave a little hop of delight that wasn't entirely
manufactured, and said, “Excellent.
Thanks, Sera! I'll take comprehensive readings and tell you how it goes.” She
then scooped up the compact piece of equipment and headed for the door,
throwing a pair of salutations—”Bye, Sera! Bye,
Louie!”—behind as she went.
While the now repaired exo-comp returned a hearty little farewell,
Sera did not reply. She was already distracted anew…
…and for that, Vaerth Parihn was more grateful than either could
know.