Wallstark sat, sipping a cup of tea he’d replicated not five seconds before. He made a move to pet the cat that was close to him on the sofa but drew back as the cat hissed at him and took a swipe.
Wallstark smiled at the intelligent feline as it withdrew to the other room. He rolled his shoulders, knowing that this form, this image, it wasn’t real. It could never be real. But the plans in his head, or holographic matrix, were real. The ambition he’d been carelessly endowed with by Tevalak, whom had betrayed him mercilessly to the Federation handlers of Deep Space 13, Wallstark had and would continue to make use of.
There.
He felt it again. The security departments attempts to isolate his program, to pull him offline and into one of their labs for decompiling and dissecting every subroutine.
Not today, Starfleet.
No doubt they had already worked out his deal with the Tal Shiar. All Wallstark needed was a ships computer to interface with, so he could stow away and start fresh somewhere else. Somewhere that appreciated him. Preferably a Romulan vessel, but Federation would do as a last resort. Their security was laughable.
But before he forged his escape, before he made his daring bid for freedom, there was one last Lieutenant Loxton-shaped loose end to tie up.
He was startled by the formerly hostile cat jumping into his lap, slightly jostling his tea cup. Wallstark started petting, noting the cat emitted a pleasing purr sound as it curled up to receive more attention.
“Perhaps I am charming to the last after all.” Wallstark whispered to the contented kitty as he stroked its glossy coat in the shadows.