The sleek form of the Aldrin’s Captain’s Yacht slid through the void at Warp 6. Perhaps void wasn’t the right term. Yes, it /looked/ empty, but there were atoms, molecules, energy waves, and particles all around the ship. That didn’t bother the Ruddy Orion, though, as he reclined in the helm’s leather bucket seat. As Talarian Smooth Jazz echoed through the cabin, nothing really bothered Shah’jahar at the moment.
With the small craft’s identifying beacon off and the prefix code changed, Starfleet and Federation Traffic Control would have a bugger of a time finding him. All he needed was three more weeks at this speed, and he’d be out of Federation space.
Then would come the next hurdle: setting up a home base. With the data he had gotten from the technocratic planet he and Ensign Ocano had visited, he had planned to set up an automaton manufacturing facility. Very few automatons were in production, and almost no commercial producers of automatons existed. The applications were astounding, however. Military automatons. HAZMAT automatons. Personal assistant automatons. Why had no one thought of this sooner?
It would be difficult, though.
The only place he felt would be safe enough was under Federation Space. Out of sight, out of mind. The downside being that it would take that much longer to get distribution set up. An old acquaintance in the area, might be helpful with that, though. The Tellarite. Jacques. He’d always been a good contact. Might even be able to point Shah’jahar to some habitable moon or rogue asteroid where he could set up production.
Shah’jahar reached into his pocket and pulled out one of several isolinear chips that were jingling around in there. He smirked as he twisted and twirled it between his lithe, pale orange fingers. He wasn’t able to take much with him when the Aldrin and the Ares were destroyed, but the data, the programs and files, on these chips would cover a hundred, if not a thousand times what he had lost. It would need a little. . . reprogramming, but for the price of a terrifying few months under that martinet of a Captain, it would turn out to have been a lucrative trip.
A /very/ lucrative trip, indeed. . .