The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [10]
After a pause to catch his labored breath, Trip said, “Take me to your leader.”
After his armed escort shepherded him into the spartan conference room, Trip’s first impression of Captain T’Vran was that she looked to be about twice T’Pol’s age. Trip knew, of course, that a Vulcan’s age was a difficult thing for humans to gauge; for all he knew, she could have been two hundred, or maybe even older.
T’Vran had seated herself across a low metal table from Trip. The alert and watchful eyes of two other people regarded him with obvious suspicion—the lone male guard, who continued to stand sentinel just inside the room’s hatchway, and another Vulcan woman, also of indeterminate age, who sat silently on the narrow bench that lined the room’s farthest wall.
These people are a lot more like the Romulans than they realize, Trip thought as he turned his attention back to T’Vran while mopping his sweaty brow with one of the battered sleeves of his Romulan-style traveling tunic. A slight wave of dizziness touched him, but it disappeared so quickly that he couldn’t tell whether it was a result of his injuries or the cargo ship’s oppressively hot and thin atmosphere.
“My apologies, Cunaehr, for having taken so long to properly welcome you aboard the Kiri-kin-tha,” Captain T’Vran said.
“I understand, Captain,” Trip said, nodding. “Running a cargo vessel as big as this one seems to be must keep you very busy. Thank you for taking me aboard. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you for another favor.”
She raised an eyebrow in a manner that made him feel a sudden acute longing to see T’Pol again. “A favor?”
“I need to arrange passage to Earth.”
T’Vran regarded him as though he had just said something unutterably absurd. “Curious,” she said, steepling her fingers in a manner that made him wonder whether all Vulcans did that. “Why would someone who has so obviously just come from the sphere of influence of the Romulan Star Empire wish to travel to Earth?”
Trip quietly kicked himself for not having anticipated this reaction. “You must think I’m some sort of spy.”
“Given the current state of hostilities between Earth and Romulus, I do not know precisely what to think of you, Cunaehr. You are clearly like no Vulcan I have ever met.”
Trip certainly couldn’t argue with that. After all, he was even less Vulcan-like than his old turncoat “friend” Ch’uivh was.
That thought reminded Trip to check up on him. “Where is the other man who was in the escape pod with me?” he asked.
“Doctor Sivath is seeing to his injuries presently in our infirmary,” T’Vran said evenly. “He has not yet regained consciousness, but the doctor will advise me immediately should his condition change. Now please explain why you wish to go to Earth, particularly during a time when that world is at war with the very people who built the ship from which you and your associate escaped.”
Fair question, he thought. She doesn’t know who I really am. Fighting off another wave of dizziness, Trip opened his mouth to speak, finally ready after all these months of fruitless deep-cover spying to tell her the plain, simple truth.
He abruptly stopped himself when he felt the eyes of the other Vulcan woman silently boring into him. He turned his head to confirm that she was indeed still watching him. Snap a holopic, why don’t you? he thought. It’ll last longer. His frown did nothing to discourage her.
But her raptorlike gaze encouraged him not to turn all his cards face up, at least not yet. How do I really know these people