The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [222]
Thoris’s antennae flattened against his white-maned scalp, revealing his displeasure at being cajoled. “I have my instructions, Gral, just as you do.”
“Thank you for recognizing that, Mister Foreign Minister,” Gral said. “Of course, my instructions include learning Andoria’s position sooner rather than later.”
“I regret having to put you at odds with your superiors, Mister Ambassador. However, they should know better by now than to try to coax information from me prematurely.” Although Thoris’s facial expression remained stoic, his antennae resembled a pair of serpents preparing to strike.
Gral spread his great, hairy hands in a gesture of peace. “Fair enough. Please allow me to speculate, then.”
Thoris nodded. “I am certain I am powerless to prevent it.”
“The war against the Romulans has been very costly to Andoria lately, both in lives and in treasure,” said the Tellarite. “Even the recent Coalition victories have been hugely expensive. This must necessarily be a significant component in your government’s decision-making process.”
“Just as it surely must be in your world’s internal deliberations,” Thoris said.
Although Gral tried to keep his countenance as free as possible of revelatory emotion—what the humans referred to as “tells”—he could not deny that a certain dour zeitgeist had come to dominate much of Tellarite officialdom lately regarding war-related matters. The downbeat mood had even permeated the news media of the generally upbeat humans. Keisha Naquase’s Earthbound coverage of most Earth-Romulan engagements this year, including even the victories at Berengaria and Altair VI, had taken on an increasingly gloomy “we should have stayed out of this” tone. And while Gannet Brooks’s most recent reporting and commentaries continued in the same “this war has to be won” vein they always had, even her broadcasts seemed curiously subdued. If humans started losing faith in Starfleet’s ability to win, then what was the rest of the Coalition supposed to think?
“Tellar has lost many ships and crews as well,” Thoris continued. “Does your government favor continuing to fight alongside Earth?”
Gral showed Thoris his teeth. “I asked you first, Mister Foreign Minister.”
His antennae momentarily motionless, Thoris regarded his Tellarite counterpart with a cool, inscrutable expression.
“Yes,” Thoris said. “Yes, you did, didn’t you?”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Enterprise, near Deneva
T’POL HAD THOUGHT THAT the worst suffering she would ever witness lay two decades behind her, dead and buried alongside the bones of the failed Vulcan colony on Trilan. True, the wounded and terrorized humans she had encountered on the civilian refugee transport had not resorted to cannibalism as the Fri’slen had, but their despair at having been displaced by a foe that no one had ever even seen was every bit as profound.
At least when the Fri’slen struck and dined on the flesh of sentients, their victims’ suffering came to an eventual end.
Now, as she preceded Lieutenant Reed in climbing up through the dorsal airlock of the shuttlepod that Captain Archer had sent to ferry her from the refugee transport, she experienced a strange mixture of the most un-Vulcan of emotions: guilt at having abandoned the refugees on their long Earthward voyage, and gratitude at having returned at long last to the place she regarded as... home.
Captain Archer stood alongside Ensign Hoshi Sato on the metalgrid catwalk that covered much of the upper level of the launch bay, looking down at the shuttlepod’s open top. Both wore grins that caused the Vulcan instinctively to rein in her emotions.
T’Pol stepped onto the catwalk, set her small travel bag down beside her, and smoothed a wrinkle from her dark brown Vulcan robe. Standing smartly at attention, she said, “Permission to come aboard, Captain.”
Archer’s grin broadened. “Permission granted, Commander. I would have brought somebody down here to