The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [235]
Instead, the two alien diplomats merely regarded one another in uneasy silence for a moment before turning their surprisingly mild-mannered attention back upon Samuels.
The prime minister scowled. “Well?”
Thoris hemmed, then said, “There is no easy way to say what we must say.”
“Why not just come right out with it, then?” Samuels said. “Or if you prefer, we can speak in private later—”
“No!” Gral rumbled, interrupting. He turned and looked at the assemblage of dignitaries for a moment before returning his gaze to Samuels. “Everyone here will learn of this soon enough. So on behalf of the government of Tellar, I will speak now.”
“All right,” Samuels said as a sinkhole of foreboding opened in his guts.
His tone adopting the formal cadences of rehearsed diplomatic boilerplate, Ambassador Gral of Tellar said, “Owing to prohibitive losses incurred in defending Earth against Romulan aggression, Tellar must formally withdraw its fleets from the active defense of both Earth and Alpha Centauri—effective immediately.”
“And Andoria,” said Andorian Foreign Minister Thoris, “has just reached a substantially similar decision.”
Samuels watched, stunned into silence along with everyone else present, as the senior diplomats of two founding Coalition worlds turned on their heels and exited the auditorium chamber.
EIGHTY-FOUR
Northern ShiKahr, Vulcan
NOT LEAVING VULCAN with T’Pol was a mistake, Trip thought as he stood in the entryway and regarded the two hulking Vulcan men who had come calling. Just who the hell are these gorillas anyway?
“May I help you?” he said aloud as he pulled his bathrobe more tightly about his body, which was still wet from the shower. The hard stares of his two visitors screamed “cop.” But if he judged them by their size alone, he’d have them pegged as barroom bouncers—if this planet had any market for that particular skill set.
Tucker assumed that this unannounced visit had something to do with the explosion at Mount Seleya. So far the government seemed to be keeping the details tightly under wraps, and when he had tried to contact Ych’a about it, he had succeeded only in reaching her messaging system. However, he was also unable to reach Denak, and that made him fear that something truly ominous might be going on.
“Are you Sodok the trader?” the man on the right said.
“That’s what it says on my identification documents,” Trip said, unable to resist needling these guys despite the obvious danger inherent in doing so. But he’d never succumbed easily to bullying by authority figures, if that’s what these two sides of beef really were.
“Get them,” said the man on the left.
Trip used a corner of his towel to force a few stubborn drops of water out of his ear. “Get what?”
“Your identification documents,” said the first guy. “So we can verify your identity on the way to our destination.”
Crap.
“Are we going somewhere?” Trip asked.
“You’re coming with us,” the second side of beef said unhelpfully.
Trip took a moment to study the huge figure on the left, then the one on the right. He decided not to test the efficacy of the sulfatriptan drug—the chemical compound that maintained the artificial green coloration of his normally red human blood—by challenging these gentlemen any further.
“May I get dressed first?” he said.
Government district, ShiKahr, Vulcan
To Trip’s surprise, the hovercar whisked him from the periphery of ShiKahr toward one of the city’s central districts. He had envisioned the two huge thugs who now shared the front compartment driving him straight out to the driest, most godforsaken stretch of Vulcan’s Forge, where they would execute him, Las Vegas mob–style, before leaving him in a shallow grave, or as food for some passing