The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [30]
“Logical.”
“I will speak to Commander Tucker,” Ych’a said, then rose from her chair and departed without waiting to be dismissed.
Sitting alone in her quarters, T’Vran wondered if the V’Shar agent took Mister Tucker’s cooperation for granted, as she had that of the Kiri-kin-tha’s commander.
Tucker wondered idly whether the Vulcan term for “efficient quarters” translated to “Starfleet brig” in English.
For perhaps the fiftieth time, he took in the tiny confines of the quarters Captain T’Vran had issued him after Doctor Sivath had released him a few hours earlier. Although he thought he’d gotten used to cramped quarters during his nearly four-year stint as chief engineer aboard Enterprise, his current billet would barely have qualified as a closet aboard an NX-class ship. The spartan chamber came equipped only with a low, narrow cot, a small, rolled-up mat—he’d been told that Vulcans traditionally used them for meditation—and sanitary facilities that could be described as “bare bones” by only the most charitable of appraisals.
I’d have to go out into the corridor to change my mind, Trip thought as he sat on the edge of the cot. These guys don’t believe in wasting a single cubic millimeter, do they?
Of course, Trip’s impression that his quarters resembled some sort of penal holding cell had only been reinforced by his recent discovery that somebody had locked the room’s single door from the outside some time after the security guard had conducted him here.
Maybe there’s a metal cup in here somewhere, he thought as he eyed the small stainless steel washbasin in the corner. I could start banging it against the walls to get somebody’s attention.
A sharp buzzing tone sounded, startling him. He realized a heartbeat later that it might be some sort of door chime, signaling a visitor.
“Come on in, I’m decent,” he said.
The room’s small, lone hatchway abruptly unsealed itself, sliding obediently open. Captain T’Vran and her silent shadow Ych’a walked into view on the other side of the open hatchway. As Trip got to his feet out of respect for the captain, he noted the presence of another dour armed guard out in the corridor a few paces behind the women. The presence of the guard convinced Trip that the door that had kept him contained in his quarters had not been locked by accident.
“Circumstances have forced a change to the ship’s itinerary,” Captain T’Vran said without preamble.
“I’m fine, Captain,” Trip said. “Thank you for asking.” Vulcans. Cripes.
“Pardon me?” T’Vran said, raising an eyebrow in a way that reminded him of T’Pol.
He shook his head impatiently. “Never mind. I hope your schedule change won’t delay my getting back to Earth by very much. I’ve got a life I’m itchin’ to return to, not to mention a whole pile of Starfleet back pay.”
For several seconds, T’Vran’s face became a study in silent perplexity. Then she said, “Ych’a will explain the particulars.”
Trip felt a scowl starting to darken his face, and he didn’t try to stop it. “All right. Come on in and let’s talk. There’s plenty of room, as long as we don’t all try to exhale at the same time.” If this place had mice, they’d be hunchbacked, he added silently.
Once both women had cleared the room’s inner threshold, the hatch closed smoothly between them and the guard in the corridor, assuring the privacy of their conversation. Neither Vulcan seemed concerned by the closeness of the walls, any three of which Trip could have touched simultaneously.
“First things first,” Trip said, trying to seize a measure of control of the situation. “When do we get under way for Earth?”
“Not for some time, Commander,” Ych’a said.
Trip could feel his scowl beginning to deepen. “Let me give you a refresher on what’s already happened today,” he said after a moment’s pause to compose himself. “My cover’s blown,