The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [57]
“True enough,” Brooks said. “But Chief Katowa wields a considerable amount of influence with the Martian population.”
And Qaletaqu knew that Katowa was going to be anything but pleased by the report he was about to make about Vulcan’s actions visà-vis the Sol system’s defense. Troubled by thoughts of what his father might do, he rose from his seat. He took a couple of steps toward the boarding line before stopping and facing the journalist, who had also gotten to her feet.
“No comment,” he said. “Thanks for letting me speak my piece for the record, Miz Brooks. Now if you’ll excuse me.” And with that he slung his small carry-on bag over his shoulder and strode toward the jetway counter, past which most of the boarding queue had already moved.
It wasn’t until he had moved onto the jetway itself and was passing through the open passenger airlock hatchway that he noticed Brooks following a few paces behind him.
He stopped abruptly on the airlock threshold and faced her, a hard frown of annoyance involuntarily creasing his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Miz Brooks, but the interview is over. I really have to get back to Mars now, and I’d like to do so in peace, if you don’t mind terribly.”
It was only then that he noticed that she, too, had a small duffel slung over her shoulder.
“Sorry, Mister Representative,” she said, looking slightly abashed. “I promise to leave you alone. But only until our transport reaches Bradbury Spaceport on Mars.”
His eyes widened involuntarily. “Our transport?”
Grinning, she said, “Like I said before, I want to assess the Martian reaction to Vulcan’s decision. And after that, I’m heading out to see just what it is we’ve been hoping the Vulcans would help defend us from.”
Be careful what you wish for, Qaletaqu thought as he sighed and shook his head yet again. Then he continued through the hatchway and began searching for his seat.
It was going to be a long, long flight home.
THIRTEEN
Middle of the month of re’T’Khutar, YS 8764
Monday, July 28, 2155
Outer ShiKahr, Vulcan
“TELL MINISTER KUVAK THAT I HAVE an urgent matter to discuss with him,” Silok said to the minor functionary who had appeared on the other end of the visual connection. A matter so urgent, in fact, that Silok did not wish to wait for the span of time it would take for him to travel from his austere home office on the quiet outskirts of Vulcan’s capital to the busy cluster of administrative offices that comprised the core of the city’s government district.
Almost immediately, the young woman’s affectless visage vanished from the screen, presumably because she was summoning the official with whom the recently installed head of Vulcan’s V’Shar intelligence service sought an audience. Silok waited as the moment stretched, trying without success to force his mind into a neutral, meditational state. Unlike many of his colleagues, however, patience had never come naturally to him, and today was no exception, despite the outer appearance he so carefully maintained.
Unfortunately, the official post he had occupied since the earliest days of the T’Pau administration had done little to ameliorate his own perceived dearth of forbearance, even as his expertise and knowledge had grown. Although more than half a year had already passed since he had replaced Stel—whose tenure as Vulcan’s intelligence chief and head police investigator had ended abruptly and in disgrace along with the rest of the corrupt V’Las regime—Silok felt no more in control of the evershifting landscape of interstellar intelligence now than he had on his first day on the job.
But at least today he knew that he had solid news to report—news of such importance that it had to be brought directly to the attention of the highest available officials in Vulcan’s government as