The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [75]
Brooks was relieved to see that Qaletaqu’s view held the day, if only by a whisker. It was only after the second count had been completed— the first count had resulted in a tie—that she realized she had been holding her breath.
Katowa and approximately half the room took in the news of their defeat stoically. The last thing these people were, after all, was a collection of whiners.
“So we Canyontowners will stay right where we are,” Qaletaqu said afterward, in a tone of peroration that clearly signaled that the day’s business was very nearly done. “We’ve invested far too much sweat and blood in this valley, and in this planet, to simply abandon it. We’ll make the most of every last split-second of advance warning the Vulcans can give us before the Romulans come. After all, they’ll have to get past the patrol zones of both the Titan outpost and Jupiter Station before they reach the cold far shore of the inner solar system.
“And once they get here,” Qaletaqu said with a fire behind his eyes that Brooks found both inspiring and frightening, “we’ll give ’em a fight that’ll make our forefather Popé proud.”
The next day, as another interplanetary transport carried her on toward the next stop on her outbound tour, Gannet Brooks reviewed the audio recording she had made of Qaletaqu’s words as she looked out one of the aft observation ports. The cold, rocky world in whose deepest places the determined people of Canyontown had built a home was a rapidly retreating red-and-brown crescent.
Popé, she recalled, had prevailed against the invading Spaniards, overcoming long odds with moxie, determination, and careful planning. But the people who had followed him into battle had eventually succumbed to infighting and disunity. She breathed a silent prayer of hope that the Martians, particularly the Canyontowners, would do better.
Just as she fervently hoped that they wouldn’t inadvertently vindicate Keisha Naquase’s peace-at-any-cost philosophy by getting themselves wiped out in the conflagration that was coming.
SIXTEEN
Wednesday, July 30, 2155
Vulcan Cargo Ship Kiri-kin-tha, en route to Vulcan
THE STERILE, BRIGHTLY LIT ROOM came back into existence around him yet again, though he still remembered nothing clearly other than the fact that he had already fallen asleep and woken up here, on a medical bed, several times before. But he still could recall very little that had preceded the first time he’d seen this place.
Just as he couldn’t remember ever having awakened here entirely alone except for the woman who called herself Ych’a sitting at his side, practically hovering over him.
“Terix,” she said. “I’m glad to see you are awake again.”
Terix.
They kept telling him that was his name. It sounded familiar in his ears, yet somehow alien, at least in contrast to many of the other names he’d heard spoken on this ship since his arrival here. Terix. Whether it belonged to him or not, it was a name, probably as good as any other, and it gave him something positive to hang on to.
“Terix,” he said, sitting up in the infirmary bed.
She fixed him with a knowing gaze. “It sounds strange to you,” she said, not asking a question, “when I speak your name.”
For such a stoic woman, he found her perspicacity very surprising. “Yes. Yes, it does.” He frowned. “But why should that be?”
“That is because, strictly speaking, it isn’t really your name.”
His feeling of surprise leveled out, transforming into a deep wariness. “That isn’t what you told me before.”
“That is because I could not afford to reveal the whole truth to you until I could do so in private. Since no patients require treatment presently, Doctor Sivath and her staff are occupied elsewhere. Therefore, this is my first opportunity to be fully candid with you.”
He vaguely recalled someone telling him that Vulcans never lied.