Wing Commander #07 False Color William Forstchen (top 10 books to read .txt) 📖

have a complaint, you take it to him. In the meantime, get off my flight deck and stop holding up people who have a legitimate reason for leaving the ship. Or shall I ask Colonel Bhaktadil to have some of his marines escort you to your quarters? Or to see the admiral?"

Diaz opened his mouth, then caught the look in Bondarevsky's eyes and closed it again. He turned and stalked away without another word.

"Thanks, skipper," Sparks said. "I'm afraid I didn't handle him very well."

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "Lieutenant Cartwright was supposed to handle it, but he got sidetracked by half-a-dozen other jobs. Not that Richards is likely to forgive him any time soon."

"I've seen a lot of confusion in my day, skipper, but I think this takes the prize."

"Yeah. How's it going otherwise?"

"This is the last batch," she told him. "The only other problem . . . well, I'm not even sure it is a problem, sir. But most of the Cats didn't show up for their shuttle. What should I do about it?"

He smiled faintly. "This time I'm the one to blame for not keeping you informed, Sparks," he admitted. "I just got out of a meeting with Murragh and the Admiral. Most of the Cats want to stay with us."

"That's crazy," she said flatly.

"That's what I said. But Murragh convinced the Admiral it's the best hope we have of getting past Ragark's pickets. And I'm afraid he might be right."

He didn't tell her about the fierce argument that had raged in the Admiral's ready room for the better part of two hours. Murragh had been given instructions to transfer with all of his people across to the City of Cashel along with the rest of the noncombatants on board—excepting the handful who, like Diaz, were needed to help them prepare for the raid on Baka Kar. But the Kilrathi prince had managed to learn the reason for the transfer order, and he had appealed directly to Richards for permission to stay on board.

"My cadre still know the systems better than most of your men, Admiral," he had said. "And it might be a very good idea to have a few genuine kili on board in case your simulacrums are not effective." His shrug had been thoroughly human, as eloquent as a Frenchman's might have been. "You cannot tell, can you? What you might encounter? I would say it was a bad time to throw away your assets."

"It isn't your fight, Murragh," Richards had told him coldly. "And anyway, we're talking about a suicide mission. This is no place to risk the rightful prince of the Empire. Not when it is likely we'll be destroyed out there."

"Unless you think you can persuade your people not to fight?" That had been Tolwyn, who had been summoned to the meeting in haste once Richards and Bondarevsky had learned what the Kilrathi prince wanted.

"That, I fear, is unlikely," Murragh said. "I am the legitimate heir to the throne, closest survivor to the old Emperor's bloodline. But that is all I am. Hraijhak . . the closest equivalent I have seen in any of your books was in something Graham lent me, a book on Celtic history. I am . . tanist, the most likely heir. But until I have been seated upon the Imperial Throne and received the fealty of the major clan leaders, I have no authority. And if it really is Dawx Jhorrad who commands Vorghath, you can be sure that he, at least, will not renounce whatever oath he has sworn to Ragark simply because I may have the better claim. Especially as Ragark is quite evidently a powerful warlord now while I I. . . have but a small following."

"All the more reason to keep you out of harm's way, then," Richards had said.

"No, Admiral, it is quite otherwise. If I am ever to claim my place in the Empire, I must first prove myself against Ragark and the other would-be usurpers. As I have no following of my own, I must find my allies where I can. My people respect warriors who will go into battle against their enemies, Admiral. Let me go into this one with you. I promise that my people will be able to assist you."

Richards had yielded at last, grumbling, just as he had when the original orders had come from Kruger. So Murragh and nearly a hundred Kilrathi would be on board as part of the crew when the Mjollnir went into action. Only those whose commitment to the Prince's cause was doubtful were being shuttled across to the transport as the battle group prepared to leave Oecumene.

At least the jump engines had worked. That had been the last remaining worry as they broke orbit and began the voyage outward from Vaku. Once again Graham had proven his worth as Chief Engineer. Mjollnir was ready for action . . . or at least as ready as she ever would be.

Watching the confusion on the flight deck as the last of the nonessential personnel made ready to leave, Bondarevsky could only hope they were ready enough

Carrier Space Traffic Control Center, FRLS Independence Orbiting Landreich, Landreich System 1515 hours (CST)

The communications monitor in one corner of CSTCC had been tuned to a commercial news and information holo-vid channel broadcast from the capitol. Almost everyone in the compartment, from Kevin Tolwyn down to the junior spacer assigned to sweep up and keep coffee cups filled, spent at least as much time watching that monitor as they did doing their real jobs.

"What do you think, Tolwyn?" the Space Officer, Howard Reed, asked around a mugful of coffee. "Will Old Max pull it off? You're his new fair-haired boy, after all."

"I don't know, Boss," Tolwyn replied, shaking his head. "I just don't know if he can manage another miracle this time."

On the monitor, they could see the Council of Delegates waiting in the Council Hall. There was a restive