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

long and well-deserved reputation for letting his mouth get the better of his brain, and somebody stuck something sharp through his throat."

"And the rest, sir?"

"Suicide, son," Richards said heavily. "From the admiral right down to the most junior console jockey, they all suicided. The full-blown Zu'kara ritual." "God . . ."

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too. The best I can figure they knew they weren't going to get clear of the radiation

before they took lethal dosages, so they all decided to give it all for the glory of the Emperor." Richards gave a humorless, rasping chuckle. "What a waste. The Emperor probably didn't last more'n a week or two longer than they did."

"Down here it's battle casualties so far," Bondarevsky said. "The flight deck took a real pounding. I'm not too sure we can get it put back together, sir. It'll be a hell of a lot of work."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet. Do your survey. We'll compare notes later."

"Aye aye, sir."

Bondarevsky had just switched off the comm channel to the admiral when Harper attracted his attention. "Sir, I'm thinkin' we've got something strange goin' on here."

He made a graceful zero-g leap and crossed to where the lieutenant was working, a relatively undamaged area where a line of lockers overlooked one of the main elevators that lifted planes up from the hangar deck below. The doors were labeled in the familiar wedge-shaped Kilrathi script. Bondarevsky centered his suit video camera on one of the signs and cut in the computer imaging and translation program that operated in conjunction with the mainframe back aboard the shuttle. A moment later the computer overlaid the image on his helmet HUD with an English translation: Survival Stores.

"What've you got, Mr. Harper?"

"The locker's empty, sir. So are three more I've checked so far." He paused, but when Bondarevsky "I don't like this at all," Bondarevsky said. "It's not so much a threat as a mystery . . . but I've never liked mysteries involving Cats. Too often they lead to one of their little schemes, like the fake armistice before the Battle of Earth or that elaborate espionage role they put together for Hobbes. Okay, good spotting, you two. Get back to work, and keep your eyes open. I'm going to have a chat with the colonel about the possibility of Kilrathi hanging around here."

He didn't have a chance to follow through on his intention, though. Before he could even spot Bhaktadil and Martin, his helmet commlink sounded an emergency tone.

"All teams, all teams!" Richards sounded tense. "This is Team Leader. Return to shuttles and secure! Abort survey! Repeat, abort survey and secure aboard shuttles!"

"All right, people," Bondarevsky called. "You heard the man. Get aboard!"

Harper, Sparks, and the ten-man team from Diaz's salvage group were already in motion, and Bondarevsky heard Bhaktadil issuing terse instructions to his marines on their tactical channel. He watched as his people started back for the shuttle in haste, and switched off all his comm frequencies except the command link to Richards.

"What's going on, Admiral?" he asked.

'The Hornets picked up an incoming bogie," Richards said. "Moving slow, but on a course to intercept us in another fifteen minutes. They're not answering calls, and there's no IFF signal."

"Any idea what it is?"

"Not a clue yet, but I'm not taking any chances. I've got Babcock and her wingman closing in for a visual ID, but I want everybody ready to clear out in case

made no response he went on. "I've never heard of anyone not keepin' his survival kits stocked and ready on the flight deck, sir. One locker might've run out if they were passin' them out to pilots about to launch on a mission, but three in a row?"

Bondarevsky nodded inside his helmet. "I see what you mean. Might be we have survivors after all, plundering the supplies to stay alive."

"It's more than supplies, skipper," Sparks joined them, swarming along a line of handholds looking for all the world like a high-tech monkey climbing a tree. "Look over there." She pointed. "There should be fuel pumps and a rack of external environmental feeds over there to service a plane waiting for launch. You can see where it used to be, but it's gone. And not from battle damage, either. The blast effects didn't do much this far in. Somebody dismounted a couple of tons of servicing equipment and hauled it out of here."

"Survival gear I can see," Bondarevsky mused. "But what would a survivor want with that stuff? Unless he was trying to get a bird up . . ."

"Maybe somebody did," Harper said. "Packed up and left after the rest of the ship went belly-up."

"Doesn't make sense," Sparks said. "If they had a working plane, they didn't need to pack up the gear and take it with them. And where else on the ship would they have a plane to service that would make them come here and strip out this stuff?"

"The other flight deck?" Harper suggested.

"No, I already checked with the team there," Sparks told him. "Not only is it in even worse shape than this one, so that a launch or a landing is pretty near impossible for anyone but a particularly depressed lemming, but they're missing all signs of their support gear too. It's been stripped out, same as this."

"I don't like this at all," Bondarevsky said. "It's not so much a threat as a mystery . . . but I've never liked mysteries involving Cats. Too often they lead to one of their little schemes, like the fake armistice before the Battle of Earth or that elaborate espionage role they put together for Hobbes. Okay, good spotting, you two. Get back to work, and keep your eyes open. I'm going to have a chat with the colonel about the possibility of Kilrathi hanging around here."

He didn't have a chance to follow through on his intention, though. Before he could even spot Bhaktadil and Martin, his helmet commlink sounded an emergency tone.

"All teams, all teams!" Richards