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

are no more popular with humans than yours are among Kilrathi," he said quietly. "Perhaps I dealt less well than I thought, that day, when I agreed to entrust my people to your good will."

From across the table Jason Bondarevsky spoke up. "It's rude, but you can't really blame them. The Landreich still considers itself at war, and when the fighting's gone on as long as this you stop recognizing the enemy as individuals and start regarding every one you see as a threat. Having close to a hundred Kilrathi in for breakfast makes people a little nervous, that's all."

Murragh favored him with a close-lipped smile. "Believe me, Captain, I understand. Early on when we started working with Graham I had to persuade my people that the stories were not true that said that you apes liked nothing better than to kill and eat Kilrathi prisoners for dinner."

Graham and Bondarevsky both laughed.

"I'm beginning to believe that there are a lot more similarities between our two races than anyone would have thought possible," Bondarevsky said.

The transport ship was on the return leg of her mission of mercy, with the survivors from Nargrast safely embarked with their equipment and supplies. They'd left a detachment of spacers from the transport on the planet to study the crash site of the Kilrathi destroyer and the neighboring camp where the mixed bag of survivors had lived for nine Terran months. The Kilrathi fighters on the ground were particularly worthy of a closer look, and might be retrieved when the battle group was ready to pull out. The transport was scheduled to rendezvous with the rest of the Landreicher squadron in orbit near Karga within a few short hours, and Graham was glad of a chance to relax in one of the passenger mess areas. It had been a difficult two days.

The survivors had been glad to be rescued, no doubt about that, and had cooperated enthusiastically with the Landreich rescue effort. After the first confrontation with Kuraq, the Kilrathi had caused no difficulties . . . at least not until the issue of when they could go home arose. The news that the Landreich considered itself still at war with the remnants of the Empire and hence weren't likely to send a shipload of Cats back to the nearest Imperial colony had come close to causing a full-scale riot among the Kilrathi contingent. Once again young Murragh had proved his talents as a leader, calming them down with a few more well-chosen words. As Graham had told Bondarevsky earlier, the young Cat had a flair for leadership. He was only a Hyilghar—the word translated very approximately as a lieutenant, but with a modifier that implied staff rather than combat duties and some sort of special aristocratic social status Graham didn't entirely understand—but despite his youth and modest rank he handled Kilrathi combat veterans three times his age with a natural aplomb that Graham still found himself envying after all these months.

So the trouble had never quite materialized, but it had left a bad taste in Graham's mouth. The agreement he had made with Murragh should be honored, he felt, but he was afraid the Landreichers weren't going to see things that way. The hostile stares and angry asides the Cats drew in the mess hall didn't make him feel any better about things.

"I understand you've been monitoring developments outside the system," Bondarevsky said around a mouthful of bacon from his plate. "What do you make of the situation across the border?"

Murragh showed his fangs briefly. "Ukar dai Ragark is an ambitious governor who never felt properly appreciated under Thrakhath's rule. I think he would like nothing better than to see his hrai take the Throne. Not that they would keep it for long. He might win some short-term popularity by redeeming our pride with a victory or two, but that one won't know when to stop. Sooner or later he will overreach himself the same way our beloved Prince did, and that will be the end of him."

Graham chuckled. "You see, Bondarevsky, the Kilrathi even understand the finer uses of sarcasm," he said with a smile. "If you were looking for a fanatical follower of either Ragark or Thrakhath, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

"Well, forgive me if I'm too obvious," Bondarevsky said, grinning. "But it's always nice to know where you stand."

"A sentiment from the Codices," Murragh replied. "You are forgiven your curiosity . . . though I would warn you to remember that the ape's questing hands are a sure route to trouble."

"And curiosity killed the cat," Graham added. Murragh laughed, a strangely human sound from a massive, fur-covered, cat-like creature with a flattened muzzle and sharp fangs. It always startled him to hear the Kilrathi laughing. They were so often depicted in Terran propaganda as dour creatures who took pleasure only in blood and death.

"So who do you support, in the new Empire?" Graham asked. "Chancellor Melek?"

"An honest kil, although he was a creature of Thrakhath's," Murragh responded. "His caretaker government at least does not assert a claim to the Throne itself. I imagine he will turn control over to the rightful Emperor when the time comes."

"The trouble is deciding who has the right" Bondarevsky countered. "Every governor and petty warlord in the Empire is claiming to be the one leader who should take over as Emperor, in the absence of a legitimate heir."

Murragh didn't answer, but he was showing his teeth again. The fighting smile wasn't an expression of satisfaction or humor in a Kilrathi warrior. It meant the anticipation of battle.

"Ah, Bondarevsky, maybe you missed the significance of Murragh's full name," Graham said, stepping into the awkward silence. "The dai Nokhtak hrai is a distaff branch of the Imperial Family. Murragh here is a distant cousin of the Prince Thrakhath's . . . maybe the last one alive. His grandmother was sister to the late Emperor. That makes him a legitimate heir to the Kilrathi throne."

'What?" Bondarevsky almost stood