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

was the terminal's own memory. Personal data and secret files were most likely to be stored locally rather than spread through the network, which meant that the command codes they needed to take control of the ship were likely to be in this computer.

At least that was what everyone in the Goliath Project hoped. Murragh was no computer specialist, and so far Richards and Tolwyn had chosen not to reveal what they were doing to the Kilrathi computer officer in the prince's Cadre, just in case that officer was less sympathetic to their aims than Murragh had so far proven to be. So there was no guarantee that they were right in their approach. All they could do was hope they would be successful.

Murragh punched a keycode combination into the terminal, his fingers a little clumsy and awkward because of the gloves of his suit. More characters scrawled across the screen, and the kil gave a satisfied grunt. "I'm in," he said curtly. "Time for security scans."

He made a hardwire connection between his suit and the computer terminal, then hung motionless for long moments while the humans waited tensely. His suit's built-in medical monitors could provide the information the computer needed to identify Murragh as an authorized member of the admiral's staff with a legitimate reason for accessing the files.

In response to some query, Murragh recited a few words in the snarling Kilrathi tongue. Then, to the others, he went on in English. "The computer is processing the security data now. Stand by."

"Everything looks good here," Voorhies reported.

"Security clearance granted!" Murragh said. His fingers danced over the keyboard as fast as the gloves would allow them. "I'm starting the download."

They had agreed that the most effective way to obtain the information they wanted was to download everything they could from the admiral's secured files into the data chip, rather than searching for the specific material they wanted and quite possibly tempting fate a little too long. But the downside to this approach was the volume of material contained in the terminal's local memory, which took a long time to transfer . . . and, of course, the risk that the command codes might not be in the data they obtained, forcing another attempt later.

It seemed to take hours before Murragh finally announced that the chip was full, though Bondarevsky knew it was only a matter of minutes. The kil disconnected his hardwire lead, then carefully removed the data chip before gesturing to Mayhew to cut the power. The computer screen faded back to blackness.

"Bondarevsky to Shuttle. Ready for pick-up." It was pure relief to utter those simple words.

Flag Bridge, ex-KIS Karga Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System 1218 hours (CST), 2670.319

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Karga is operational."

Bondarevsky held his breath as Admiral Richards uttered the words and then tapped a combination into the control board in front of him. There was a long pause in which the silence hung heavy. Then, suddenly, orange-tinged emergency lights flickered on in the compartment, and a bank of consoles lit up. The men and women of the Goliath team gathered on the flag bridge gave a ragged cheer.

Karga was alive again, if only barely.

Murragh had extracted the command codes from the data chip on the shuttle trip back to Independence, using a Kilrathi wrist computer that had been part of his gear on Nargrast. Overnight the salvage crew had returned to the ship in force to go to work on the computer system, bringing it back on-line long enough to purge the self-destruct order, then starting to work on basic systems repairs. The ship had emergency power now, a precious few instruments, lights, and the possibility of at least partial artificial gravity with a few more hours' work in Engineering. But before they got back to the job, Richards had ordered the Goliath personnel to suspend everything for a few minutes. All over the ship space-suited personnel, most of them from Diaz's salvage team but with the addition of a picked handful of the crew who had traveled aboard the City of Cashel, stopped what they were working on to listen to the general address comm channel.

With one leg hooked under a seat to hold him in place in weightlessness, Admiral Geoff Tolwyn cleared his throat.

"Attention to orders!" Aengus Harper announced unnecessarily. There was no need. Everyone was silent as Tolwyn began to speak.

"To Geoff Tolwyn, Rear-Admiral, Free Republic of Landreich Navy," he began. "Sir. By direction of the President and the Admiralty of the Free Republic of

Landreich, you are hereby requested and required to take up the charge and command of Landreich hull number 106, formerly designated KIS Karga, and to proceed to render all possible repairs to said vessel in order to render it spaceworthy . ."

As the admiral's voice droned on, reading the formal phrases from a projected image on the HUD display of his suit helmet, Bondarevsky's attention wavered. The stilted ceremonial had an archaic feel to it, and he suspected that Max Kruger, a self-taught man who relished the odd bit of obscure antiquarian knowledge, had probably adapted it from some old Terran source. At first glance it might have seemed foolish to go through this ceremonial now, with so much to be done, but Bondarevsky recognized the reasoning behind it. Even though Karga wouldn't be capable of functioning as an independent unit of the fleet for a long time to come, she would soon be receiving most of her designated crew from the City of Cashel, men and women who would be facing the enormous job of refitting her from stem to stern. And in order for that crew to function, they must officially become part of a Landreich naval command. By "reading himself in" Tolwyn was establishing his legal authority as master of the Karga, the officer whose word would be absolute law as long as she was in space.

". . . nor you, nor any of you, will fail, at your peril," Tolwyn