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

some alteration to the ancient beliefs, but the Kilrathi still preferred to return their dead to solid ground, be it planet, moon, or asteroid, rather than allowing them to be consigned to the endless void.

So Richards had decreed that the nearly five thousand dead aboard the carrier should be given the kind of burial their religion called for—on Nargrast.

It was going to require a major effort to carry out those orders, though. The dead, now stored in the carrier's port side flight deck in vacuum and zero-g, would have to be moved aboard shuttles from the City of Cashel and carried to Nargrast, where the shuttles would ground, unload their grisly cargoes, and deposit the bodies in a series of mass graves to be excavated by ore extraction vehicles from the factory ship. Richards also intended to have a burial service read, to honor the Kilrathi casualties who had given their lives for their Empire.

The orders had drawn a few frowns around the table, but it was Steiger who resisted the most. His ship and crew would bear the lion's share of the burden, and like most Landreichers he didn't see any need to honor Mankind's most inveterate enemy. The transport captain glared across the table, first at Richards, then at Murragh and Donald Graham, who had been invited to the meeting so that Richards could discuss plans for the burials with them. "I wonder if you'd be so considerate of all these Cat stiffs if you weren't trying to impress your new buddies," Steiger said bluntly. "Some of you may think it'll make a difference, but I tell you the Cats won't care one lousy bit if you bury them, shove them out the airlock, or shove 'em in the fusion plants. They'll still be back shooting first chance they get."

Richards half rose, than sank into his chair again. When he spoke he sounded more tired than angry, but Bondarevsky could read the fury behind his icy eyes. "I'll only say this once, Captain," he said flatly. "I don't care in the least what the Kilrathi think of me. I would have ordered a proper burial for those people if there wasn't a single Cat within a hundred light-years to see me do it. We've been at war for more than a generation, but in my book war is no excuse to abandon our principles, and I say anyone, man or kil or whatever, deserves to leave this life with dignity and according to his or her beliefs." His tone grew harsh. "Or would you prefer that we stuffed you or your men into the fusion reactors if you're killed while we're out here, Captain?"

Steiger flushed. "Damn it, Admiral, it isn't the same!"

"Yes, it is," Bondarevsky put in. "I agree with the Admiral. How can we pretend to be better than Thrakhath was if we show the same contempt for our enemies that he did?"

Richards nodded. "Exactly. At any rate, Captain Steiger, whatever the morals and ethics of the situation, I've made it an order, and unless you would like to be relieved and shipped back to Landreich in a ship's brig, you will carry out that order. Is that understood?"

There was a long pause before Steiger responded. "The crew won't like it," he repeated. "But . . . aye aye, sir."

Richards let out a sigh and slumped back in his chair. "Very well. I think we should take a break before we get on with the rest of the meeting. Shall we say half an hour?"

The Goliath staff adjourned, most of them making their way to the adjacent compartment where the carrier's mess crew had set up a buffet table with coffee and an assortment of pastries. Bondarevsky remained seated, and so did Richards, who started checking over his notes on his computer terminal with the air of a man on the very edge of physical collapse.

Murragh and Graham stood and walked slowly towards the admiral. "Admiral Richards," Murragh said quietly.

Richards looked up. "Oh, yes, gentlemen. I think we've covered everything you need to be here for. I suppose you'll both want to go to Nargrast for the service?"

"Yes, Admiral, I know that I would, and all of my people," the Kilrathi prince said gravely. "But before we leave, may I thank you sincerely for your observance of our ways. It is . . . not something I expected. I fear that were the roles reversed few Kilrathi officers would have been so generous toward human dead."

Richards waved a hand vaguely. "What I said was true, my Lord," he said. "I didn't order it for your benefit."

Murragh gave a human nod. "I grasp that, Admiral. That is what is so impressive." He paused. "Admiral, I have been thinking, and talking with my friend Graham. I was of service to you in the matter of the computer, was I not?"

"Yes, of course," Richards said. "we couldn't have pulled it off without you. I'm not quite sure how I can repay you for it, but I assure you I'll move heaven and earth, and maybe even Max Kruger, to try."

"The desire for compensation does not motivate the Kilrathi," Murragh said calmly. "Any more than your decision in the matter of the dead was motivated by a desire for personal gain. We believe in doing our duty, living with honor, and facing our enemies with courage. But since I was of service to you, I believe I could be so again . . . if you will allow it."

"What do you mean?"

"Admiral, I do not know the details of your intentions for Karga, but it is clear you are attempting a major

repair effort, presumably to put the ship back into service

again." Murragh said it casually, but Bondarevsky was impressed. The Kilrathi had been kept as far out of

the picture as possible for security reasons, but the prince obviously had the imagination it took to see where Goliath was heading.

"And if we are?" Richards was suddenly very much the ConFleet intelligence officer,