"Doohan, James & Stirling, S M - Flight Engineer 02 - The Privateer 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doohan James)

Peter walked stiffly back to his seat, feeling the Marine general's eyes
boring into his back. This is not a guy I want to take an interest in my
career, he thought. Avert! Avert!

Captain Knott came in for his own share of sharp questioning and blame, as
did Squadron Leader Sutton and the captains of the Diefenbaker and the
MacKenzie. But at last it was over and the board chairman made his
summing-up speech. He ended it with remarks made directly to Commander
Peter Raeder.

"Recommended for the Stellar Cross, indeed," he sneered, giving Captain
Knott a dismissive glance. "If you had gotten yourself killed, we'd very
likely have presented your family with some posthumous decoration. As it
is, I shall recommend that you be given a reprimand for the record and be
reassigned planetside to a desk. And consider yourself lucky that it's not
worse. Because you, Commander, are a standing menace to discipline and
order!"

With that he rose, banged the gavel on its plaque and led the rest of the
board out of the room.

Aides rose from the audience and followed them, while Peter and the rest
of the defendants, for that's what it had felt like, stood to attention.

"I need a drink," Paddy said, speaking for all of them, both high and low.

"Patton's?" Mai Ling Ju, the XO, suggested, receiving nods all around.

Peter glanced at Captain Knott out of the corner of his eye, wishing they
could include the Old Man in the group. But protocol forbade. It jolted
Peter for a moment. I never thought before about how alone you must be in
the captain's chair. And then he thought, with a rush of surprising
fierceness, But there are compensations to command. Deep in his heart he
wondered if he would ever know them now.

"An interesting man, Commander Raeder," Scaragoglu remarked, his dark face
placid. A violin concerto played softly in the background.

Captain Sjarhir, the general's aide, merely sipped Scaragoglu's excellent
whiskey and said nothing. There was an idea in the works here, had been
since Raeder had taken the stand, and he knew better than to interrupt the
general's thought processes.

They were in the Marine general's private quarters, relaxing after a long
and strenuous day. Even his rooms revealed little about Scaragoglu. All
that one could really say of them was that they were appropriate.
Appropriate to a man of his rank, and a man of his age. Totally,
unnaturally appropriate-even to the still-holo pictures of various
planets, most of them badly damaged. The planets, that was, not the holos.