"W. Michael Gear - Forbidden Borders 1 - Requiem for The Conqueror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gear W Michael)

"It is exactly that Legate." The cold voice sent a shiver up Myles' spine.
Staffa continued, "You may tell His Holiness that the Companions will engage
the Myklenian defenses within a matter of minutes. If you would be so kind as
to hurry your mobilization and deploy at the earliest opportunity, we'll be
ready to hand the planet over to you upon arrival."
Myles sputtered as he jerked bolt-upright. "Attack! Now? But our forces are
only half ready. You can't attack! Not until we're ready."
Staffa's expression didn't change. "Legate, if you would like to argue the
terms of the contract, you may do so later. If your admirals are going to
throw petty fits of temper, you may deal with them."
"But, Lord Commander, Sassan honorтАФ"
"Is not my concern." Staffa kar Therma paused. "If you have a problem, Legate,
take it up with your emperor."
"Take it. ... No! No, you can't do this! Attack, without our military forces.
... I refuse to let you."
A nerveless smile crossed the Lord Commander's lips. "Do you wish to cancel
the contract?"
"Cancel the . . . No, of course not. We're just . . . His Holiness is going to
be very displeased. He might . . . might ..."
"Yes? You were saying?" A mocking glint lingered in Staffa's eyes,
A twisting sensation of defeat grew in Myles' belly. He could feel the sweat
popping out on his brow. "Just tell me, Lord Commander. Why did you act before
we were ready?"
An evil demon might have stared back at the Legate. "Because no one expected
us to strike nowтАФleast of all you, or the Praetor's spies."
"Are you insinuating that our security isтАФ"
Staffa leveled a gray-gloved finger, deadly menace in his eyes. "Don't use
that tone of voice with me Legate."
Roma's tongue stuck in his mouth and he recoiled in physical horror, his
gravity chair rolling out of the privacy field and canceling its protection.
"That is all I called to tell you Legate." Staffa narrowed his eyes. "Come as
soon as your forces are ready. Myklene will be waiting."
The holo flashed off and Myles trembled, aware that all eyes were upon him. He
pulled a perfumed handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his damp face.
He didn't try to pull his chair back, but rose on unsteady legs. "Get me His
Holiness."
His aides simply stared.
"Now, by the Rotted Gods, NOW!"
Staffa kar Therma, the Lord Commander of the Companions, sat alone, though
surrounded by so manyтАФa solitary man in gray enfolded by the instrument
cluster pods that rose like petals from the raised command chair that
dominated the warship Chrysla's bustling bridge. No expression
crossed his face. Despite the hum of machinery, the constant murmur of voices,
and the flashing of monitors, his gray eyes stared absentlyтАФlost in the
depths
of his thoughts.
The duty officers who sat at their stations amidst multicolored computer
consoles shot periodic glances his way. Each look reflected pride and
confidenceтАФor hinted at awed worship. Despite the quick glances, no one
malingered. Weapons officers ran systems checks and the pilot reclined in a