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

bolt of lightning?
"On the ball, people. I don't like this. Something's sour in my gut. I want
the crew at combat quartersтАФnow!"
The intelligence officer swiveled around from the monitor. "With all due
respect, Captain. I think that's unnecessary at this stage. The Praetor
himself is aboard. I assure you, if anything were about to happen, I'd haveтАФ"
"I've got incoming!" the weapons control officer called out. "Deep space
contacts, three . . . no, five . . . eight. . . . Rotted Gods! There's a dozen
incoming . . . no, twenty or thirty!"
Marston's heart skipped and a dryness formed in his throat as he glanced up at
the monitor. The deep space scan had already begun to plot vectors on the
incoming vessels.
"Comm Officer! Sound a full-scale alert! We're about to be attacked!" Marston
wheeed his chair around and began checking his systems as the klaxons wailed
throughout the ship.
"Sir!"
Marston swiveled his chair around to face the comm officer. The young woman's
face had gone pale and pasty. Her voice trembled as she told him, "They don't
believe me, sir. They say they've got false alarms going off all over the
planet."
Marston sat stunned for a moment. He could feel the chill
creep into his heart. "Get me the Praetor, before we're all dead."
On the screen, the deadly dots of light had begun to fan out, changing vector
in a deadly dance of offensive tactics.
Division Commander Dimeter Anaxoulos wove anxious fingers into his thinning
white hair and tugged until it hurt. Never had he faced such a rat's nest of
computer malfunctions. The entire security and defense net had gone
schizophrenic. For the last one hundred and fifty-six years, he'd pursued his
career as a military commander, and he'd never seen a system go so batty. Each
of the monitors in the control room of his orbital platform winked on and off
while communications lines scrambled, cleared, and scrambled again.
"What the hell are they doing down there?" he demanded as he stalked back and
forth. "Don't the thrice-Rotted fools know we're on alert?"
"Sir?" the comm tech called.
"Damn it, not now. I've got more important thingsтАФ"
"Sir! I've got the Praetor on priority laser link from the flagship Pylos. He
demands to speak to you now."
Anaxoulos caught himself and nodded. He glanced up at the monitor in time to
see the Praetor's withered face form. "Praetor, thank the Blessed Gods, we've
got aтАФ"
"Shut up, Dimeter. We're under attack. Isolate your systems from the planet
and prepare to defend Myklene. Check your monitors, and coordinate your fire.
The security malfunction is a diversion. I've got a means at my disposal to
buy some time." The Praetor's expression twisted sourly. "Provided I can reach
Staffa in time Meanwhile, destroy them. Kill them all Commander."
The screen went blank.
"You heard him!" Anaxoulos shouted. "Delink, and turn our ..."
He never finished. Even as he spoke, the monitors cleared and he could see the
closing vessels. "Weapons control! fire. Charge all batteries, tie into the
system, and fire!"