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

talents to crack the last of the defensive positions. ot Gods rotting here,
guarding a dying old man and an empty hospital.
The sophisticated detection equipment in Ryman's helmet picked up faint
vibrations: the sound of footsteps ap-
praching. Ryman checked his IR monitor and noted the gradual increase in heat
from beyond the blind corner. Rescue attempt?
"On deck, people," Ark whispered.
Ryman's crack Special Tactics Unit tensed behind their energy barriers.
He used his comm to check with the other personnel scattered through the
hospital. "This is Ark. Any trouble? Anyone pass through security?"
"Negative, STO. All quiet. Nothing cooking."
"Well, I've got visitors; be sharp, people."
So who'd passed the guards on the lower floors? Must be somebody of ours.
Ryman licked his lower lip. But then, he hadn't made Special Tactics Officer
by accepting anything at face value.
He lowered the combat shield over his dark-skinned face. Dressed in
camouflaging armor, he crouched behind the shieldingтАФa muscular man with the
grace of a trained athlete. The IR image in the rifle sight tinged with heat.
At that moment two familiar figures swept around the corner.
"Hold your fire," Ark ordered. In the holo monitors pro jected to the side of
his vision he noted that none of his troops even quivered, their respective
defensive areas covered by the ugly belled nozzles of assault rifles.
Professional, by God!
"Halt!" Ark's voice boomed down the hall.
The man and woman stopped short, balanced and ready in a predatory stance.
Ark studied them through his instruments. It figured that the Lord Commander
would appear unannounced like this. It kept his people frosty. Ryman studied
his commander with the same interest that always possessed him. Staffa kar
Therma met his stare over the distance. The ice-blonde woman beside him stood
dressed in space whites. Wing Commander Skyla Lyma had dropped her Vegan
disguise after they'd gained access to the Myklenian computer system.
The Lord Commander nodded slightly, and a hard smile of approval barely
touched his lips. A glistening gray combat suit fit skintight over his trim
body, covering every inch from boot tops to neck. What looked to be a golden
chokerтАФin reality the field generator for a vacuum energy helmetтАФsnugged
around his throat. The cloak pinned at his shoulders seemed alive as it
swirled behind him. A thick weapons belt held a pistol, grenades, comm unit,
climbing tackle, and vacuum suit energy pack snugged around lean hips.
Knee-high black boots gleamed.
Staffa's clean-shaven face had a handsome look, blocked on the bottom by a
square jaw that accented broad thin lips. The nose jutted straight, perfectly
proportioned under the smooth brow. Long black hair had been gathered in a
ponytail over the left ear and hung over his shoulderтАФheld in place by a
shimmering multicolored gem. Ark knew the imperious command in those glinting
gray eyes. Through the magnification in his scope, they pierced him. Lines had
tightened at the edges of the eyes, giving Staffa's face an expression of
tension.
Ryman Ark fought a shiver. That aura of power chilled men's souls like some
pervading miasma. But then, what sane man wouldn't feel that in the presence
of the deadliest man in Free Space?