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

you."
Ryman kept his eyes ahead, body at full attention, fist clasped tightly on
his sternum. The Lord Commander hesitated at the door, the gray-gloved hand
caressing the polished brass latch for several seconds before he pulled the
portal open and boldly entered.
Ryman glanced at the Wing Commander. Her pale features hinted of anguish
despite the way she stood, back braced against the wall, arms crossed under
those full breasts. Her worry-bright eyes unnerved him.
Ryman moved his tongue over dry teeth. Concern? In Skyla? Bloodshot Gods'
Staffa kar Therma waged war on his emotions, forcing his heart to be still
when it tried to batter at the bottom of his throat. Fear? Of what? This . . .
this wreck of a man? His gut tightened at the memories of those long gone
days. Days of pain, days of endless struggle. Yes, Staffa. You fear himтАФwith
as much passion as you once loved him,
The door slipped closed behind him, a shield against the worry-strained eyes
Ark hadn't been able to hide. Is it that apparent? Have I so little control
when it comes to facing this one old man?
The room measured no more than eight meters across. Monitors projected holo
after holo along the walls: Scenes of untamed country, green with vegetation;
of buildings lancing white and silver ino a turquoise sky; of beautiful
statues in manicured emerald parks. Others depicted happy people, or gala
musical events. Familiar scenes, they plucked at Staffa's memories and called
back the vanished days of his youth. Each of the projections portrayed Myklene
as it had been before his forces crushed the Myklenian defense and rendered
the planet helpless before the Sassan invasion.
The medical unit stood in a far corner, illuminated by the greenish tint of
Myk's sunlightтАФunique in that it emitted a higher percentage of light between
5000 and 5700 angstroms. The hospital unit consisted of a gleaming white box
the ie of a large freezer chest. Rows of monitors filled one
side while a retractable power lead and comm link trailed to a wall socket.
The Lord Commander stopped, throat tight, skin flushed and hot. He steeled
himself.
The old man's headтАФa round ball of flesh and boneтАФ stuck out incongruousy
above the polished white of the hospital unit. From the Lord Commander's
position, only close-cropped hairтАФgraying now where once it had been blackтАФand
pasty skin remained visible. The ears curled like wilted chubba leaves, pink
and fleshy. The aging flesh on the neck had gone flaccd, and withered muscle
stretched from the mastoid into the white depths of the machine.
Outside the armored window, a vista of wrecked and shattered city stretched
forever, smoke rising in columns from twisted structures. Other buildings,
unhurt, now sprouted banners in the delicate script of Myklene: pronouncements
of the Sassan victory. Aircars crossed the turquoise sky, most bearing
combat-armored personnel in Sassan gear. Larger vehicles bore prisoners en
masse to detention centers as they were routed out of the public buildings and
battered defensive positions. In the distance, cargo shuttles lifted skyward,
shooting up through the gravity well to the orbiting Sassan Fleet.
A single hoo hung before the hospital unit, unaffected by the shadows which
should have been cast by the green sun. The old man watched a view from space,
an up-to-date image of the planet now wreathed in smoke and fire. Music
played, to a blasted empire.