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

As if the Lord Commander's pounding heart betrayed his presence, the old man
spoke, "So, it's you at last." The elder's voice had a cracked, strained
quality, as if forced from the unresponsive mechanical lungs of the hospital
machine.
"The neutralization of several pockets of resistance delayed myтАФ"
"You're a liar, Staffa kar Therma."
Staffa's fingers wove into the fabric of his belt, hands knotting. "No other
man in Free Space would dare call me that."
"Would you prefer that I call you what you are?" A pause. "Traitor fits my
tongue perfectly. How about yours?"
"You cast me out! You and your precious Myklenian Council. I could make your
death . . . But you'd like that, wouldn't you Praetor?"
"I cast you out?" He snorted his scorn. "If you'd remember, I saved your
Rotted life!" The hospital unit whined as it turned, slowly rotating the
motionless head toward the Lord Commander. As the profile filled, the true
nature of the skull could be seen in the pain-racked flesh. The forehead
bulged over a thick orbital torus. The fleshy nose protruded, hooking over a
line-etched mouth, lips purple and swollen with age. Age spots dotted thin
mottled flesh. The chin thrust in a walnut-stained knob below the broad face.
Turning exposed a bruise on the left cheek.
Human wreckage. Here lies my enemy. . . . And Staffa began to smile, his
breathing easier. Who could fear this bit of crushed humanity? The Praetor
lived by grace of pumps and filters. Intravenous alimentation filled his blood
with the nutrients to sustain life while osmotic membranes oxygenated the
artificial blood serving the remains of the spinal cord.
The man he'd once fearedтАФand lovedтАФwas gone, vanished forever in a blaster
bolt he, Staffa, had triggered to destroy the Myklenian flagship. Through some
miracle, the old man had survived, had been found by mop-up crews and
identified.
The old man's mouth moved, changing the pattern of parchmentlike wrinkles.
"Humor, Staffa kar Therma? Amusement at what you've wrought?"
The Lord Commander cradled an elbow and rubbed his chin as he considered the
sunken face before him. Fear pangs receded as the reality of his victory began
to wash deep within him. The work of the past had been erasedтАФ vanished into
the smoke and violence of the present.
Staffa walked to the wall, allowing the cloak to dance behind him in a
taunting swirl. He slapped a palm on the holo control, and the walls went dead
whiteтАФonly the holo of the ruined world remained spinning slowly before the
Praetor's eyes.
"See what / have made of you, Staffa? The perfect conqueror! My greatest
achievement. Yes, I've followed your career. Brilliant. I thought the
Phillipian defense couldn't be cracked. Then you did the impossible off
AshtanтАФwho'd
have thought they'd fall for a feint on the marshlands? Only you could have
orchestrated the decoy that destroyed the Maikan fleet. Yes, I studied each of
your campaigns, knowing I'd have to fight you one day. One by one, I pored
over your spectacular tactics until I could counter your every move."
A holow, bitter laugh passed the bloodless lips. "Too good, Staffa. I never
had time to break you ... to buy you off and turn you against the Sassans."
"I do not break. Nor do I buy off."