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

CHAPTER 1
Captain Theophilos Marston grimaced and blinked, as if the action would
restore his ability to think clearly after fiftythree hours on duty. He walked
down the curving corridor of the officer's deck, hands clasped behind him,
thankful that the soft light from the overhead globes didn't irritate his
gritty eyes. Fatigue lay like a mantle on his bowed shoulders. Worry ate at
his guts with needlelike teeth. The sound of his heels echoed along the deck
plate as he passed through the soft white light cast by the panels.
And I expect to get some sleep? He grunted evilly to himself. Who am I trying
to fool?
Then he whispered wryly, "Only yourself."
The ship hummed in gentle reassurance. He and the crew had scrambled to make
Pylos ready for the holocaust that lay ahead. She gleamed now, polished from
stem to stern, engines powered up, the mighty batteries charged for combat.
His crew had drilled and prepared until each person functioned at peak
efficiency.
"And now we wait?" Marston shook his head. His bridge First had informed him
that the Praetor himself had come aboard with the last shuttle.
The Praetor? On Pylos? And without fanfare? Why? Is he about to cut and run?
Leave Myklene to its fate? Or is this all some elaborate drill?
Marston stopped before the hatch to his personal quarters and paused, hand
half raised to palm the latch. On impulse he pivoted on his heel and walked
to the observation dome for one last look at Myklene, his home planet.
He entered the dimly lit blister and sat off to one side where the railing lay
in shadow. Below him, Myklene glistened in the greenish light of its sun, Myk.
How delicate it looked, pristine and fragile.
Marston rubbed his tired face. The skin felt like a mask. Did his world really
hang in the balance? Was the Praetor's intelligence network correct? Did the
Star Butcher and the Sassan empire prepare at this very moment to destroy his
home?
At first the soft rustle of gauzy fabrics didn't register in Marston's foggy
mind, then he looked up. She didn't see him as she walked into the observation
blister and paused, placing thin hands on the railing and staring out at the
planet. Gleaming auburn hair had been gathered in a curling ponytail that hung
down to her waist, and the fine fabrics she wore conformed to the sensual
curves of her lithe body.
Marston swallowed hard, the last vestiges of fatigue vanishing with the racing
of his pulse. God, what a beauty! He must have gasped, for she turned,
startled eyes flashing. And such eyes! Large and tawny-yellow, they seemed to
grow in her delicate face until he saw nothing else.
What would a man do to see such eyes glisten for him?
She blushed then, raising a hand demurely and murmuring, "Excuse me."
She turned to leave, the motion fluid.
"No! Wait!" Marston took a step toward her, hand outstretched.
She glanced shyly at him. "I must go. I'm not supposed to be here."
"It's all right. I'm the captain. It's my command . . . my ship." As he
stepped closer, he fell farther under the spell cast by those unique jasmine
eyes. He stared, breathless and rapt. What gave her such incredible magnetism?
The loose gauzy gown couldn't hide the wondrous curves of her body. Her
delicate skin glowed with health and life. A vestige of caution reminded him