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

She spun Andropolous' chair around, squatting on her heels before him. "Sorry
about the damage Colonel, but you see, we're only the beginning of your
troubles. And things will be getting a lot worse before they get better."
"Can't ... get ... away . . . with . . ."
"We're not here to get away. We're here to wreck your computersтАФand through
them to introduce a virus into your entire defense network."
Andropolous blinked, trying to understand.
"Wing Commander, we're through!" one of the men called.
"Be right there."
Wing Commander? "Skyla . . . Lyma." Andropolous closed his eyes, weary to the
core of his soul.
"Very good, Colonel," she told him. Something pricked the skin on the back of
his hand. "We're through now, so we won't need you anymore. Sorry you had to
recognize me. The Companions don't take any chances."
The chair rocked as she brushed past him. A foggy haze drifted up around
Andropolous' thoughts. The last thing he remembered was the creaking of the
chair.
Staff assistants hurried back and forth across Myles Roma's tower office. The
room he occupied as Legate to His Holiness, Sassa II, was large and sprawling,
opulently furnished with thick carpeting and gleaming desks. Holo monitors
filed all of one wall, constantly processing updated information and status
reportsтАФespecially now that the fleet was assembling, troops were moving, and
the incredible nightmare of logistics had snarled everything. The view from
his engraved sandwood desk caught the eye, the spires of the Sassan capital
building rose against the aqua sky. Behind him, the holographic image of His
Holiness dominated the room. Not even the familiarity of years had gotten
Myles over the feeling that the God-Emperor was staring watchfully over his
shoulder at all times. Maybe it helped keep him honest.
"A call has come in, Legate," an aide informed through the comm. "The Lord
Commander is on secure line one."
The Lord Commander? Roma made a distasteful face and straightened his saffron
robe, cleared his throat, and resettled himself in an effort to hide his
fat-swelled gut. He checked his reflection to make sure he looked the part
of Legate, and twiddled the glittering rings on his fingers. Satisfied, he
swiveled in his gravity chair and punched the button which dropped a privacy
screen around him. Of all the Legate's duties, he hated dealing with the
Companions the most. Something about Staff a kar Therma sent a quiver through
his guts. When the Lord Commander stepped into a room, the effect could be
likened to a shard of glass passing through a box of balloons.
The holo generator flickered and projected the Lord Commander's image. Staffa
kar Therma smiled and nodded ever so slightly, the gesture as formal as frost.
He looked exactly as he should. Hard gray eyes took Myles' measure. The
straight nose and square jaw befitted a merciless conqueror. As always, the
Lord Commander's straight black hair had been gathered into a ponytail over
his left ear and held in place by a jeweled brooch that glinted with
multicolored rays. The top of a slate-gray battle suit could be seen and the
long cloak that was kar Therma's trademark bunched on the muscular broad
shoulders.
"My Lord Commander," Myles greeted. "It's good of you to call. I hope this is
a status update on your mobilization for the Myklenian attack?"