"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 05 - Return Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

slid shut and then said, "I'm sorry, Jonathan. You didn't deserve that."

The massive man's face closed in an expression that agreed with him. He
moved to take Colin's outer vest, but the older man hugged it about himself,
saying, "It's a little chilly. You can taste winter's edge out thereтАФit may
even rain later. I think I'll keep this on a while."
 "I've got your apartment warming up. Shall I send up tea?"

Tea sounded good. "I'll take it up with me," he said. "I've the eulogy to
work on. Tell Margaret to hold all my calls this evening." His aide nodded
briskly and turned away to the kitchen

Alone at last, tea tray balanced in his hands, Colin mounted the steps to
his private apartment. Audiences with Pepys were beginning to sap him, as
though the emperor were a parasite of some sort, a devious being Colin
must constantly spar with. Nor was Colin happy about being pressured into
doing the eulogy for Commander Jack Storm, late of the Dominion Knights.
There would be the inevitable military rites, all the more poignant because
Jack was missing in actionтАФhis body had never been found. And, God
willing, it never would be.

Taking the staircase an incline at a time, feeling his knees creak and
watching the chinaware jiggle on the tray, steam puffing from under the
teapot lid with each sway, Colin approached the only sanctuary he had left,
a small but comfortable apartment hidden deep within Walker
headquarters.

He set the tray down on the burled wood table from old home, long ago
Terra, his knuckles brushing the polished surface. There was life in that
touch, the life of wood still vibrant. With a sound half-sigh and half-groan,
Colin lowered himself onto the comfort of his settee.

The room was deeply shadowed in late afternoon, but he did not call up
his lights, preferring the comfort of dimness as he poured a cup and sat
back, sipping the heated contents gingerly. The settee cushions embraced
him.

"You're getting old," he muttered to himself. "Tolerating the enemy at
your doorstep."

"I've never known you to tolerate anything," a shadow spoke back to
him, and a man separated himself from the darkness of a corner.

Colin juggled his teacup, cursing as the hot liquid splashed on him. With
a laugh, the tall man joined him and helped to blot up the disaster.

The minister sat back in exasperation. "Good God! What are you doing
hereтАФyou're dead."

A sandy-colored eyebrow arched. "Rumors greatly exaggerated?"