"William H. Keith Jr - Decision at Thunder Rift" - читать интересную книгу автора (Keith jr William H)

Draconis Combine of House Kurita. Against them stands the uneasy alliance of
House Davion's Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth of House Steiner.
Around these giants also swarm lesser houses, powers, alliances, merchants,
fronts, and out-and-out bandits, whom the Successor Lords try to woo, bribe,
or force to assist them when they can.
And yet, after centuries of warfare, no clear gains have ,been made by
any single House, no fatal flaw uncovered. War continues, with the giants
struggling among the ruins of what once had been a proud, galactic
civilization. Like well-matched BattleMechs, the forces seemed too evenly
balanced for any one to gain that vital, decisive edge.
But the powers behind the war understood a maxim of war as old as war
itself. What cannot be won by force of arms can often be achieved through
cunning, deceit, or by a concealed blade slipped into an enemy's back.
-Nicolai Aristobulus Terror's Balance: A History of the Succession
Wars

BOOK I
The traitor slid out from under the tangle of cables and hard-wired
circuit boards, wiping grease-stained fingers across the front of his
coveralls. The watch officer behind the console above him frowned. "Aren't you
done in there yet?"
"It's a peripheral circuit, boss," the traitor said. "I can't get it
from here. I'll have to check the cameras down in the Repair Bay." He reached
back into the circuitry access and flicked a row of switches from on to off
with precise deliberation. "Your monitors'll be down for a bit."
"How long?"
"Oh, not long." He began gathering his tools and stuffing them into
his canvas shoulder bag. "Fifteen minutes."
The watch officer glanced at his wristcom. "Make it fast," he said,
penning a notation on the clipboard in his hand.
"Don't worry," the other man replied. "It will be."
The traitor was an astech and a native Trell, his sharp-chiseled
features and black, curly hair typical of Trellwan's small native population,
his complexion extraordinarily pale due to the world's UV-poor sun. The
watch-station door passed the man at a touch of his fingertips to the security
scanner plate, then hissed shut at his back. As he moved down the stone-walled
passageway, the clatter of his footsteps echoed hollowly.
Cold stone steps led down and down, through deserted corridors and
past rooms guarded by grey uniformed sentries. Twice, the Trell had to show
his pass, a holographic ID pinned high on his shoulder. Other astechs passed
him in stony silence or with nodded greeting. His coveralls and heavy toolbag
were pass enough to get him through most doorways, as there were few areas in
the Castle where a native astech could not go.
The Repair Bay was part artifice and part natural cavern, a
high-vaulted room whose lingering gloom was broken by isolated pools of light.
One wall was brown-rusted and corroded with age. At the Bay's center,
crisscrossed by spotlight pools and the snaking coils of power feeds and
compressor lines, the 55-ton hulk of a partly disassembled 'Mech lay sprawled
across an elevated rack. A Tech bawled orders and gestured from the deck at a
pair of astechs working on the behemoth's chest. Wearily, they stooped above