"Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Freedom Flight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

He remembered that conflict with a small warmth of pride, pride he
cherished against the anger that sought to consume him. He con-
centrated on his memories of the hours of maneuvering against the
Terran ship, waves of fighter assaults, culminating in the glorious
explosion of the Waterloo-class ship, the blossoming fireball and drifting
debris. The ship had been named the Leningrad, he had learned later, and
over five hundred humans had died when it had been destroyed. Five
hundred enemies. Five hundred gifts to Sivar, the War God.

He remembered one moment of fear in that battle, seeing a tiny Terran
fighter diving toward his ship, knowing that half of their forward cannons
were disabled and there was nothing he or his crew could do to stop itтАж

тАж then the wing of Imperial Jalthi fighters had banked in sharply and
destroyed the human ship with a well-aimed volley.

Now Ralgha felt that same paralyzing fear, watching his fete being
decided before him, and knowing that there was nothing he could do
about it at all.

Again, the purring whisper. "I am waiting for your answer, Jahkai."
 Kalrahr Jahkai turned and spoke to the shadowed figure seated in the
corner of the room. "My lord, I cannot say. In five hours, we have neither
seen nor heard a single hint of treason from Lord Ralgha. ButтАж"

Ralgha stood silently, muscles locked in the rigidity of submissive fear,
and wished with all his heart that he was back in the battle for the Vega
Sector, commanding the crew of the Ras Nik'hra against the Terran fleet.
At least then, he had an obvious opponent to fight. Not this shadow-war of
loyalties and treason, where a single gesture could result in his immediate
death. They would not even grant him the honor of death in combatтАж he
could die in this room, shot like a coward or a prisoner of war, and no one
would ever knowтАж

"Enough." The tall Kilrathi rose from his chair in the corner of the
room, striding forward to face Ralgha. Prince Thrakhath, Heir to the
Throne of Kilrah, stared into his eyes, thoughtful and calculating. Gold
rings glistened in Thrakhath's ears, bright against his red-brown fur and
his red cloak. The spicy musk of one who dallied often with females wafted
to Ralgha's nostrils, but Ralgha refused to be distracted by it. "Tell me,
RalghaтАж who do you serve?"

"The glory of the Emperor and the Empire of Kilrah," Ralgha said,
stiffly. "I am yours to command, my Prince."

"Yes." The Prince spoke quietly, his voice low and resonant in the small
room. "I believe you are, Ralgha. You will do well." The Prince turned to
the intelligence officer. "Enough of this farce, Jahkai. I had suspected a
personal animosity when you brought me your suspicions; now I am