"Michael McCollum - Antares 03 - Antares victory" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

Drake shook off the reverie into which he had fallen. It was a nasty habit of his whenever he
contemplated the Antares Nebula, brought on undoubtedly by the fact that his own life had been inextricably
linked to the nebula ever since it blazed bright in AltaтАЩs night sky.
Alta was far away at the moment, as was his pregnant wife. He missed Bethany already, not that heтАЩd
had more than a few months to be with her these past three years. Building the largest invasion fleet in the
history of interstellar war had monopolized his attention, giving him the opportunity for only a few brief visits
home, and one glorious vacation that had lasted an entire week. Still, Bethany had usually been within comm
range, and the two of them had spent many enjoyable hours talking face to face via comm screen into the
wee hours. Now more than a hundred light years of vacuum separated them, a distance that could only grow
as humankind launched its maximum effort to defeat an implacable alien foe.
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Drake pulled himself aboard the Terrestrial BlastshipVictory . In the suiting cubicle just inside the main
ship lock, he found a Marine honor guard and a young man in the uniform of a commander in the Royal
Sandarian Navy. Victorywas in microgravityto ease the arrival of landing craft from the other ships in the
fleet. The Marines stood rigidly at attention with their boots locked into the floor grid to keep them from
floating away. The commander floated free, steadying himself with a guideline.
Drake paused just inside the inner airlock door as martial music emanated from the
shipтАЩsbulkhead-mounted speakers . It was some tune that he had heard on Earth, but one that he could not
name. The unfamiliar musical style indicated that the march must have been written after Altawas cut off from
human space.
When the music ended, the saluting Marines all snapped their right hands down in unison. Drakepulled
himself along the guideline. He pulled towardthe officer , whom he recognized.
тАЬAdmiral Drake, itтАЩs good to see you,тАЭ Phillip Walkirk exclaimed, extending his right hand while keeping
hold of the guideline with his left.
тАЬYour Highness, good to see you again,тАЭ Drake replied as he grasped WalkirkтАЩs hand. тАЬI see you have
come up in the world. I rememberwhenyou were a lowly ensign.тАЭ
Walkirk smiled. тАЬIt could be that I have connections at court.тАЭ
 That, Drake knew, was an understatement. Four years earlier, Philliphad been assigned aboard
Discovery as an exchange officer. Drake had objected to the assignment when hefirst heard about it, not that
he had anything personal against the young officer. The problem was that Phillipwas not just any member of
the Sandarian Navy. His father was John-Phillip Walkirk VI, hereditary king and ruler of Sandar, and Phillip
would one day follow him on the throne. The thought that the heir-apparent might be injured, or even killed,
while serving aboard an Altan cruiser hadbeen enough to give Drakeinsomnia.
Walkirkhad served well while aboardDiscovery , and had even led the Marine boarding party that
captured the Ryall freighterSpace Swimmer in what proved to be a pivotal action for the human war effort. He
had accompaniedDiscovery to Earth, where events had unfolded that led inevitably to this gathering of the
fleet.
Phillip, he noted, had filled out in the last few years. He still had the jet-black hair, intense eyes, and the
prominent nose that marked the Walkirk clan. His shoulders were broader than they had been and his voice
lacked the youthful tremor that sometimes crept in when he was excited. His eyes had gained a few wrinkles
at their corners, as well; but then, whose had not?
Drake was significantly grayer than he had been when the two of them first met and he had to work
harder than ever at keeping his paunch under control. His green eyes tended to squint more, the result of
countless hours spent in front of a computer screen working out the myriad details required for the impending
invasion of Ryall space. He had not been alone in that task. Thousands of specialists across human space
had worked out the plan on which they were about to bet the human race. Drake had a proprietary
interest. The whole thing had originally been his idea.
At 41, he was getting to be an тАЬold manтАЭ for a spacer, and the fact that he had been forced to leave his
expectant wife a mere month before the birth of their first son had done nothing to improve his mood.
тАЬHow many are onboard?тАЭ