"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 01 - Solar Kill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

“No,” Marciane said with a sigh, as he poured himself a third helping. “And I appreciate the honesty. Good luck to
you when you try for the guard.” He reached out and clicked the battered plastic mugs together. “Here’s to the
Emperor, and Malthen!”
The third drink reminded Jack that he’d been awakened in the middle of his sleep cycle, and so he left Marciane. As he
walked away, he felt the captain’s shrewd gaze piercing the area between his shoulder blades, like an itch he couldn’t
scratch, and he fell into the bunk wondering if he had somehow made a mortal enemy. He promised himself he’d be
constantly on his guard on Malthen.
“Now, aren’t you happy you dressed for the occasion? You’re the guest of honor,” Marciane said to him out of the
corner of his mouth, as the crew walked onto the elevator platform and began the ascent to the formal welcoming
chambers of the palace.
Jack’s only answer was an involuntary flinch. He carried his helmet under his arm, feeling as if his head belonged
there, too, even as he listened to Tubs’ stammering admiration of the rose-pink walls of the immense palace.
The building dwarfed the city structures by virtue of being built on the area’s highest hill, its prominence heightened
by its color, a rose that he’d never seen in obsidite before, like the inside of a rare seashell. He ground his teeth as the
elevator climbed up the outside of one of the wings, carrying them to a grand reception. Marciane, as they understood
it, was now a very big local hero for busting up a very unpopular strike on what had been declared by the Emperor to
be a free labor market planet. Below, the crowd cheered and waved and screamed in happiness as their new-found
heroes rose above them to claim their just rewards.
Only moments before, their cries had stalled to a deathly silence when Storm had moved forward, geared in the battle
armor. Though many were too young to remember the suits, many others were old enough. Although he’d been too far
away to hear well, he swore he’d heard the shocked intakes of breath. He’d had a split second to wonder if he’d made
a mistake giving in to Marciane’s demands that he wear the suit, and then the voice of the crowd burst forth with a
roar that swelled over the crew of the Montreal. Then Jack thought that maybe Marciane had been right, that to hide
the suit would continue to endanger him. If he and his past were an embarrassment to the Emperor, it would be much
easier to remove an unknown than a conspicious presence. He’d hidden himself away long enough.
Marciane leaned over and flicked an invisible piece of dust off the Flexalinks. He grinned at Jack. “Like a baby’s first
tooth,” he said, then straightened and tilted his head back, watching the rose wall of obsidite shimmer in front of them
as the elevator continued inching up.
Short-Jump and Tubs were first off the platform as the elevator halted, and the sliding doors moved out to admit them
onto the ballroom floor. The room was jammed with people, and tables, and free-standing bars. Jack smiled broadly.
Short-Jump grinned. “This is gonna be one hell of a party,” he said, before wading forward into a swirl of people who
did not, for once, shrink away from him. Tubs followed after happily.
A pretty young woman reached for Jack’s arm. She was dressed from chin to toe in a shimmering gold veil that did
little to hide her form, and she smiled as she recognized the look on his face. “My,” she said. “Is it true what they say
about what you guys wear inside that stuff?” She was as tall as he was, and as he opened his mouth to reply, she
leaned forward on tiptoe and craned her neck to look down inside the suit.
She pouted, as .her blue-black hair tickled his nose. “It’s only half-true,” she announced, and waved her glass of
champagne in the air. “Ah well. At least half-naked is a start.” She laughed softly. “Don’t tell me—you want to join the
Emperor’s Guard, too. Well, this is as good as place as any to be seen. Now I want you to tell me all about Washington
Two and that terrible war.” She drew Jack away from the other crew members, and he put up only a token display of
resistance, as other laughing, drinking celebrants pressed around them.
The last thing he remembered clearly was the frown on Marciane’s face as he disappeared from view. The captain was
talking to someone dressed in a relatively somber tone of brown, and they both looked after him, before a glittering veil
of gold cut off his sight, and he gave in to the party.
He woke slowly. His head felt swollen and throbbed as though it would burst. Jack cautiously cradled it between his
gloved hands. He groaned and rolled over onto his back, squinting at the bright yellow sun. Far away, he saw the
shimmer of a rose-pink building hugging the horizon, towering above the city. His tongue felt thick.
“It’s a long way from the palace to the gutter,” he told himself, as he realized where he was. His right foot felt pinched
and numb, and he realized he’d stuck his pay in his boot ... a stack of Dominion credits that would have choked a
Thrak. No wonder he couldn’t wiggle his foot.