"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 04 - Alien Salute" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

The pilot straightened. He scrubbed a hand over his patchy head of
grizzled hair. The slim brown navigator glared at him. That arrogant
Dominion Knight son of a bitch had warned him it would come to this. The
pilot shrugged. He reached for the com system and thumbed it onto page.
"Captain Storm, your presence is requested on the bridge."

Alij sat back in his chair and hid his startled expression in the glow of his
screen, but he was the first to jump in eagerness when the bridge doors
schussed open minutes later to admit the soldier.

There was not a man in Harkness' crew who hadn't at one time or
another spied on the Dominion Knight, particularly if he could be found
drilling in the gym. Most of the Knights aboard had had their equipment
destroyed before retreating. The crewmen had a morbid fascination in
watching the battle armor at work after having faced it themselves when
they'd tried to subdue Storm. It was a killing machine, no doubt about it.
Now, Alij watched warily as the man entered the bridge.

"Problem, pilot?"

Harkness growled in this throat again, then said, "My navigator says he's
getting feedback through his hyperspace readings. Any idea what could be
going on?"
 Jack looked at the pilot. He knew the grudging expression for what it
was. Capitulation, fueled by worry. He looked to the navigator. "When are
we due to pull out and decel?"

"Beginning of next watch. Say, twelve hours. We're two weeks out of
Malthen, putting on the brakes all the way."

"Close." Without edging the pilot out of the way, Jack squeezed in as
close as he could to the instrumentation board. He was no pilot. His skill
was warfare, specifically, the infantry. But Harkness was a transport pilot, a
man used to handling freight and the occasional cold ship. Jack could not
read what he saw on the screen either, but he didn't like it.

He wondered if the Thraks could be waiting for them at the edge, having
calculated their most likely reentry point from hyperspace. The Thraks
knew they'd been at Bythia—hell, that was the incident that had started the
war six weeks ago. It would take about that long to begin mustering forces.

Harkness' cold ship would be priceless to them because of its cargo
locked in cold sleep. Jack frowned. He looked at Harkness and the copilot
swiveled in his chair. To the copilot he said, "Bring up the subspace bulletin
board."

"Sir, we haven't got time to put out a call and receive an answer—"

"I know, officer. I'm looking for bulletins, not placing a call."