"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 06 - Challenge Met" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

Thraks. It smells of Milos and war. It looks like a denizen of Hell. It is
bonded inexorably with him.

Just as he begins to integrate his past with his present, the devourer
strikes without mercy. The eyelids of the frozen man begin to flicker.




Chapter 6
«^»
The coracle rocked violently as it was released, ejected like an empty shell
into a decaying orbit. Bogie fine-tuned the armor's sensors to listen after the
Ash-Farel vessel. He abruptly damped them as a human scream cut like a
laser across the frequency. Fear and pain vibrated through his system as he
lay curled in the tiny rescue vehicle's equipment bay where,
well-camouflaged, he had been overlooked by the aliens.

Pain and fear were not unknown to Bogie. He had carried Jack through
many such ordeals. Now it resonated inside him uneasily until he
understood the edge of the feeling: he, too, was afraid. The revelation was
both heartening and disheartening. It meant he had evolved enough, was
alive enough, to fear death. Now at last he understood some of Jack's
hesitation to fight. Death was the dark side of war. And only a living being
would fear death.

He had come far, but he did not cherish the feeling. He was a warrior, he
knew that, he savored battle and victory. Now, in the echo of Colin's
anguish, he knew he would never be the same.

He made plans to emerge when the Ash-Farel mother ship pulled away.
He would correct the coracle's orbit. He would wait for Jack, who would
come as Colin had promised he would, and Bogie would then point the way
as it was his duty to do. Until then, he would tap into the armor's power
circuit and take the energy he needed to continue to live. He would try not
to listen to the recording of St. Colin's capture. It frightened him too much.



"I want," Vandover said to the computer screen, "someone disposed of in
under-Malthen."

The image looking back at him showed no emotion, nor did he expect it
to. The man's skin was sallow and his pupils too wide under the influence
of ratt. "Who?" the man said.

"Never mind who. I'll give you a body… you make the arrangements."

"Ahhh." Illumination showed on the old man's face. "I'll need
twenty-four hours' notice."