"John Ringo - The Legacy of the Aldenata 6 - Cally's War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ringo John)

Gust Front
When the Devil Dances
Hell's Faire
The Hero (with Michael Z. Williamson)
Cally's War (with Julie Cochrane)

There Will Be Dragons
Emerald Sea
Through the Looking Glass (forthcoming)

The Road to Damascus (with Linda Evans)

with David Weber:
March Upcountry
March to the Sea
March to the Stars
 Prologue
"So, how go your plans for the humans, Tir?"
The Darhel Ghin sat in a pose copied from the humans, legs bent and spread flat, one
foot crossed onto the opposite knee. His face was impassive, ears still, and it was
impossible to tell from his expression what might be meant by the curious choice of
position. His hair had the metallic sheen of antique silver, with glints of black threaded
through. The slit-pupilled eyes were a deep emerald green with a light tracery of violet
blood vessels around the whites, impassive in the narrow, fox-like face. The face would
have looked elfin except for the sheer, solid realness of it. The rows of pointed, razor-
sharp teeth were concealed, for now, between his still, closed lips. In short, he was
average for a Darhel, in virtually every way. That very attribute had led more than one
unwary rival to grievously underestimate him. In his youth, at any rate.
"Well, Your Ghin." He stared directly into the wall-sized view screen. His superior's
Indowy body attendants could be seen working unobtrusively in the background. A
human might have compared them to small, green teddy-bears. The Tir barely thought of
them at all, their omnipresent service being an unremarkable, comfortable fact of life.
"Planetary reclamation of our Posleen-occupied interests with greatest profit potential is
on schedule. Hazard loss of human colonists is within ten percent of optimum. Loss of
human colony ships is optimum, plus or minus two percent. The loss concealment
program is operating as designed. Monthly profit margins are running at seven percent,
plus or minus one point five percent, at the ninety-five percent confidence level," he
recited. His ears were perked through the metallic gold hair, uncommon but acceptable in
their race, his posture erect in a position of strong confidence. The old fool must surely be
becoming aware by now that he was slipping.
"The humans, they are rather more . . . numerous, and less grateful, than your
projections when you initiated the program during the Posleen war."
"All plans require adjustment as part of the process. We have discussed the purpose
of the job of management before, Your Ghin." How did he always do that? The obsolete
fossil had the annoying habit of posing just the question that prodded the most
inconvenient aspect of any operational plan. But the Tir's control over his own body
language had improved over the years, and he cocked one ear slightly in a gesture that
coasted just between polite condescension and careful attentiveness.
"With respect, Your Ghin, profits are up and contingency plans to manage the
humans are functioning well within acceptable parameters." He had an itch on the left