Wing Commander #07 False Color by William Forstchen (best books to read in life .txt) 📕

wearing the rank tabs of a Trathkhar of Communications appeared on the screen. "This is the carrier Karga. Admiral dai Nokhtak commanding." The signal broke up for a moment, then returned. "We have evaded a force of ape ships which had been following us for several eight-days. Request clearance through to Baka Kar so we can make repairs and report to the Imperial Governor for new orders."

"Lan Vharr, escort destroyer Wexarragh. Your authentication codes, if you please. And I would like to speak to your commanding officer."

Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir Jump Point Nine, Vordran System 2327 hours (CST)

"Well, you heard the kil," Admiral Geoff Tolwyn said. "Give him his authentication codes."

Jhavvid Dahl, the Kilrathi communications specialist, turned in his chair to look at Tolwyn. "These codes are a year old. We can only hope they have them on file."

"Just do it," Tolwyn snapped. He turned to face the monitor beside the kil. "Prince Murragh, are you ready?"

The Kilrathi prince gave him a grasped-claw gesture in response. Murragh was on the carrier's flag bridge, surrounded by other Kilrathi officers and enlisted ratings from amongst his castaway group. Dahl had assured them that he could use the ship's computers to morph Murragh's features into those of his uncle, drawn from the communications files, in a real-time program that would allow Murragh to provide the interactive movements and the phrasing of his uncle far more effectively than a pre-programmed simulacrum. With luck, what the picket ship's captain would see would be a convincing imitation of a bridge full of Kilrathi.

Tolwyn hoped it would work. If the picket ship got off a warning, they would never penetrate to Baka Kar to take out the dreadnought. Everything was riding on this ploy, and Geoff Tolwyn carried the whole weight of responsibility for the operation squarely on his shoulders. Admiral Richards had transferred his flag to the Xenophon at Hellhole to take command of the Terran-made warships of the battle group, leaving Tolwyn to handle the approach to Baka Kar entirely on his own.

The last time he'd held command had been the Behemoth mission. Memories of the battle passed through his thoughts from time to time, reminding him of just how much was riding on his performance as a commanding officer.

Right now, though, it was Murragh's performance as an actor that counted most.

'This is Cakg dai Nokhtak," Murragh intoned solemnly. It was strange to see his familiar face and figure on the intercom screen, but beside it, on the intership monitor, the computer-altered image of his uncle, shorter, stockier, with touches of silver around his blunt-faced muzzle. "It is good to see another Kilrathi face again after all this time, Captain. We have been cut off for many eight-days . . . over a Kilrah-year, in fact."

The captain of the escort was looking unsure of himself. "Your authentication codes are not current . . ."

"Didn't I just say we've been out of touch!" Murragh roared, flexing his claws in evident agitation. "Karga was badly damaged in battle with the apes. All his battle group destroyed! We have been stranded in a system in ape space, our engines useless, since then. Only recently were we able to effect repairs! Of course our codes are invalid. Check your records for the period when we left on our mission! And be quick about it!"

Tolwyn had to smile. Murragh hadn't actually uttered a single untruth. He had simply omitted a few crucial things. And he was doing a credible impersonation of an irritable and irritated aristocrat about to have a junior's head, quite possibly literally. In the Imperial fleet, junior officers did not offend a senior officer's sense of honor and live to tell the tale.

But the look on the picket ship captain's face bothered Tolwyn. He isn't buying the story, he thought grimly.

And he's already sent out a message alerting them that something's on the way. If we don't get him to pass us through, we're finished . . .

Command Bridge, KIS Wexarragh Jump Point Nine, Vordran System 2329 hours (CST)

Vharr's claws flexed nervously. The admiral's anger was enough to make him cringe. But there was something that nagged at him, something not quite right. He studied the monitor more closely. There . . . that was what was bothering him. An almost unnoticeable distortion in the video image. It seemed to be localized right around the admiral. If it had been a systems problem, surely it would have disrupted the whole screen . . .

A trick of some kind? Or just a communications glitch? Vharr didn't like the choices he was being offered. A wrong choice either way could lead to the utter disgrace of the Vharr hrai, not to mention his own execution.

"Lord Admiral," he said cautiously, thinking fast. "I am required to send over a shuttle. To verify . . and to assist." He turned away from the monitor, gesturing to his Executive Officer. With the transmission briefly muted, he gave his orders. "Send a detachment of assault troops on the shuttle. The admiral is to be given all due deference . . . but we must verify his story. I don't like the smell of it."

A squad of troops would be useless against what could be aboard that carrier, but they, like the ship himself, were a tripwire. If there was trouble, they would alert him to it, and he could alert Baka Kar... before he died in turn.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir Jump Point Nine, Vordran System 2330 hours (CST)

"He is within his rights," Dahl said. "And if he truly does have orders to inspect passing ships, he would not yield even to an admiral. It would cost his honor to do so."

"Yeah," Tolwyn said. "And we just look more suspicious if we try to argue it. Okay, Murragh, give him the go-ahead. And get me Bhaktadil and Bondarevsky on the intercom circuit. Time for Operation Welcome Wagon."

Starboard Flight Deck, FRLS