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

if to confirm the admiral's statement, there came the clear sound of raised voices through the massive double doors that led from the reception area to Kruger's private office. After a moment, the doors were flung open. Max Kruger himself stood to the left side, gesticulating wildly as he spoke in a loud and thoroughly un-presidential tone of voice.

"Freebooters and pirates, my ass! How many more Cat attacks will we have to put up with before you bastards back in Confed get it through your thick heads that these raids don't have a damned thing to do with pirates! I've had it, Williams! If you confees don't know how to deal with Cats, I sure as hell do, and be damned to the Treaty and everything else! We won't stand still for any more raiding!"

A second man, portly and dressed in the formal suit that was virtually a uniform of the Confederation Foreign Service, walked ponderously out of the office, turning to face Kruger from the middle of the reception area.

"You can rant and rave all you want to, Mr. President," he said calmly, his voice surprisingly thin and high-pitched for such a big man. "But the facts are as I have presented them. The Confederation cannot allow human worlds, even your so-called Independent Republic, to act against the provisions of Ko-Bar Yagar. To the Kilrathi, a human violating the treaty is a human violating the treaty. They will blame Terra for your indiscretions out here on the frontier. If you continue to lash out at the Empire because of your inability to deal with homegrown troublemakers, you risk destroying everything we fought thirty-five years to achieve. Before we allow that to happen, we will take action ourselves. If you don't want to find yourselves facing a Confederation battle group with a marine expeditionary force prepared for combat, I would suggest you moderate both your tone and your actions. Your declaration of independence was accepted twenty years ago because we had too many other commitments to waste time and resources dragging your Colonial rabble back into the fold, but things are different now, and if that's what it takes to protect the peace with the Empire that is exactly what we will do. Good day, Mr. President . . . and please think over what I've said. For your own good. And the good of your people."

Kruger's assistant looked from the President to the diplomat with an expression of uncertainty, but when Kruger didn't respond he stepped forward. "If you'll follow me, Mr. Williams, I will show you to the door."

As they left, Kruger couldn't resist a parting shot. "Lard-assed file-shuffling confee bastards think they can push around Max Kruger, do they? I was fighting the Cats out here on the frontier back when the whole gang of console commandos was still going to some la-di-dah university learning how to claim a spending increase was actually a cut so the voters would give them the chance to play god." The President's words were muttered, but just loud enough for Williams to catch them. Bondarevsky saw him falter, his chubby face flushing red, but the man kept control of himself and followed his guide through the outer doors.

When Williams was gone, Kruger looked around as if seeing his new visitors for the first time.

"Still the master of tact and diplomacy, eh, Max?" Richards said with a lazy smile. He turned to Tolwyn and Bondarevsky. "Clark Williams is the local liaison to the Confederation Peace Commission. Ever since he came out here he's pretty much run roughshod over Ambassador Phelps, who's getting near enough to retirement age to prefer not to mess around with the airlock controls. Unfortunately, I'm afraid Max here just can't find common ground when he gets together with Mr. Williams."

"Make light of it if you want, Vance," Kruger growled. "But that fat bastard isn't going to keep me from defending the Landreich. We'll fight the Cats and the confees too, if we have to." He paused. "But this isn't the way to greet old friends, is it? Come on in to the office."

He led the way through the inner doors. Inside, Bondarevsky had to hide a grin as he got a look at the way the office was furnished. The computer and communications gear was functional and efficient, but the desk was piled high with a clutter of papers, and the chairs and couches had a comfortable but thoroughly battered look. Plainly Kruger favored surroundings that fit his rough-and-tumble image.

"So . . . the famous Admiral Tolwyn. It's been, what? Almost five years now, right?" Kruger shook hands with the admiral. "Since we last met."

"Right after the Battle of Earth, Mr. President," Tolwyn answered gravely.

"And Mr. Bondarevsky." Kruger took his hand, frowning for a moment as he realized it was artificial. "The voice of my conscience made flesh, or so it seemed back in those days. A lot's . . . changed since then, eh, boy?"

"You could say that, sir," Bondarevsky replied stiffly. "But some things are still the same. You've still got Cat problems, and it looks like we're still here to help you with them."

Kruger cracked a smile. "Same old Bear," he commented. "Grab seats, people. Anybody want a beer?"

That almost made Bondarevsky smile. The President of the Landreich was a true man of the people, with common tastes and a tough, practical outlook on life. Bondarevsky could still remember storming in to his office on Hellhole one day after a tough mission, furious at the sacrifices his people had been forced to make in the name of protecting the Free Republic. Richards had urged Kruger to decorate Bondarevsky, and the President had casually given him the highest award the Landreich could bestow, plus a promotion, then tossed him a beer. It had been plain enough that Kruger had regarded the beer as the more tangible reward.

Richards accepted a can from the President's small, battered office refrigerator, but Tolwyn and Bondarevsky declined. All four men settled