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

didn't have a chance to reply, though. Galbraith, looking impatient, spoke up before Kevin Tolwyn had even finished speaking. 'We're almost ready to break orbit," he said. "And the Presidential shuttle is due any minute, so that he can see us off properly. I hope you gentlemen won't mind if we cut the greetings back a little so that we can get the flight deck ready for the President's arrival. We have a great deal to finish."

"Of course, Captain," Richards responded casually. "If you'll just detail someone to show us to our quarters, we'll get out of the way until it's time to listen to Old Max and his words of wisdom."

"With your permission, Captain, I'd be glad to see our guests to their quarters," Kevin offered.

Galbraith frowned. "Job's a bit below your station, isn't it, Commander?" He assayed a brief smile. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt morale any." The captain waved a negligent hand. "You gentlemen let me know if I can be of any assistance."

Before any of them could reply, he had turned away to address his Exec, leaving the three new arrivals to Kevin Tolwyn.

"One of my men will see to the rest of the passengers," Kevin said. "I'll show you to the quarters we've set aside for you. I'm afraid they're not exactly up to standard flag rank issue."

"Give me a bunk and a computer terminal and I'll be happy as a Cat in a sandbox," Richards said. The elder Tolwyn grunted agreement.

The quarters were part of a refurbished section of the carrier. In Bondarevsky's day they had housed storerooms for munitions spares, but those stores were evidently in a new section two decks below the flight deck, allowing this expansion of available berths. "Old Max ordered the changes himself," the younger Tolwyn explained as he showed the first cabin to his uncle and the others. 'Word is he expected to use the boat as his own personal flagship, and wanted the bunk space for his staff. But that all fell through, leaving us with extra VIP quarters no one expected to use until we got this new assignment."

Once the two admirals had been shown their berths, Kevin led Bondarevsky to another cabin close by. "All yours, Bear," he said with a smile, entering the keycode to open the door. "I know it's not the captain's suite, where you belong, but hopefully it'll do for the time being."

"It's fine, Kevin," Bondarevsky said. He tossed his bag on the bunk and did a double-take as something moved against the space-black blanket. 'Well, hello, who's this?"

Tolwyn reached down and picked up a bundle of black fur. "The official Independence reception committee. Jason, meet Thrakhath. He's one of our ship's cats."

The black cat opened a pair of startling green eyes and studied Bondarevsky suspiciously. After a moment the cat started to purr loudly, obviously glad of the attention Tolwyn was giving his neck and ears.

Bondarevsky chuckled. "Thrakhath, huh? Does he know he's royalty?"

"Absolutely," Tolwyn replied, returning the cat to the bed. "He finds his way into just about every corner of the ship, usually through the ventilation system . . .

though some of us think he can walk through walls when he wants to. But he's staked out this deck as his personal territory. If you don't want him slipping in here and bothering you, we'll install a screen he can't get through."

"Nonsense," Bondarevsky replied. "I can use the company." He paused, then looked Tolwyn in the eye. "It was a bit of a surprise finding you out here, you know. Your uncle didn't mention anything about it."

"He didn't?" Kevin frowned, then shrugged. 'Well, you know how he's been lately. Won't let his right hand know what the left one's doing for fear it'll break under interrogation. Fact is, I've been here since just after the end of the war—stayed just long enough to see the court-martial verdict, then shipped out to sign on with Old Max and his gang of cutthroats."

"At the admiral's suggestion?"

"Yeah." Tolwyn frowned again. "I don't know what it is that's had him so worried, but he seemed to think it was a good idea for me to get out of Earthspace for a while. And Wing Commander on a Landreich carrier sure as hell beats being a major on the staff back home."

"How much do you know about the mission?"

"We're supposed to salvage a Kilrathi derelict that could be protected by hostiles," Tolwyn responded.

"Should be an easy enough job." He paused, his innocent, open features reddening. "Look, Bear, you rank me six ways from Sunday even in the Landreich's Navy. I could step down as Wing Commander if you wanted to do something more than twiddle your thumbs on the flight out . . ."

"Forget it, Lone Wolf. You've earned the spot."

"It's just a damned shame they couldn't give you Tarawa. Independence. Whatever. Or at least her fighter wing. It's just . . . wrong for you to be a passenger aboard the old girl."

"Don't you worry about it," Bondarevsky told him. "Just seeing her again is enough for me. And if we end up trying to put that Kilrathi monstrosity back in business, I'll be glad enough of the vacation time." He hesitated. "But . . . look, Kevin, thanks for making the offer. It means a lot."

"I owe you big-time, Bear," Tolwyn told him. "When I signed on with you before the Kilrah raid I was a spoiled brat who didn't have any idea what to do with his life. You made me into a proper officer, and a pilot, and a man I don't mind seeing in the mirror every morning when I shave, and I won't forget that."

"Presidential Shuttle on final approach." The blare of the public address system kept Bondarevsky from having to respond to the younger officer's words. "Welcoming party, lay down to the flight deck."

"I suppose that includes VIPs," Bondarevsky commented.

"Well, it certainly includes Wing Commanders," Kevin said. "Question is, will our beloved Captain Gall-Bladder claim