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

the planet. On the way in from the jump point Banfeld had counted four escort carriers and their battle groups, an imposing fleet indeed to be assembled at one point. Assuming Ragark had garrisons posted at other worlds of the province, his fleet was going to be a powerful threat to the Landreich even if the carrier at Vaku was made operational. Perhaps he had worried unnecessarily about the threat to the balance of power, led astray by the paranoia of Williams and Mancini.

On the other hand, that salvaged carrier had turned out to pack quite a punch, and with the support of the rest of Kruger's fleet it could still turn the tide against a Kilrathi task force made up of escort carriers. Banfeld would stick to his original plan.

But there was still something that wasn't quite right about the readings they were getting. He continued to look at the monitor, especially at the symbols that described the main orbital docking complex over Baka Kar.

He stared at the readout for a long time before it hit him. The mass was wrong, completely different from everything in their records on the facilities at Baka Kar. The docking complex was supposed to be large, but these figures were almost twice what they should have been. Banfeld ordered the computer to zoom in on the orbital dock so that he could study it more closely.

It took a long time for the computer imaging system to interpret the sensor data well enough to comply with his request, and that wasn't right either. Something anomalous was out there, something that was distorting Highwayman's probes . . .

Banfeld let out an audible gasp as the computer imager finally displayed a picture based on the collected data. Something massive really was over there, docked with the orbital facility. Something that dwarfed the spidery framework of the station. It was the biggest ship Banfeld had ever seen—if it was a ship, and that's what the computer was insisting. It measured nearly twenty-two kilometers in length, bristling with hardpoints and radiating an awesome amount of energy even when it lay quiescent alongside the dock.

The Guild leader had only heard rumors about such ships, but now he was sure he was seeing the reality behind those rumors. A Kilrathi dreadnought, one of the vast and powerful warships Prince Thrakhath had ordered for the final solution to the war with Mankind.

And it was here, with Ragark's fleet.

Cold fear washed over Zachary Banfeld. He had wanted to help Ragark even the odds so that the war on the frontier might he prolonged and the Guild profit from the war. But a Kilrathi dreadnought made all the defenses of the Landreichers useless. Even their new supercarrier would be no match for such a powerful ship of war, whether they fully restored it to fighting trim or not.

When the Kilrathi smashed their way across the border, the question of Guild profits would no longer be a factor in his plans. The question would be one of Guild survival.

"Abort the mission," he ordered sharply. "Get us back the jump point. Best speed. And get the goddamned oak back up!"

Reception Area, Orbital Station Asharazhal Orbiting Baka Kar, Baka Kar System 1040 hours (CST)

Ukar dai Ragark stood by the broad transplast window and studied the impressive bulk of the Vorghath, or rather the comparatively tiny part of him visible from this part of the orbital dock. Ragark had never seen one of Thrakhath's dreadnoughts, and merely reading over the specifications had hardly prepared him for the reality of seeing the huge ship in person.

One such dreadnought could carve out a new Empire. The apes would never stand against his firepower.

He turned to look at the crowd of ministers and officers waiting a respectful distance behind him. "Look at him, my friends," he said expansively, gesturing to encompass the great ship that lay outside. "Look at him! Vorghath the Hunter, come to lead us to victory. With this ship, we shall crush all opposition, and have our revenge on the apes for the Homeworld."

As if in response to his declaration the boarding tube door adjacent to the window cycled open, and Dawx Jhorrad stepped through with an eight of his senior staff behind him Jhorrad was a short, thickset kil, half his face hidden by an extensive prosthetic plate that contained bionics to replace an eye and an ear lost in the first Tenn raid against Kilrah years ago. No one could have mistaken him for an aristocrat even if he'd born the honorific between given name and surname that marked a noble's rank. But despite being a commoner Jhorrad was a brilliant tactician, and his underlings, even those who were titled, would follow him to the Underworld and back at his slightest command.

Ragark envied him his charisma, but he didn't allow that envy to warp his perceptions. Dawx Jhorrad was the perfect subordinate. He could never aspire to lead the Empire; he had to pledge his loyalty to someone else, someone of birth and land, and titles. That was why he had come to Ragark after so many eight-days of wandering. Ragark could give him the two things he needed—a purpose, and a chance to keep on fighting the apes he hated so passionately.

"Captain Jhorrad," Ragark said, stepping forward and opening both hands in a gesture of greeting. "It is a pleasure to see you at last."

Jhorrad sank to one knee and bowed his battle-scarred head in submission. "My lord Ragark," he said formally. "Permit me to pledge you my service. I offer you my claws and teeth, to rend your foes. I offer you my mind and spirit, to do your bidding. I offer you my eyes and ears, to seek out your foes. And I offer you my throat, to slash, should ever I be found unworthy."

Ragark showed his teeth. The full Warrior's Oath, right out of the Codices . . . that hadn't been heard in the Empire for