The Morcai Battalion. Diana Palmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ at her with pale slit eyes in a copper-colored face.

      She felt a wave of nausea. Then the room began to grow dark around her. She pitched forward, her legs turning to jelly beneath her. The couch rising up to meet her was the last thing she saw.

      

      Komak was busily directing the humans to their berths when Stern walked through the ship-to-ship elevator tube onto the main deck of the Morcai. It was noticeably colder and there was a smell to it that, while not unpleasant, was definitely alien.

      Stern hadn’t expected the space he found. Twelve men could walk abreast in the corridor without touching shoulders. The bulkheads were curved and glowed with soft, white light. Centaurians dressed in the familiar red uniform trotted noiselessly past with a military precision and routine that was fascinating to watch.

      “I know you, Captainholtstern!” Komak said in greeting, running the human’s name together as was his custom, because he had scant knowledge of human address protocol. His green eyes twinkled as he approximated an SSC salute. “As you see, I have studied your Terravegan protocols!”

      Stern threw him a salute, too tired and angry to react well to the younger man’s banter. “Request permission to come aboard, sir,” he said formally.

      The young alien’s eyes faded to a somber, questioning blue as he stared unnervingly at Stern. “Excuse me, is there some significance among your people to this question?” he asked politely.

      Stern relaxed his military posture with a frown. “It’s military tradition in our branch of the space services to ask permission to board another ship,” he explained. “Like the salute, it’s a custom held over from seafaring days on ancient Earth, the home world of the Terravegan colonies. I’m a Terravegan,” he added when the alien looked puzzled.

      “We do not salute one another,” Komak replied. “Only the commander is accorded such respect.” The boy’s eyes went suddenly green with mischief. “He has forbidden us to salute even the emperor, Tnurat Alamantimichar. I think it has caused the head of Clan Alamantimichar much discomfort at ceremonial occasions, which is one of the few things that cause the commander’s eyes to laugh.”

      “I know another one,” Stern said resentfully, remembering the other alien’s amusement at the loss of Stern’s ship.

      “Where can I set up my surgery?” Dr. Madeline Ruszel interrupted. She was flushed and furious. She’d just come aboard, heading a team of medics guiding ambulifts, and her drawn face showed not only the strain of the rushed evacuation, but of the loss of the Amazon unit, as well. “I’ve got people dying over here!”

      “Follow me,” Komak told her at once. He led the medics into what appeared to be a mess hall, with Stern bringing up the rear. The ambulifts were quickly loaded onto the long, oval tables against the bulkheads while Madeline supervised the placing and energized the sterilization units on the cylinders. The young alien watched her with odd interest. Perhaps, she thought, it was her red hair that intrigued him. She was the only member of Stern’s crew with hair that color.

      “Stern, I need morphadrenin,” she called over her shoulder. “Every gram I can lay hands on. And if the C.O. can spare some qualified help, I’d be in his debt.”

      Stern glanced at Komak. “How about it?”

      “The commander’s contempt for medics is second only to that which he holds for our emperor,” the alien replied somberly. “We carry no complement of medics aboard. But I will inform the commander of the need for additional medical stores. Shall you come with me, Captainholtstern?” he asked, apparently fascinated by Madeline. Odd, he looked at her as if he knew her, somehow…

      “Lay on, McDuff,” Stern agreed with a grin at Madeline.

      “My name is not McDuff,” Komak said, puzzled. “It is Komak, of the Clan Maltiche. You have heard of it, of course,” he added with faint arrogance.

      “Oh, yeah,” Stern quipped. “It ranks along with the great Clans of Jones and Smith back home.”

      “Jones and…?” Komak faltered.

      “Never mind,” Stern said impatiently. “Let’s go. Maddie, I’ll see what I can do about your supplies,” he called over his shoulder as she went quickly back to work.

      Komak started off at a fast trot. Stern increased his pace to keep up with the long legs of the Centaurian. “What’s the rush?” Stern asked. “Everybody on this ship seems to be on his way to battle stations all the time.”

      “It is routine aboard the Morcai,” Komak informed him. “All personnel are required to run from post to post. Elevator tubes are strictly outlawed for crew use, as well,” he added, bounding onto a ladder that led to the upper deck.

      “Uh-huh.” Stern got brief glimpses inside the various sectors they passed as they climbed access ladders up three decks. Nothing looked familiar. There was alien script on the walls, unreadable and unpronounceable, denoting departments. The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler than the Bellatrix. The alien, spicy smell of the corridors was overpowering. And the icy looks the human got from passing members of the Holconcom were uncomfortable. Stern began to feel like an invading disease. If his reception as an ally officer was this cool and resented, his people could expect even less. Madeline, of all his crew, was going to feel the pressure keenly, since the Centaurian empire did not allow females aboard its warships. He hoped the trip back to the Tri-Galaxy Fleet base on Trimerius would be quick.

      Stern was winded by the time they got to the command deck of the enormous vessel. The oval, high-domed bridge made the Bellatrix’s bridge look cramped and primitive by comparison. Above his head, a second bridge circled the main sector like a smooth, white balcony. And both bridges seemed to be perfectly coordinated, as well as efficiently manned. The ten crewmen on the lower level maintained their posts with a silence that would have been impossible for a human crew.

      Dtimun, noticing the approach of the human, rose from his spool-like command chair and joined Komak and Stern beside the communications banks. Stern saluted unconsciously, but Dtimun waved it aside without returning it.

      “Your people are evacuated?” he asked formally.

      “Every one,” Stern replied. “What about the Bellatrix?”

      “Your ship?” Dtimun nodded at a crewman against the opposite bulkhead. A viewscreen was activated which covered the width and length of half the command sector. The Bellatrix hung there in black space like a charm suspended by a chain. A flash of bluish-green light shot out from the Morcai’s copper hull and enveloped the sleek star-cruiser. Then, there was a violent red explosion that came and passed without a sound. Only empty space was left.

      “We leave no vessel behind where the enemy might salvage tech,” Komak explained.

      Stern’s eyebrow jerked carelessly. “She was a good ship,” he said quietly, and wondered why he didn’t feel a sense of loss for his command vessel.

      Komak drew to attention and jerked his head in a salute. “Commander, Dr. Madelineruszel,” he continued, running her names together again, “has requested supplies of morphadrenin and medical assistance. I informed her that we carry no medics, but…”

      “Dr. who?” Dtimun asked, frowning slightly.

      “The female with hair like sunfire,” Komak СКАЧАТЬ