Wing Commander #07 False Color by William Forstchen (novels for students TXT) 📗

do pretty much whatever they please, and what a hell of a lot of them please involves trying to put together petty clan-run states that don't care about the treaty at all. There've been raids all along the frontier, and the Confederation doesn't do a damn thing about them. That's my real reason for being here, you know. Max Kruger wants me to deliver another protest to the Confed government over the latest string of Kilrathi raids across the Landreich border. Not that it'll do a damn bit of good."

"You're sure the government won't act?"

"We've got our sources, Jason. Fact is, the level of collective guilt inside the government is so damned high right now that I doubt they'd stop a Kilrathi fleet if it raided Terra right now."

"Guilt, sir?"

Richards nodded. "Over using the Temblor Bomb. Think about it, Jason. It wasn't quite genocide-blowing up one planet isn't going to wipe out a star-faring race as widespread as the Kilrathi, after all—but any way you look at it we took out a hell of a lot of innocent civilians just to get rid of Thrakhath and his doddering grandfather. And the effect on the Kilrathi culture . . . I've seen copies of some of the studies made when the strategy of going after Kilrah was first hatched, and most of them predicted the Kilrathi race wouldn't be able to weather losing their cultural center nearly as well as they've managed. Even so, the effects are serious. We took out their Emperor, their homeworld, their religious and cultural shrines, most of their major clan leaders and everything they recognized as holding their civilization together. What we've got left out there are a bunch of angry warriors who are likely to become barbarians of a sort . . . but barbarians who still have plenty of spaceships and high-tech weapons to use when they decide it's time for revenge." Richards stopped and looked at Jason with bleak eyes. "But what the Confed leaders are seeing doesn't go that far. They're just looking at the short-term effects. And they're bending over backwards to not seem to be kicking the Kilrathi while they're down. Did you notice how quickly the media started calling the peace accord the 'Treaty of Ko-bar Yagar'? It was originally announced as the Treaty of Torgo. That's their name for the system, even though they only captured it from us near the end of the war. Originally they were supposed to be out of there in six months, but rumor has it they've been given an indefinite extension on pulling out. And meantime we use their nomenclature 'to preserve the dignity of the Kilrathi people.— He gave an undignified snort.

"You're starting to sound a lot like President Kruger, Admiral," Bondarevsky commented. "You haven't turned against the Confederation entirely, have you?" Inwardly he couldn't help but feel disturbed by the old spymaster's words. They dovetailed with his own reservations about the direction the Confederation had taken since the war . . . and he respected Vance Richards too much to simply dismiss the man's opinion.

"There's plenty who'd say that's exactly what I've done, Jason," the old man said softly. Every day of his sixty-five-plus years was evident in his tired voice. "But the fact is, I'm still doing the same job I was doing when we took the Free Corps out to the Landreich. The best hope for old Terra is a strong defense on the frontiers, especially now when the Confederation seems determined to drop the ball. Out there in the Landreich Max Kruger's trying to hold the line, and I figure if I can help him, I'm still doing my part for Earth as well." He fixed Bondarevsky with a steely eye, and all at once seemed to gather his old energy again. "What about you? You had your doubts about joining us, but you showed up here anyway. What kind of a life do you want to lead, now that the war is over?"

"Admiral, I respect you too much to lie to you," Bondarevsky said slowly. "For a while all I wanted was to see the war over, but once it was done with I found out I don't really know what to do with my life. Maybe if Svetlana had made it . . ." He pushed aside that memory, too. "So I decided to take you up on your offer of a job in the Landreich because it looked like the closest thing to the old life I was likely to find. Now . . . I don't know what to think any more. To hear you talk, the war might as well not be over at all. But I can't say if my motive is selfish, or if I can share the vision you're laying out, or what. If you're looking for sincere converts, maybe I'm not your man after all."

Richards smiled. "I'm too cynical to want converts, my boy. I'd rather put my faith in enlightened self-interest. It pays better dividends in the long run. I don't care about your motives, as long as you're willing to get back out there where you belong and make sure the Kilrathi don't cross the frontier again."

They had reached the door of one of the base VIP lounges, and Richards gestured for Bondarevsky to precede him into the large, opulent room. Like so much else in Moonbase Tycho it was almost empty, and the figure seated at the table near the center of the room caught his eye immediately. A stocky man with a shock of graying hair and the aquiline features of a born aristocrat, the figure wore the dress uniform of a Confederation rear-admiral and had decorations every bit as impressive as the ones Richards wore. He stepped forward with a welcoming smile on his face, extending his hand, his words coming in the clipped British accent Bondarevsky remembered so well.

"Vance! Good to see you again, after all this time. You still like the