 |
|
|
|
|
|
Chapter Ten The burnished conference table was as soulless and unyielding as the mood of the eight imperial Galmorian statesman and officers that ranged around it. Galmorian troopers stood guard at the entrance to the chamber that was sparse and coldly lighted from illuminating globs in the table and walls. One of the youngest of the eight that were assembled in the room was disturbing. He exhibited the attitude of one who climbed far and fast by methods best not examined too closely. General Pavo did possess a certain twisted genius but it was only partly that ability which had lifted him to his present exalted position. Other noisome talents had proven equally efficacious. Though his uniform was neatly molded and his body as clean as that of anyone else in the room none of the remaining seven cared to touch him. Certain sliminess clung to him a sensation inferred rather than tactile. Despite this, many respected him or feared him. |
|
"Some of you still don't seem to realize how well
equipped and organized the rebels on Torjon are. Their vessels are
excellent, their pilots better. And they are propelled by something more
powerful than mere engines. This perverse reactionary of theirs. They're
more dangerous then most of you realize."
An older officer with facial scars so deeply engraved that even the best cosmetic surgery could not fully repair them shifted nervously in his chair and declared pompously. "Dangerous to your smaller star forces, general Pavo, but not to the Proxima." Wizened eyes hopped from man to man traveling around the table. "I happen to think the emperor knows what he's doing. The rebellion will continue only as long as cowards have a sanctuary. A place where their pilots can rest and their machines can be repaired." the old general continued. "I beg to differ with you Romodi. I think the construction of the Proxima has more to do with commodore Ari's bid for |
|
|
|
|