The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack Read Online Free Page B

The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack
Book: The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack Read Online Free
Author: David Drake (ed), Bill Fawcett (ed)
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wasn’t placed to full efficiency in the room. The consoles were set around in a horseshoe which made sense for a single officer in charge—but the horseshoe sat in the center of a rectangle, with all kinds of room between it and the walls. Even allowing for technicians needing access for repair, there was still way too much space left over. That, plus Rakoan’s comment about the lack of slaves, ignited an insight—she was looking at a conversion. Sure, the original building predated interstellar technology—but presumably, it would have had the same kind of function in the early industrial civilization that preceded it.
    No, it hadn’t. Why else would there be so much room left over?
    Lutane nodded slowly. She was looking at the inside of what had been a public meeting hall of some kind, adapted for use as a com center.
    “Here, Lieutenant. We found an extra.”
    “Huh?” Lutane looked up just as a private shoved a chair toward her knees. “Oh. Thanks, Londol.” She folded into the chair, then had to fight to keep herself from folding, period. “You were a journalist back home, weren’t you, Londol?”
    “Yes, sir. I worked on the Galathian with Bullam over there.”
    “Well, the two of you, get busy being reporters again. Listen in on the com, then call in and get the details on how each unit won. Then assemble them for broadcast.”
    Londol smiled. “We know the process, sir.”
    Lutane just nodded wearily, and settled back to watch as the room quieted. There were comments back and forth between technicians, broken by occasional warbling announcements in Khalian—but aside from that, the com center was mostly quiet. Londol and Bullam settled themselves at desks and began making calls. Lutane listened idly, feeling a glow of accomplishment—and the regret of having killed sentients, no matter how vicious they’d been.
    After a while, she frowned, realizing that a pattern was building up. The units reporting in had taken terrible losses, between thirty and fifty percent, but the Khalia had been virtually annihilated, since they fought ferociously and refused to surrender. The only prisoners were the ones who were wounded too badly to fight back—and most of those would probably die in a few hours.
    But that wasn’t the case with their “allies,” as Captain Rakoan had called them. The featherheads were running at the first sign of a fight, which wasn’t surprising, since none of them seemed to be armed. They didn’t even carry belt knives. But they did have an appalling tendency to get caught in the cross fire, and there were more dead featherheads than dead Khalia.
    “Lieutenant!”
    Lutane looked up to see Olerein coming up to her. Then her eyes widened, and she came to her feet, because in front of Olerein marched two featherheads, hands pressed to their chests, trembling—and in front of them was a much smaller one, doing a good imitation of an earthquake. Lutane stared at the little one, remembering the two other little ones she’d seen in the featherhead house, and a lot of things began to make sense. She lifted her head and called, “Anybody speak featherhead?”
    The room was quiet. Then Londol said, “No Lieutenant.”
    Lutane cursed and yanked out her commset. “Lieutenant Lutane calling Captain Rakoan.”
    The plate glowed. Then Rakoan’s face appeared. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
    “We have some featherhead, prisoners, sir.”
    “Those we have plenty of, all sizes. Anything interesting about them?”
    Lutane eyed the aliens. “Guess not, sir; I was, uh, hoping you could, uh, spare, a translator.”
    “‘Fraid not, Lieutenant. The ones we have are all busier than a beekeeper without a mask. Let me know if you find out anything interesting; all right?”
    “Uh . . . yes, sir.” Lutane killed her commset and racked it as she looked up at Olerein. “I hate to give up my chair, but it’s the only thing to tie them to. Make ‘em sit down, Olerein. Londol!”
    “Yes,

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