The Santana Nexus (Junkyard Dogs Book 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Phillip Nolte
cup of coffee and sat down to savor it, he had a few moments to reflect.
Halabi's family had been taken away in the middle of the night and executed on trumped-up charges and questionable evidence by soldiers of the Jasmine Republican Army when he was a young man. He had been a fervent monarchist ever since and had eagerly offered his services to the Sheik of Barsoom when the opportunity presented itself. Trained by one of the old masters in the craft of interrogation, he had been with the Sheik for more than twenty years now. Halabi had always been fully behind the Sheik's cause and he had rejoiced when the Glorious Revolution they had worked so hard for had finally begun in earnest a few weeks ago.
Now...he was beginning to have doubts.
It seemed as though the Sheik had been able to attract a few really competent, honest people who fervently believed in the goals of the Revolution. Unfortunately, it looked as though the Sheik had also recruited a large number of personnel who were anything but honorable. Halabi was discovering that far too many of the Sheik's new people were nothing but opportunists and bullies who had been able to find a perfect niche for themselves to further their own nefarious agendas by joining up with the Sheik and becoming his representatives. The interrogator was disturbingly reminded of the very people who had killed his parents and his older sister all those years ago. The consequences of this trend were reflected in the caliber of the people that Halabi was being asked to question recently. Lately, it seemed as though all too many of the interrogator's clients were simple, law-abiding citizens whose only crime had been to come to the attention of one or the other of the Sheik's hired thugs.
Halabi didn't like what he was witnessing, but he didn't know what to do about it either. If he spoke up, he himself could wind up in serious trouble. He sighed. He would simply have to do his best to ferret out the really bad eggs and steer the innocents away from the Sheik's quite full jail cells while staying under the radar himself. This Glorious Revolution, for all of the promise it held when it began, was not turning out the way he had imagined it.
Not at all. ..
Chapter 3.
"An army marches on its stomach." -- Napoleon Bonaparte.
UTFN Reclamation Center, onboard Federation Auxiliary ship Greyhound , January 2, 2599.
Commander Oskar Kresge scowled at the computer display in front of him. Kresge, a handsome, dark-haired man currently dressed in a Navy-issue khaki coverall, was on the bridge of the Greyhound . The Greyhound was an ancient Bombardier freighter which, due to circumstance and sheer necessity, had become the command center for the United Terran Federation Navy (UTFN) Reclamation Center, known to everyone by its more familiar title of "the Scrapyard."
Forced to take refuge in the huge, floating spaceship graveyard that occupied the L5 point in the orbit of the planet New Ceylon, Kresge and a ragtag team made up of a handful of Federation Naval personnel, a bunch of civilians who had volunteered to help out when they discovered they had little choice, and small contingent of Meridian Imperial Marines from the personal guard of the Meridian Ambassador had just fought off a determined attack by the forces of "The Glorious Revolution" being led by a fanatic who called himself the Sheik of Barsoom.
Kresge was scowling because, a ccording to the inventory figures that his fiancé, Irene Marshall, had just presented to him, he and his group of defenders had enough food to last them for about another two weeks. They could stretch it out some, but the Scrapyard survivors had already been on somewhat shortened rations for the last several weeks.
He was going to have to send out one or two of the freighters that had also taken refuge in the Scrapyard to procure some more food. The scowl was him expressing his distaste for the idea and realizing that he didn't have a whole lot of
Halabi's family had been taken away in the middle of the night and executed on trumped-up charges and questionable evidence by soldiers of the Jasmine Republican Army when he was a young man. He had been a fervent monarchist ever since and had eagerly offered his services to the Sheik of Barsoom when the opportunity presented itself. Trained by one of the old masters in the craft of interrogation, he had been with the Sheik for more than twenty years now. Halabi had always been fully behind the Sheik's cause and he had rejoiced when the Glorious Revolution they had worked so hard for had finally begun in earnest a few weeks ago.
Now...he was beginning to have doubts.
It seemed as though the Sheik had been able to attract a few really competent, honest people who fervently believed in the goals of the Revolution. Unfortunately, it looked as though the Sheik had also recruited a large number of personnel who were anything but honorable. Halabi was discovering that far too many of the Sheik's new people were nothing but opportunists and bullies who had been able to find a perfect niche for themselves to further their own nefarious agendas by joining up with the Sheik and becoming his representatives. The interrogator was disturbingly reminded of the very people who had killed his parents and his older sister all those years ago. The consequences of this trend were reflected in the caliber of the people that Halabi was being asked to question recently. Lately, it seemed as though all too many of the interrogator's clients were simple, law-abiding citizens whose only crime had been to come to the attention of one or the other of the Sheik's hired thugs.
Halabi didn't like what he was witnessing, but he didn't know what to do about it either. If he spoke up, he himself could wind up in serious trouble. He sighed. He would simply have to do his best to ferret out the really bad eggs and steer the innocents away from the Sheik's quite full jail cells while staying under the radar himself. This Glorious Revolution, for all of the promise it held when it began, was not turning out the way he had imagined it.
Not at all. ..
Chapter 3.
"An army marches on its stomach." -- Napoleon Bonaparte.
UTFN Reclamation Center, onboard Federation Auxiliary ship Greyhound , January 2, 2599.
Commander Oskar Kresge scowled at the computer display in front of him. Kresge, a handsome, dark-haired man currently dressed in a Navy-issue khaki coverall, was on the bridge of the Greyhound . The Greyhound was an ancient Bombardier freighter which, due to circumstance and sheer necessity, had become the command center for the United Terran Federation Navy (UTFN) Reclamation Center, known to everyone by its more familiar title of "the Scrapyard."
Forced to take refuge in the huge, floating spaceship graveyard that occupied the L5 point in the orbit of the planet New Ceylon, Kresge and a ragtag team made up of a handful of Federation Naval personnel, a bunch of civilians who had volunteered to help out when they discovered they had little choice, and small contingent of Meridian Imperial Marines from the personal guard of the Meridian Ambassador had just fought off a determined attack by the forces of "The Glorious Revolution" being led by a fanatic who called himself the Sheik of Barsoom.
Kresge was scowling because, a ccording to the inventory figures that his fiancé, Irene Marshall, had just presented to him, he and his group of defenders had enough food to last them for about another two weeks. They could stretch it out some, but the Scrapyard survivors had already been on somewhat shortened rations for the last several weeks.
He was going to have to send out one or two of the freighters that had also taken refuge in the Scrapyard to procure some more food. The scowl was him expressing his distaste for the idea and realizing that he didn't have a whole lot of
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