The Overlords of War by Gérard Klein Read Free Book Online Page B

pleased to have found a proper army again, a bunch of tough and reliable men. The short time you’ve spent by yourself on this world can’t have been much fun for you.”
    Leaning close to Corson, he spoke in a lower tone.
    “Do you think I could pick up any recruits on this planet? I could do with about a million men. And I’ll also need two hundred thousand pegasones. We can still save Aergistal!”
    “I don’t doubt it,” Corson said. “But what’s a pegasone?”
    “Our mounts, Captain Corson!” With an expansive gesture Veran indicated the eight Monsters.
    “Oh, I have some great projects in mind, Captain,” he went on. “Great projects! I’m sure you’ll want to join me. In fact, after I’ve retaken Aergistal, what I plan to do is land on Naphur, take possession of the arsenals there, and dethrone that lousy crot the Ptar of Murphy!”
    “To be quite candid,” Corson said, “I can’t see you finding many recruits on this planet. As for pegasones, though . . . Well, there’s one roaming around in the forest, but it’s completely wild.”
    “Wonderful!” Veran said. He took off his helmet. His scalp had been shaved; now the hair was starting to grow again, it looked like a pincushion. His gray eyes, very deep-set, made Corson think of hard stones. His face was brown with a lifelong tan, crossed here and there by the marks of old scars. His hands were hidden by gauntlets of shiny flexible metal.
    “Let me have your gun, if you please, Captain Corson,” he said.
    Corson hesitated a moment. Then he offered the weapon butt-first to Veran, who took it with a brusque gesture. He looked it over, weighed it in his hand, and smiled.
    “No more than a toy!”
    He seemed to ponder awhile. Then he tossed it back to Corson who, taken by surprise, almost dropped it.
    “In view of your rank and the signal service you performed for us, I think I can let you keep it. It goes without saying that it will be useless except against our enemies. But as I’m afraid it may not be enough to protect you, I’ll assign you two of my men.”
    He beckoned, and two soldiers wearing light metal collars tramped forward and stood to attention.
    “From now on you’re under the orders of Captain Corson here. Make certain he doesn’t fall into an ambush if he leaves the camp perimeter. And as to this hostage of his—”
    “She will remain my responsibility, Colonel,” Corson cut in.
    Veran’s hard eyes rested on him for a second.
    “For the time being that is doubtless preferable. Just make sure she’s not allowed to wander around the camp. I don’t like breaches of discipline. Good, you may go.”
    The two soldiers flanking Corson spun on their heels. Helpless, he copied them, giving Antonella a shove for the sake of appearances. They started to march away.
    “Captain!”
    The harsh voice of Veran stopped them short. It was tinged with sarcasm.
    “I must say I wouldn’t have expected to find a soldier of your caliber so . . . sentimental! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    They moved on. The soldiers walked like robots, their rhythmical paces showing how their discipline was surviving their fatigue. Unconsciously Corson fell into step. He had no illusions about his status, despite his weapon and his escort—or rather because of them. He was a prisoner.
    The soldiers led them toward a group of gray tents which men were setting up with brisk well-drilled movements. Beforehand, they had carefully sterilized the surface of the clearing. The dry ground was covered with a thin carpet of ash. Where the Ptar of Murphy’s troops had passed, grass must have a lot of trouble growing again.
    One of the soldiers lifted the flap of a tent which had already been guyed and indicated that they were to enter. Inside, the furniture was basic. Inflatable chairs surrounded a metal plate floating on air which served as a table. Two narrow bunks completed the list. But the sparseness of this setting made Corson feel more at ease than the