Читать книгу Fleet of the Damned (Sten #4) - Allan Cole - Страница 17

CHAPTER TWELVE

A DAY LATER, Sten’s name, as well as Bishop’s, Sh’aarl’t’s, and Lotor’s, went on the list: Phase One. Accepted. Assigned to Imperial Flight Training, Phase Two.

In Phase Two, they would learn how to fly.

There should have been some kind of party. But everyone was too tired to get bashed. Of the 500 candidates, fewer than forty had been selected.

According to the clichés, graduation should have been announced by the IPs lugging in cases of alk and welcoming the candidates to the thin, whatever-colored line.

Instead, Sh’aarl’t, Sten, and Bishop split a flask of herbal tea while they packed. All they wanted was away.

Waiting near the sleds that would take the candidates to their ships were Ferrari and Mason.

Again according to clichés there should now have been understanding on one hand and acceptance on the other. But Mason’s expression was exactly that of the first day—he looked as if he was sorry that any of them had made it. And he turned an even harder stare on Sten.

Sten returned it.

Clot forgiveness and understanding—he wanted to meet Mason in an alley behind a hangar sometime and give him a scar to match the first one. Preferably across the throat…