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       Heart of the Tiger by
      William R. Forstchen &
           Andrew Keith
                           PROLOGUE
  Prince Thrakhath stood before the throne with head lowered.

  "You failed me, grandson."

  The Prince remained silent.

   "When your new fleet left for Terra you promised that the war was at
an end, that the humans would be finished. Now you return, half your fleet
destroyed, a fleet that strained our resources to the utmost to build. Our
coffers are empty, grandson…" The Emperor paused.

  "Empty!" His voice thundered in the audience hall.

  Thrakhath looked back up.

  "What now?" the Emperor roared. "Wait another half of eight years to
build more carriers? And how will they be crewed? Too many firstborn
sons of the nobles rode to their deaths aboard your fleet."

  "They died gloriously for the Empire," Thrakhath replied calmly. "Their
names shall be enshrined in the temples of their ancestors."

   "Do you really expect them to believe that any more?" the Emperor
gasped. "I am talking about our survival. After your defeat before Terra
two assassination plots against me were barely thwarted. The other clans
are poised on the edge of open rebellion."

  Thrakhath looked at his grandfather in open amazement.

  The Emperor nodded slowly.

  "And if they had succeeded I daresay you would already be dead now as
well."

  The old warrior sighed and fell back into his chair.

  "I want the new weapon unleashed," the Emperor finally said.

   Thrakhath growled angrily. "That has never been our way. It is without
the joy of the kill."

   "I know, I know. But this war has changed beyond all our
understanding, thanks to these humans. Let me make this plain to you.
We can not sustain this war another year. It is not the humans. No, I
believe the reports that they are crippled as well. We are two fighters who
have battered each other into exhaustion. It will take but one more blow
to finish them. The real threat now is what we fear lurks beyond our
distant borders on the other side of the Empire."

  "They are stirring?"

   The Emperor nodded. "New reports came in while you were gone. They
are still years, perhaps eights of years away, but they are coming in our
direction again. When they arrive we must be ready, our other borders
secured. All our resources must now be marshaled for that threat. For that
reason alone I order that this war with the humans be finished, whether
you like the methods or not. Secondly, and more immediate, is the clans.
One more defeat like the last one and I fear the grasp of our family upon
the imperial throne will be finished."

   Thrakhath stood in silent rage at the mere suggestion that those
beneath him could even dare to dream of overthrowing his clan's rightful
claim to rule. The last baron who dreamed of it was now dead, and he had
thought the infection of this alien thinking was gone with him.

  "I demand that this new weapon be tested as soon as possible," the
Emperor announced. "The humans are to be exterminated like the vermin
that they are. Honor and the taste of blood are things of the past. Test this
weapon, and if it works you are to kill them all, kill them all without
warning."

   The Emperor hesitated and then grinned, his teeth bared. "And once
that is done, if any of the clans dare to resist me, we shall turn this new
weapon on them as well."


                            CHAPTER I
Shuttle Horatio Nelson
Torgo System

   "ETA for TCS Victory now ten minutes… mark." The soft
computer-generated voice in his ear made Colonel Christopher Blair shift
uneasily in his seat. He didn't like being a passenger aboard any small
craft, even a workhorse orbital shuttle like this one. For eighteen years
now Blair had been a fighter pilot in the Terran Confederation Navy, and
he had flown everything in the Navy's arsenal short of a frigate. It was still
difficult to sit back and leave the controls to someone else, especially when
his monitor screens functioned intermittently at best. Having a computer
read canned approach announcements just made matters worse. If he had
been in the cockpit with the control stick in his hand, he would have read
times and distances, thrusts and vectors, with the instincts of a combat
pilot, honed in years of almost continuous warfare—and the ride might
even have been infinitesimally smoother.

   Warfare… the war between the Kilrathi Empire and the Terran
Confederation started before Christopher Blair was born. For nearly forty
years now, the two sides had hammered away at each other, and the
Kilrathi showed no signs of letting up. Sometimes Blair wondered if he
would live to see the war end. And sometimes he was afraid he would.

   With his monitor still not working, he switched his attention to the tiny
newscreen clipped to one arm of his flight couch. Hesitantly, Blair tapped
the green key at the bottom of the device. The logo of the Terran News
Channel filled the screen for a moment before being replaced by a
head-and-shoulder shot of the TNC's best-known anchorwoman, Barbara
Miles. Her attractive features were almost too perfect, and Blair smiled
fleetingly at the memory of a shipboard bull session a few years back
where some of his shipmates claimed that the woman was actually a
computer-generated simulation.

   The recording was paused, of course, waiting for Blair to tap in his
choice of news items from a menu in one corner of the screen. He selected
war news, then listened as the anchorwoman summarized recent events in
the struggle against the Kilrathi… the ones that had been declassified.

   He had heard most of it already from previous TNC newsbriefs or
official channels at the Confed HQ complex on Torgo III. News traveled
slowly across interstellar distances, and the average lifetime of any
particular report was apt to be long, especially from worlds along the more
distant frontiers.

  His attention snapped back to the screen as the report passed from
news stories to a more general commentary.

  "Despite recent losses in several densely populated sectors,
Confederation spokes-people insist that humanity maintains the upper
hand in its galactic struggle with the Kilrathi. However, our sources
document a consistent under-reporting of Kilrathi incursions, especially
against civilian and industrial bases."

   The woman paused, looking directly into the camera, while conveying
thoughtful, serious concern for her viewers. "There are even reports of
Confed plans for a 'doomsday evacuation' of Earth to replant the seeds of
humanity in a distant part of the galaxy. The question is… who would go?
Who would be left behind? And, most importantly, who is making these
decisions?"

   Blair cut the newscreen off with a snort of disgust. Leave it to TNC to
come up with that ancient evacuation rumor! That thing had been making
the rounds of ships' wardrooms when Blair was a junior lieutenant. The
sheer logistical nightmare of a wholesale evacuation from human space
made the whole idea laughable. Anyway, it was a plain fact that any place
mankind could reach, the Kilrathi could follow. There was no place for
humanity to run.

   Still, it was certainly true that the heavily-censored news released by
the Confederation was slanted to hide the truth about this war. After forty
years of warfare, that was not new. But Blair was afraid that some of the
top brass were actually starting to believe their own propaganda mills,
and that was a very bad sign indeed.

   Admiral Tolwyn, for instance… there was a man who badly needed a
reality check.

   It was Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn who had given Blair his new
assignment. A vigorous man in his sixties who spoke in a clipped British
accent and radiated the very essence of spit-and-polish military precision
in everything he said and did, Tolwyn had earned quite a reputation over
the years as the mastermind behind a pair of great Confederation
victories, the raid on Kilrah and the Battle of Terra. But Blair had served
under the man before, and he knew that a lot of the legend was little more
than luck and PR hype.

   Still, Tolwyn had been brimming with confidence and determination
when Blair reported to his office. "Things are looking up, Colonel," he had
said with a smile. "The Confederation has been making some very positive
strides. The Kilrathi are on the run at Gardel and Morpheus…"

   True enough, except that the Terrans had lost three systems to new
Kilrathi offensives at the same time, and in much more strategically vital
sectors. And, of course, there was the loss of the Concordia.

   Blair fought back a shudder. He'd been wing commander aboard the
Concordia for three years, until the Battle of Earth. If he hadn't taken that
Kilrathi missile which left him grounded for six long months, Blair would
have been on board when Concordia fought the rearguard action over
Vespus: fought and died. Blair had been part of the survey crew that had
discovered the carrier's broken hull lying half-submerged in the waters off
the Mistral Coast.

   Concordia was gone, and so were the men and women who had served
with Blair for so long, through so many battles. More casualties of the war.
Statistics tallied up in news reports or concealed in the falsehoods of a
Confed press release. But those people were more than mere statistics to
Christopher Blair. They had been more than comrades, more than
friends… a family, united by the strongest possible bonds of shared
dangers and difficult service far from home and loved ones.

   Blair closed his eyes, summoning up familiar faces. Iceman… Spirit…
Knight… Bossman… the list kept growing, year after year. Shipmates went
to the firing line and died, and a fresh crop of kids from the Academy
came in to replace them… to die in their turn. Sometimes it seemed as if
the war had lost all point or purpose. Now it was nothing more than good
people giving their lives fighting for some chunk of rock that wouldn't
have deserved a second look before the war.

  Christopher Blair was tired: of fighting, of death, and of this endless
war.

   Fate had spared him while so many others died. Now Blair, certified to
be ready to return to full active duty, had received his new assignment
from Admiral Tolwyn's own hands. Wing commander once again… but
wing commander aboard the Victory.

   As if reacting to his bitter thoughts, the monitor finally lit up with an
external view from the shuttle's nose camera. Victory rode in free fall less
than half a click ahead. She was everything Blair expected (which wasn't
much).

   She was a light carrier left over from a bygone era, designed nearly half
a century before the beginning of the Kilrathi War. With most of the
newest carriers in the Confederation fleet either lost in action or held in
the Terran Defense Fleet, ships like the old Victory were becoming more
common on the front lines. Perhaps, Blair reflected, that was why the
Kilrathi seemed to have the edge these days.

  Even over this distance, it was plain she had seen better days. There
were burn marks down one side of her hull, and deeper scars in her
superstructure where battle damage had been crudely patched.

  One thing was certain… she was no Concordia.

    The monitor flickered off again. This shuttle was part of Victory's
complement of small craft, and it was clear that non-essential systems
were getting short shrift when maintenance schedules were being drawn
up. The interior of the vessel was distinctly shabby, with faded paint,
fraying flight couches, and missing access plates which revealed
jury-rigged repair work. It suggested the low standards in play aboard
Victory, but Blair planned to see things change once he took charge of the
flight wing. Perhaps the crew of the battered old carrier did not care
enough to do more than go through the motions, but if Blair had his way,
that attitude would soon change.
  "Preparing for final docking approach," the computer voice announced
quietly.

   An outdated ship and a crew that apparently didn't give a damn any
more. If Concordia hadn't been able to stand against the Kilrathi, how
could Victory be expected to even put up a fight?

   Blair had to ask himself, as the shuttle slowly maneuvered in toward the
carrier's flight deck, what this assignment really meant. Did Tolwyn
expect him to knock the ship and crew into some kind of battle-ready
shape? Or did the High Command consider that Blair and Victory
deserved each other, two old warhorses who had outlived their usefulness
put out to pasture?


Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   The boarding ramp made a grinding noise as it swung down to touch
the deck. Blair winced at the sound. His first view of the interior of his
new home made him wince again. It was even shabbier than he had
imagined. There was a distinct smell in the air; an odor of sweat,
lubricants, burned insulation, and other unidentified unpleasant scents.
Apparently, the air circulation systems were not capable of keeping the
atmosphere fresh and clean.

   He slung his flight bag over his shoulder and started slowly down the
ramp. Crewmen were drawn up in ranks in the huge open hangar area,
most of them dressed in utility fatigues which had seen better days. Blair
glanced at the end of the hangar where open space was visible beyond the
faint glow of the force fields which kept the deck pressurized. He found
himself hoping that they, at least, were maintained better than the rest of
the ship. He pushed the thought away, trying to keep his feelings hidden
from the crew.

   A knot of senior officers awaited him at the foot of the ramp,
dominated by a broad-shouldered black man with graying hair and the
four stripes of a line Captain prominently displayed on his sleeve. He
didn't give Blair time to study his surroundings further, but stepped
forward to meet him.

  "Colonel Blair?" he said, smiling. "I'm William Eisen. Welcome aboard
the Victory."

   Blair snapped off a quick salute which Eisen returned gravely.
Theoretically, they were of equal rank—a Colonel in the Confederation
Space Force and a Captain of the line—but aboard any ship in space, the
commanding officer, regardless of rank, was always the senior officer
(even if he was a mere lieutenant entertaining a visitor of higher rank).

   The captain ended the salute by extending his hand. He had a firm grip
that matched his proud bearing and an aura of quiet authority. "Allow me
to present some of my senior officers, Colonel. This is Commander Ralgha
nor Hhallas—"

   "Hobbes!" Blair exclaimed, as Eisen moved aside to give Blair a clear
view of the officers. Ralgha nor Hhallas would have stood out in any
human crowd, for he was a Kilrathi nobleman. Tall and bulky, he was
humanoid in form but distinctly alien in feature, with a head too large and
flat for a man. His body and face were covered with thick fur, and his eyes,
ears, and fangs gave him a distinctly cat-like appearance. The Kilrathi
were not cats, of course, but they had sprung from carnivore hunter stock
with many feline traits, and their ways of thinking were even more alien to
humankind than those of Earthly cats.

   Blair could hardly believe that more than ten years had passed since
Lord Ralgha, a ship-captain of the Imperial Kilrathi fleet, defected to the
Terran Confederation. TCS Tiger's Claw was in the squadron which
helped him carry out his defection, and Blair (a junior lieutenant) had
worn polish still fresh on his flight wings. Ralgha moved from supplying
information to Terran Intelligence to serving in the Space Force, and he
had remained in Blair's squadron for a time before new assignments took
them down separate paths.

   Many officers were reluctant to fly with a Kilrathi wingman, but Blair
always found Ralgha cheerful, competent, and capable: a fine pilot and an
excellent comrade. He was the one to bestow the nickname "Hobbes" on
the renegade Kilrathi after encountering the name in an ancient piece of
Terran folk art in a fellow pilot's collection.

  "You know the Commander, then?" Eisen asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Not with that rank," Blair said. "Hobbes here is one of the best pilots
who ever flew with the Flight Corps. What are you doing wearing that line
outfit? Getting too old to squeeze into a cockpit?"

   Ralgha bowed slightly. "It warms my heart to see you again, Colonel,"
he said, his voice low and throaty with the odd intonation and slight
accent Blair remembered well. "But I fear now is not the time to swap life
stories."

   Blair grinned. "Still the stickler, eh, Hobbes? Well, we'll talk later."

   The Kilrathi bowed again.

   Eisen introduced the department heads and senior staff officers. They
were no more than a blur of unfamiliar names and faces to Blair… but still
he felt heartened to know that at least one old friend would be with him on
this cruise.

  The captain concluded by introducing a fresh-faced young man
wearing a lieutenant's insignia. "And this is Lieutenant Ted Rollins,
Communications Officer."

   "And general dogsbody," Rollins grinned. "Sir."

   "I've assigned Mr. Rollins to extra duty, as your aide," Eisen continued,
ignoring the lieutenant's interjection. "At least until you get settled in and
make staff arrangements of your own. I hope that will be agreeable with
you, Colonel."

   Blair nodded. "That will be fine, sir. Thank you."

   "The lieutenant will show you to your quarters and help you get the lay
of the land. I would appreciate you joining me in my Ready Room at…
shall we say sixteen hundred hours, ships time? That will give you a few
hours to get acclimated."

   "Sixteen hundred hours," Blair repeated. He glanced around the hangar
again. Would any length of time be enough to get acclimated to this old
rustbucket of a ship? "I'll be there, sir."

  "Very good. Dismissed." As Blair turned away, Eisen spoke again.
"We're glad to have you aboard, Colonel."

   Blair wished he could have returned the sentiment, but he knew it
would come out sounding bitter and ironic.

Command Ready Room, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   "Come in, Colonel. Come in. Have a seat."

   Blair glanced around the room, moving from the door to the chair
Eisen gestured toward in front of the captain's desk. He noted that the
tasteful if spartan decor and the well-kept atmosphere produced a
startling contrast to most of what he had observed aboard the Victory.

   "So, Colonel, I trust Mr. Rollins has been seeing to your needs." The
Captain stood, crossing to a counter at one end of the room. "Will you
have something to drink? We picked up a load of New Samarkand vodka a
few months back that has a kick like a Gratha's blasters."

  "Thank you, sir." Actually, Blair didn't particularly want a drink, but it
was never wise to turn down a commanding officer's hospitality, especially
not on the first day aboard.

  Eisen returned with two glasses and handed one to Blair. "A toast, then,
Colonel. To Victory!"

   They touched their glasses and Blair took a cautious sip. "Is that the
ship or the concept, sir?" he asked.

   "Both," Eisen said, sitting down. Thoughtfully Eisen added, "We're
going to win this war, Colonel, and I think this old ship will play a large
part in it before the shooting's over."

   Blair tried to keep his expression neutral. "I hope so, sir."

   The captain regarded him with a penetrating look. "I'll admit, Blair,
she's no Concordia …"

   "Neither is the Concordia… any more." This time Blair didn't bother to
hide his feelings.

  "It was a terrible loss," Eisen said. "It's never easy to lose so much. You
have my sympathies." He paused, looking into his glass. "Nevertheless,
you're here now, and I expect nothing less than complete dedication and
loyalty from every officer and rating on board this ship."

  "You'll have mine, sir," Blair said quietly. "But if I may speak freely… ?"

  "Always, Colonel."

  "From what I've seen so far, you need a little less dedication and a lot
more maintenance work from this crew."

   Eisen leaned forward. "I'll admit she doesn't look like much, Blair," he
said solemnly. "We're shorthanded in every department, and age and too
damn many battles have taken their toll. The old girl was slated for
retirement over a decade ago, but they put her back on the line instead.
Maybe she doesn't look as good as the big ships you've served on in the
past, but that doesn't mean she's not able to do her job. And it's the crew,
the men and women who work overtime day after day just to keep her up
and running, who are responsible for keeping us on the firing line. That
dedication makes all the difference, Colonel, and even if it doesn't extend
to slapping on a fresh coat of paint or making sure the food dispensers in
the Rec Room have a full stock of chicken soup every day, it still means
something to me."

   Blair didn't answer right away. "I… take your point, sir," he said at last.
"I'm sorry if I seem to be running down your command…"

   Eisen smiled easily. "I'm used to it by now, Colonel, believe me. She
doesn't look like much, I'll grant you that. But I was communications
officer on Victory's maiden voyage, my first assignment out of the
Academy. I've been with her many times throughout my career, and I
guess I'm just a little bit protective about the old girl after all."

   "I can understand that, sir. You can get… attached to a ship, over
time." He was thinking of the old Tiger's Claw . . . and Concordia. "I'll
admit I wasn't looking forward to this assignment when Admiral Tolwyn
told me about it. But I'm feeling much better about it now."

  "My pep talk was that good?" Eisen asked with a grin.

   "That… and finding out you have Ralgha nar Hhallas aboard. He's one
of the best."

  "Commander nar Hhallas? Yes, he's a good officer. He'll be my Exec
this trip…"

  "Sir… with all due respect, that's a real waste of talent. Hobbes is a
natural-born fighter pilot. Putting him in a line slot… I think it's a
mistake."

   "It was his own request, Colonel. I know his record, but…" Eisen trailed
off, then shrugged. "Fact is, no one aboard will fly with a Kilrathi on his
wing."

  "Fifteen years of loyal service and a string of combat kills as long as my
arm doesn't count for anything?"

   The captain looked away. "Not with these people, Blair. Not after
everything they've been through in this damned war. Anyway, he made the
request for the good of the flight wing."

   "Well, I'm in command of the wing now," Blair said. "And I want him
restored to flight status immediately, for the good of the wing." He
paused. "Not that I would try to tell you how to run your ship, of course…"

    "Why not? Isn't that the accepted role of every wing commander in the
fleet? You guys always felt the line was nothing but a bunch of glorified
taxi drivers." Eisen's smile faded quickly. "Look, Colonel, your loyalty is
admirable, and I'll willingly transfer him back to flight, but the problem
still remains—who would have a Kilrathi as a wingman?"

   "I'll fly with him," Blair said coldly. "Even if none of the others will. He's
the best damned wingman I ever flew with, and I have a feeling we're
going to need him if we're heading into a combat zone."

   "If you say so, Colonel," Eisen said, shrugging again. "But I think you're
asking for trouble. Not that I'd tell you how to run your wing, of course…"


                            CHAPTER II
Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory
Torgo System

  Blair's office was small, tucked between the Flight Control Center and
one of the wing's four ready rooms. Aside from a desk with built-in
computer links and a set of monitors, it was sparsely furnished. The only
really noteworthy touch was the wall behind the desk: a single sheet of
transplast revealing a view into the main hangar deck.

   As Blair entered, Rollins looked up from one of the desktop monitors.
"Just setting your schedule, Colonel," he said, rising to give Blair the chair.
"So, I take it you got the full pep talk from the Old Man, eh?"

   "Something like that," Blair said shortly. Rollins was young and eager
to please, but there was an edge about him mat made Blair
uncomfortable. Rollins had a cynical air and a sharp tongue, and
apparently felt free to say whatever he thought. Blair was a skeptic himself
and often outspoken, but it seemed out of place coming from a kid fresh
out of training.

   "Well, take heart, Colonel. We've still got an ample supply of hot water
to shower away all the bullshit."

  Blair fixed him with a long, penetrating stare. "Captain Eisen seems to
genuinely believe in his ship… and in his crew. That's a good attitude for
morale."

  "You haven't been monitoring the command traffic the way I have, sir,"
Rollins said. "If the Old Man told the crew half of what he knows, they'd
jump sector in half a nanosec and never come back!"

   "Look, Lieutenant, I don't care what kind of paranoid fantasies you
indulge in during your down-time," Blair told him harshly. "But I'd better
not hear you sharing them with the rest of the crew. You read me,
Mister?"

   "Yes, sir," Rollins replied stiffly. "But I wouldn't just ignore what's going
on out there, Colonel. Maybe it's not just paranoia, you know? If you
change your mind and decide you want the straight dope, you just come to
old Radio Rollins." He paused. "Might save your life someday."

   "Yeah… and the Kilrathi might all become pacifist vegetarians
overnight, too." Blair looked down at his desk. "I won't need you any more
today, Rollins, so you can get back to your other duties. But on your way
out, would you pass the word that I want to see Ralgha nar Hhallas? And
whoever's my Exec, too, in that order. It's time I got this outfit properly
frightened for the safety and comfort of their butts."
  "Aye, aye, sir," Rollins said.

   Blair's eyes followed the younger man as he left the office. It seemed
ironic for Blair to be championing the establishment, given his own bitter
feelings about the High Command and the state of the war in general, but
he didn't have much choice. Private doubts were one thing, but doubts
spread throughout the ship by someone in a position to leak classified
information… that was an open invitation to disaster. One sour apple like
Rollins could ruin the best of crews.

   He put aside his concerns and turned to work; punching up the
computer files on Flight Wing Thirty-Six. They had been assigned to
Victory for over a year now with operations mostly in secondary theaters
and rear echelons. There were four combat squadrons in the wing plus a
support squadron which operated Victory's contingent of shuttles, small
boats, and other utility craft.

   Four squadrons… forty fighters, interceptors, and fighter-bombers. Red
Squadron flew Arrow-class point-defense fighters designed to fly close
escort for the carrier and other capital ships. Though limited in range and
endurance, they were well-armed for their size. In a close combat
situation, they'd be worth their weight in platinum.

   Blue Squadron flew space superiority fighters, Arrow-class interceptors.
These had range, speed, and endurance for long patrol operations or
sustained dogfights, but they were rather light when it came to arms and
armor. Blair had flown Arrows before but never cared much for them. He
liked a heavier ship, one with teeth, but still maneuverable enough to
outfly as well as outfight an enemy.

   Heavy fighter-bombers constituted the complement of the Green
Squadron. Using the F/A-76 Longbow-class attack craft, the squadron
gave Victory real striking power for offensive operations. The Longbow
had a reputation for being underpowered and clumsy, but it had a good
combat record nonetheless. Blair never considered himself a bomber pilot
and had only flown an F/A-76 in simulations.

   The Gold Squadron remained, based on the HF-66 Thunderbolt heavy
fighter. Heavy fighters were used during offense and defense alike, with
enough ordinance capacity to be pressed into service as bombers if the
need arose. They still maintained the firepower and speed to be superb
dogfighters. He was glad to see the Thunderbolts listed in the inventory.
When the wing went into combat, Blair planned to be flying with Gold
Squadron in the cockpit of one of those steady and reliable old fighters. He
would have to reorganize the flight roster accordingly to accommodate
Hobbes and himself…

  As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. "Enter," Blair said, and the
computer picked up the order, opening the door. It was Hobbes.

   Blair stood and met him halfway with one hand extended to grasp a
large, stubby-fingered paw in a hearty handshake.

  "It is good to see you, old friend," Hobbes said. "You are looking fine
and fit. Does this war, then, agree with you so much?"

   Blair chuckled. "Yeah, right, about as much as a pair of busted wing
flaps on an atmospheric run." He stepped back, clasping the big Kilrathi
renegade by the shoulders and looking him up and down. "Damn, it's good
to see you, buddy. Nobody told me I'd find you aboard."

   "Nor did we ever expect to see the likes of Maverick Blair on the
Victory, my friend," Ralgha responded. "You must admit, it is quite a
change from Concordia and her kind."

   "Yeah… it is that." Blair said, looking away. "Come on, sit down. We've
got some things to talk about."

   "Old times?" the Kilrathi asked, lowering himself carefully into a seat
that had never been built with a Kilrathi's bulk in mind.

    "Nope. New ones. I've got good news for you, buddy. You're back on the
flight roster, starting immediately, on the Gold Squadron—pushing a
Thunderbolt."

  Ralgha hesitated. "But I requested—"

   "Yeah, Eisen told me. But just because you ran into a couple of bigots is
no reason to sit on the sidelines now. We need you on the firing line,
Hobbes. I need you. You'll be flying as my wingman, at least until I knock a
few heads together and show these people the error of their ways."

   "Colonel…" Ralgha trailed off. "There are many brave and noble pilots
on this ship, my friend."
   "When my ass is on the line, I want a wingman I can trust. And you're
one of the damned few pilots I do trust, Hobbes. like I said, I need you out
there."

  "Then I shall try not to disappoint you, old friend."

   "I haven't had a chance to review the rosters yet," Blair said. "You rate
as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Space Force. Do you know where that puts
you in the chain of command?"

   "Now that you are with us, I will be number two," Ralgha answered
solemnly.

  "My Exec?"

   The Kilrathi nodded gravely, the human gesture seeming out of place.
"I believe that was the principal reason for the opposition to my presence,"
he said. "Colonel Dulbrunin was the previous wing commander. He was
killed in a battle just before I was transferred aboard, and I believe some
of the other pilots were reluctant to serve with a Kilrathi as their
commanding officer. Perhaps there will be fewer objections with you in
command."

   "I'll guarantee that much. Anyone with objections will keep them to
themselves or I'll move them to another wing."

   "Do not judge them too harshly. This has been a bitter conflict. It is
difficult to avoid hatred between two such different species as yours and
mine, and there are few who can learn to distinguish between allegiance
and race when the differences are so plain to see."

    "You're too damned noble, Hobbes. That's the only thing about you I
still can't deal with. I keep expecting you to act like a human being and
have a hidden dark side, but if you've got one it never shows."

   "Humans, too, have hidden depths, for good or ill." Ralgha paused. "But
there are better things to discuss than philosophy, such as old friends and
comrades in arms. How is your mate, that fine pilot and comrade, Angel?"

   Blair looked away again, his smile fading. He had been trying not to
think about Angel. "I don't know, Hobbes," he said reluctantly. "I haven't
heard from her in months. She's been assigned to some damn covert op,
and even Paladin's keeping quiet about it."

  "I… am sorry if I have stirred up bad feelings," Ralgha said. "But you
know as well as I do that Angel can take care of herself. She will return to
you in time, if the War God so wills it."

   "Yeah." Blair nodded, but the sinking feeling in his stomach would not
go away. Jeannette Devereaux (callsign Angel) began with Blair aboard
the old Tiger's Claw, first as a fellow pilot, then a friend, and then… more,
much more. But when Blair was offered the wing commander's slot aboard
the Concordia, Angel transferred to Brigadier General James Taggart's
Covert Operations Division. Blair never understood or accepted the
decision, prompted, so she said, by her regard for Taggart (who had flown
with them on the Tiger's Claw under the running name of Paladin).
Covert Ops seemed such a complete departure for Angel, who was usually
so cool and rational, so completely dedicated to the science rather than
the emotions of warfare.

   But she joined Taggart's outfit, and though Blair continued to see her
(when possible), they had drifted apart. Finally, just after the Battle of
Earth and Blair's long confinement in the military hospital, she simply
vanished. Paladin admitted she was on a mission when Blair confronted
him, but nothing more. Covert Ops drew the most difficult and dangerous
assignments in the Confed fleet. By now, she might well be dead…

   Blair forced himself to put aside that bitter thought. "Look, Hobbes," he
said slowly, "I don't want to cut this short. I'd like nothing better than to
grab a couple of jugs of booze in the Rec Room and toast the old days with
you, but I've got a pile of stuff to wade through before I can declare it
quitting time."

   "I understand, my friend," Ralgha said, rising slowly. He gave Blair a
slight bow, the Kilrathi gesture of respect. "When the Captain makes my
transfer official, perhaps I can take up some of the burden as your Exec."

  "Tomorrow will do fine, Hobbes. And… thanks."

   The Kilrathi pilot had not even reached the door when there was
another knock. Ralgha ushered in the newcomer as he left, leaving Blair
face-to-face with a familiar figure, another reminder of missions past.

  The man had changed little over the years. He was a little heavier than
Blair remembered him, and there was a touch of gray in his dark hair. But
he still had the same air of brooding intensity and fire in his eyes.

  "Maniac Marshall," Blair said slowly. "So you managed to stay alive
somehow. Who'd have guessed it?"

    "Colonel Blair." Major Todd Marshall looked anything but glad to see
him, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Marshall was another of the old
Tiger's Claw hands. In fact, he and Blair had a history together. As
classmates in the Academy, they had been rivals in everything from the
flight competitions in their final year as midshipmen to gaining the
attentions of a particular young lady.

   Marshall earned his running name in the Academy from his slapdash,
hell-for-leather flying style. Always volatile and eager for glory, Maniac
never fit in quite as well as Blair. He barely squeaked through graduation
whereas Blair earned honors. While aboard Tigers Claw, Marshall proved
an unpopular wingman who was considered unreliable, even dangerous,
by the rest of his squadron. He blamed Blair from the start for always
managing to come out ahead in kills, awards, and promotions. Blair had
been delighted when the two were posted in different ships after their tour
aboard Tiger's Claw.

  Now Marshall was a major, and Blair was a colonel, and the high
command or some vengeful god of fate had thrown them together again.

   "It's been a long time, Major." Blair didn't bother to stand, but gestured
toward the chair Hobbes had vacated. "Sit down and tell me what I can do
for you."

   "Radio Rollins said you wanted to see your Exec," Marshall said as he
took the chair. He smiled, but the expression held no warmth at all. "I
guess that's me."

   "That was you," Blair said bluntly. "But I've just asked the Captain to
restore Hobbes to flight status, and he outranks you, I'm afraid. He'll be
Exec and double as CO of Gold Squadron."

   Marshall's face fell. "That damned kitty…" He stopped as he caught the
look on Blair's face. "All right, all right. Can't go around maligning a fellow
officer, and all that, right? But I never could understand what you saw in
that cat, and that's the plain and simple truth."
   "That's simple enough. He's a wingman I can trust."

  Maniac gave a derisive snort. "Trust someone who'll kill his own kind?
There's a great piece of command wisdom for you."

   "At least I've never known Hobbes to break formation on me the way
you did at Gimle. I need to know that I can count on a wingman to back
me up, and not go hunting for glory, then yell for help when he gets in too
deep…" Blair shrugged. He had gone over this same speech with Maniac
time and again, but it had never done any good. He didn't imagine the
man was going to change now. "When it comes right down to it, Major, I
can choose whoever I want as my wingman. That's one of the privileges of
rank, you know."

   "Yeah," Marshall said, his tone hollow, bitter. "Yeah, those gold tracers
on your collar look real sharp, Colonel Blair, sir. Bet you have to stay up
pretty late at night to keep 'em polished so pretty."

   "No, I don't," Blair said coldly. "I assign majors to do it for me."

   "The difference in our rank, sir, is just a formality," Marshall said,
standing up. "We both know who's the better man in the cockpit."

   "That's right. We both do. And that's what has been eating at you ever
since the Academy, isn't it, Major?"

   Maniac's look was one of pure hatred. "Will there be anything else… sir
? Or may I be dismissed?"

   "That's all," Blair said, turning away to look through the window into
the hangar. He waited until the door slid shut behind Marshall, then he
wearily sat down.

   Blair leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself
after the angry confrontation. He had wanted to sit down with the wing
XO to get an idea of the unit's strengths and weaknesses in equipment,
personnel, and experience. But seeing Marshall after so many years had
driven it all out of his mind, and he had let his personal feelings overcome
his judgment. Maniac always had a talent for bringing out the worst in
him.

   Blair turned back to his desktop computer and called up the wing's
personnel files on his screen. He picked Marshall's records first. Studying
them, he began to understand the man's belligerence a little better.

   He'd been the Exec under Colonel Dulbrunin with enough seniority to
hope for a promotion to lieutenant colonel and to become Victory's wing
commander. No doubt the arrival of Hobbes had been a blow. Blair was
sure now that Marshall was behind the ill feelings toward the Kilrathi
renegade, since Hobbes had snatched his chance at commanding the
wing.

  Then Hobbes bowed out, and Blair arrived aboard to dash Marshall's
hopes again. No wonder the man was feeling bitter…

   Another detail caught his eye. Marshall was also the CO of Gold
Squadron. Blair had decided to have Hobbes take over that command, too.
It was one more blow to Maniac's fragile ego.

   He could reconsider the decision, of course, and let Marshall keep his
squadron. But if Hobbes was going to be Blair's wingman, the two of them
would have to fly with the same squadron, and Blair still felt more
comfortable sticking with the heavy fighters in Gold Squadron. Should he
reshuffle the roster to put Marshall in command of another squadron?
Maniac certainly had the seniority, even if Blair doubted he had the
temperament for squadron command.

   But which squadron could Maniac handle best? He was not suited to
command bombers, and point defense work required a leader who could
subordinate himself totally to the needs of the fleet. Marshall would
probably be happiest in command of the interceptors of Blue Squadron,
but Blair shuddered at the thought of putting Victory's crucial long-range
strike fighters in Maniac's hands. Patrol duties would take Blue Squadron
out of reach of higher authority, and it needed a man with a good head on
his shoulders who knew when to fight, when to break away, and when to
get word of a distant contact with the enemy back to the carrier. No,
Major Marshall wasn't really suitable for any other squadrons. Colonel
Dulbrunin probably made the same decision when making his original
assignments. The kind of utility combat work which heavy fighters drew
was the sort of operation Maniac was least likely to knock off course if he
lost his head in a fight.

   Well, that meant he would have to stay where he was, at least until
Blair could see if age and experience had mellowed Maniac, at least in the
cockpit if not in his dealings with others. The man would just have to
accept flying under Blair and Hobbes.

   But Blair knew it would make a tough job much more difficult for all of
them.

Flight Wing Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   Blair was studying his predecessor's logs on the monitor above his bunk
when he heard a knock. "Enter," he said, sitting up as the door opened to
reveal Lieutenant Rollins.

   "Sorry to bother you so late, Colonel," Rollins said, "but we're boosting
to the jump point, and the Comm Shack's been buzzing with last-minute
incoming traffic all evening. I just got off shift."

  "We've got orders, then?"

   Rollins nodded. "Orsini System. It's been pretty quiet up 'til now, but
the scuttlebutt has it the cats have been moving in lately. Guess we're
supposed to make 'em feel safe or something."

    "Mmph." Blair stood up. "Okay, so we're jumping and you've been busy.
Is there something you needed from me, Lieutenant?"

  "I… wanted to make sure you got this. It came in with some of the other
message traffic. Rerouted from Confed HQ, for you." He handed Blair a
holo cassette. "Er… here it is, sir."

   "You don't have to act so apologetic, man," Blair said, realizing the
cause of his embarrassed manner. "Comm officers see a lot of personal
messages. I'm not going to bite off your head for reading my mail,
Lieutenant."

  "Er… yes, sir. Thanks." Rollins left, still looking flustered.

   Blair set the cassette on the small table beside the bunk and touched
the message stud. Letters formed in the air above the device, spelling out a
message. The block of code numbers dated it to more than six months
earlier, before the Battle of Earth. That was typical enough for messages
that had to chase their intended recipients through space from one planet
or one ship to another.

PRIVATE CODED COMM RELAY TO:
Colonel Christopher Blair
Terran Confed Armed Forces
TCS Concordia
—REROUTED BY CONFED HQ TO—
TCS Victory

  The words dissolved after a moment, and an image formed. It was
Angel, still heart-stoppingly beautiful, looking out at him with the
expression he remembered so well.

    "Hello, mon ami," she began, flashing her brightest smile. "I hope the
fight goes well for you and all the others aboard Concordia. I have been
given new orders to head up a mission, so I'm afraid we must be apart a
little longer. Always remember: je't'aime,je't'aime… I love you…"

   Blair stabbed at the switch, cutting the hologram off while tears stung
his eyes. "Je t'aime, Angel," he said softly. "I love you, wherever you are…"


                          CHAPTER III
Flight Control, TCS Victory
Orsini System

   "Now hear this, now hear this," the shipboard tannoy blared. "Prepare
for Flight Operations. Flight Deck personnel to launch stations."

   Blair's stride was brisk and purposeful as he entered the Flight Control
Center, his helmet under one arm. It was good to be back in his G suit
again, even if the mission at hand was no more than a routine patrol. In
his two weeks aboard the Victory, he had been unable to strap on a fighter
once, but today he would finally get a chance to be free of a wing
commanders console work and move among the stars where he truly
belonged.

   Chief Technician Rachel Coriolis looked up from a computer display
with a grin. He had met her only once, in a general meeting of the flight
wing's support personnel, without time to exchange more than a few
words. That was Blair's problem ever since he took command of the wing:
plenty of work, reports, plans, forms, and requisitions to be filled out, but
precious little chance to know the rest of the crew.

   Chief Coriolis was Gold Squadrons senior crew chief, and as such led
the team of technical experts who maintained Thunderbolt 300, the
fighter set aside for Blairs use. She was young—not yet thirty—and
attractive, though her customary baggy coveralls and the inevitable layer
of dirt and grime streaking her clothes and face tended to obscure her
beauty. According to her personnel file, she was a competent technician
with an excellent service record. Blair hoped she would live up to those
reports.

   "Colonel," she said, straightening as he approached. "They say you're
taking this patrol yourself. Your bird's just about ready."

  "Good," Blair responded.

   "Kinda strange seeing the big brass flying a routine patrol, though," she
continued, apparently not affected by rank or seniority. "I don't think I
ever saw Colonel Dulbrunin fly anything short of a full all-fighters
magnum launch."

   "I'm not Dulbrunin," Blair told her. "I like to get a few hours of flight
time as often as possible, so don't be surprised if you discover that my bird
needs more servicing than you planned."

   She gave a nod in satisfaction. "Glad to hear it, skipper. Your
predecessor knew how to fly a console well enough, a top-notch
administrator. But I like pilots who fly the real thing. Know what I mean?"
She cocked her head to one side. " Are you really taking on Hobbes as your
wingman?"

  "You got a problem with that, Chief?" Blair growled.

   "No, sir," the technician said, shaking her head. "I say it's about jolly
well time. That cat's one hell of a good pilot, and I'm glad to see him back
on the roster."

   Blair studied her for a long moment, then gave an approving nod. "Glad
to hear it, Chief," he said, warming to her. At least there was someone on
the flight deck who appreciated Ralgha nar Hhallas. Her praise sounded
sincere. Rachel Coriolis struck him as the kind of tech who judged a pilot
on how he handled his fighter, not on superficial things like species or
background. "So… give me a status report on my bird."

   Using a remote, she switched on a set of viewscreens filled with data
readouts on the fighter. "Here she is, one Thunderbolt; prepped, primed,
locked, and loaded… and ready to kick some serious ass out there."

   Blair studied the data display for a few moments then gave an
approving nod. "Looks good, Chief," he finally said. "What about the
ordinance?"

   "All taken care of, skipper. The Captain downloaded the mission specs
while you boys were finishing your briefing. I doped out the weapons
requirements and loaded her. You're all set for this one."

   Blair frowned. "Better let me review the load, Chief," he said slowly.

   "Typical," she said, calling up the ordinance display on one of the
monitors. "You flyboys just don't think anybody else knows what you're
going to need out there."

  He checked the weapons mix, then reluctantly nodded. "Looks good
enough," he admitted.

   "Maybe next time you'll trust your Auntie Rachel with the loadout, huh,
skipper?" She gave him a quick smile. "I promise you, Colonel, I'll never
disappoint you."

   "I'll bet you won't," he said. Blair took a last look at the fighter stats
then turned toward the door. It was time to launch.

   "Good luck, skipper," the technician said, "and Godspeed."

  He left Flight Control and took the elevator to the next level down,
emerging on the main hangar deck in the midst of a confusion of people
and machines engaged in the familiar purposeful chaos of pre-launch
operations. Hobbes was already there, with his helmet on but his faceplate
open. "Fighters up, Colonel," he said seriously. "Ready to fly."

   "Then let's get out there," Blair responded, lifting his own helmet and
settling it over his head carefully. His flight suit and gauntlets made the
motion awkward, but Hobbes helped him get seated and dogged down. A
pair of technicians bustled around guiding them toward the fighters
resting side by side in their launch cradles.

   Blair climbed into the cockpit, his stomach churning the way it always
did in anticipation of a launch, as techs supervised the final preparations,
checked the seals on the cockpit canopy, removed external power and fuel
feeds, studied readouts, and compared them with the incoming data from
Flight Control. Blair ran through his own checklist.

   When all the lights on his panel glowed green, he nodded his head and
lowered his faceplate into place. He switched his radio to the command
channel. "Thunderbolt three-double-zero," he said. "Ready for launch."

  "Flight Control" Rachel's voice sounded in his ear. "Confirming,
Thunderbolt three zero zero ready for launch."

   Blair's faceplate came alive with a Heads Up Display of the fighter's
major systems. Seconds ticked away on a countdown clock in the lower
left-hand corner of the HUD readout. The time seemed to drag into an
eternity, but at last the readout flashed through the final few seconds.
Blair took a firm grip on the steering yoke with one hand while the other
rested on the engine throttles. Three… two… one…

   Blair rammed the throttles forward and felt the engines engage.
"Thunderbolt three-double-zero, under power," he reported. Then he was
free of the carrier, climbing outward into the star-studded depths of open
space.

   A moment later Hobbes came on the line, his voice slightly distorted by
the computer reconstruction of his encoded transmission. "Thunderbolt
three-zero-one, under power."

  "Roger that, three hundred, three-o-one," the voice of Lieutenant
Rollins rang loudly in his headphones.

  "Your mission designation is Snoop Flight, repeating Snoop Flight."

   "Confirming," Blair replied. "Snoop Leader, establishing flight
coordinates now." As Hobbes added his own response, Blair tapped a key
to check the autopilots flight plan on the navcomp. A flight from Blue
Squadron had detected signs of possible enemy activity on long-range
sensors around three different coordinate points, but pursuant to standing
orders had not investigated closely. Instead, they brought their
information back to the Victory. Now Eisen wanted those potential
trouble spots checked more thoroughly, with Gold Squadron's heavier
Thunderbolts doing the scouting in case they ran into opposition.

  A routine patrol… except that Blair had long since learned that no
mission was ever entirely routine.

    The two fighters flew in close formation, side by side, with a minimum
of conversation passing back and forth between them or the carrier. The
first of the three target areas were free of enemy ships, although some
random space debris did show up on sensors to suggest what the first
flight had detected. They remained in the area long enough to
double-check all their sensor readings, then set course for the second
navigation point on the flight plan.

   "Range to navpoint, eight thousand kilometers," Hobbes reported
finally. "Switching to full-spectrum sensor sweep… now."

   "Confirmed," Blair replied tersely, activating his own sensor array.
What seemed like extremely long seconds passed as the computer began
to process the information pouring through the system. The tracking
screen in the center of his control console lit up with a trio of red lights.

   "Fighters, fighters, fighters" Hobbes chanted over the tactical channel.
"I read three fighters, bearing three-four-six by zero-one-one, range two
thousand, closing."

   Blair checked his own target readouts. "Confirmed. Three bad guys, two
of us. But I'll bet you they're only a little bit nervous at the odds!" He
paused for a moment, studying the sensor data. "I read them as
Dralthi-class, probably type fours."

   "Then they should offer only a mild challenge," Hobbes said. The
Dralthi IV was a good craft, but classed as a medium fighter with less
weaponry and lighter armor than the Terran Thunderbolt. "May I have
the honor of the first engagement, Colonel?"

   Blair frowned. His instincts were at odds with what he could see on the
screen. Something wasn't quite right… "Wait, Hobbes," he said. "I want to
finish the scan."
   The sensors covered the whole volume around the Terran fighters to
their extreme limits, but the computer was still crunching numbers and
trying to extrapolate detailed information from their readings. There was
a single, massive asteroid near the same bearing as the enemy fighters, yet
closer and several degrees to port. An asteroid that size could hold a
Kilrathi depot or advanced base, perhaps armed…

   "Steer clear of that rock, Hobbes," he said, still frowning. "I don't like
the looks of it. Let's keep in supporting distance until we see which way
those boys are going to break."

  "Acknowledged," Ralgha responded. Blair thought he could detect a
note of disappointment in the alien's voice.

   "Going to afterburners," Blair said, pushing the throttles into the red
zone and feeling the press of acceleration on his chest. Hobbes stayed
close, matching his course and speed.

   "They see us, Colonel," Ralgha reported a moment later.

   On Blair's targeting screen, he could see the three fighters breaking
formation. It looked as if they were getting ready for a typical Kilrathi
attack pattern, with individual ships hurling themselves into action in
succession rather than attempting a coordinated assault. That was the
legacy of their carnivore forebears: the instinct to fight as individual
hunters and warriors rather than group together in a mass effort. Blair
knew Hobbes was feeling the pull of that same age-old instinct, but he also
knew his friends rigid sense of duty and self-control, which would hold
him in formation until he was released.

  The first Dralthi accelerated toward them, driving at maximum thrust.
Over the open radio channel the enemy pilot screamed a challenge. "Die,
hairless apes!" translated the communications computer. "Die as you live,
without honor or value!"

   "I am no ape," Hobbes replied. "I am Ralgha nar Hhallas, and my
honor is not to be questioned by a Kilra'hra like you!" Blair's wingman
rolled left, opening fire on the Dralthi with blasters and a pair of anti-ship
missiles.

  The lead Kilrathi fighter dodged and juked, eluding one of the missiles
and increasing thrust as it turned onto a new heading angling away from
Hobbes. The other missile scored a hit on shields already weakened by
blaster fire, raising a cloud of debris amidships as the blast ripped into
armor plating.

   Blair started to follow his comrade's course, ready to maintain a close
formation and keep enemies off Ralgha's back. But he spotted motion on
his sensor grid, and swore softly. "Damn it, the other two aren't sticking
around to fight," he said.

   "Pursue them if you wish, my friend," Hobbes replied grimly. "I wish
to finish this one."

   He hesitated a moment. Blair was a firm believer in the value of
formation fighting and mutual support between wingmen, but the mission
profile called for the Terran fighters to eliminate as many opponents as
possible once an engagement began. The idea was to sweep each of the
suspect areas clean and not to allow escaping Kilrathi to regroup or
summon reinforcements to redeem an initial defeat. If those two broke off,
there was no telling how many of their friends they would contact.

   Blair changed his vector to follow the two ships as they veered toward
the shelter of the asteroid he had noted earlier. On their present heading,
they would not pass close enough to pose any particular danger to either
pursued or pursuer. If they could put the irregular lump of rock and ore
between their ships and Blair's Thunderbolt, they might be able to confuse
his sensors long enough to make their escape.

   On their present course they were opening the range separating them
from the first Dralthi, which was running in the opposite direction with
Hobbes close on the enemy fighters tail. That was one less thing to worry
about. Apparently the Kilrathi had no great interest in rescuing their
comrade.

  Blair kept one eye on his fuel gauge and the other on the enemy ships.
High-thrust operations burned fuel at a terrible rate, and the last thing he
needed now was to use so much of his reserve that he wouldn't be able to
make it home. Judging from the heat outputs of the two Dralthi, they were
not using their full thrusters. They were probably already low on fuel,
nearing the end of an extended patrol. That meant he could still close the
gap and engage them…

  Then the enemy exhaust plumes started burning hotter. The two craft
suddenly began to swing around, their symbols changing quickly on his
sensor readouts. They were turning, but not to run. This time they
planned to attack.

   In the same moment, three more targets appeared on Blairs screens,
closing from starboard.

    These, too, were Dralthi. Blair cursed. The new arrivals had been
lurking in the lee of that asteroid, dangerously close to the huge rock.
Evidently the Kilrathi picked up the first patrol flight and realized there
would be a follow-up mission, so they organized an ambush. With Hobbes
distracted by his one-on-one fight with the original attacker, the enemy
squadron could concentrate on knocking Blair out of action while he was
still unsupported.

   "Hobbes," he said urgently. "Talk to me, buddy. I've got five bandits
surrounding me with damn little running room. Break off whatever you're
doing and give me an assist."

   Blair was already reversing course as one of the Dralthi broke and
plunged toward him. His fingers danced over the autopilot keyboard as he
programmed the computer to begin random bursts of thrust at odd
vectors to keep his opponent from getting a firm lock on the Thunderbolt
Then there was nothing more he could do except wait, jaw clenched, as he
watched the Dralthi slowly close in. Soon the enemy pilot would be able to
match his vector, and when that happened…

    He fired his maneuvering jets to execute a tumbling turn just as the
Dralthi settled on the Terran fighter's tail. Suddenly, the Kilrathi ship
filled his forward viewport, and Blair opened fire with his blasters in a
quick succession of shots that burned power too quickly for the weapons
generators to respond. His last shot was with a Dart unguided missile, the
type pilots referred to as "dumb-fires." But even without a homing system,
the missile wasn't likely to miss at this range.

   The missile barely left his ship before Blair's fighter was twisting again.
He didn't see the missile punch through the weakened shields and
detonate over the weakest armor, around the Dralthi's cockpit. But his
sensors registered the blast, and Blair felt a momentary thrill as he
realized he had scored a kill.

  But that still left four-to-one odds.
   He did not waste time. The other Kilrathi fighters were still out of
range even though they were closing in fast. Blair reignited his
afterburners and tried to put some distance between his fighter and the
pursuers, but this time it was Blair who was concerned about his fuel
supply. The four Dralthi were running flat out, apparently unconcerned
about their reserves.

  "Talk to me, Hobbes," he said again. "Where the hell are you… ?"

   His answer was a blood-curdling, triumphant snarl that the computer
translator utterly failed to interpret, and for an instant, Blair thought it
was Ralgha's opponent proclaiming a triumph. Then he realized it was
Hobbes, giving way to his instincts and emotions in the heat of battle and
forgetting, for the moment, the thin veneer of Confederation culture that
lay over his Kilrathi heritage.

   Then his rigid control seemed to clamp down again. "I have dispatched
my opponent," he said stiffly, as if the earlier Kilrathi war-call had come
from someone else entirely. "I am coming to your support now, my friend
."

  "Make it soon, tall, dark, and furry," Blair said. "These guys want to put
me in a trophy room."

   Another Dralthi was approaching, and once again Blair knew he must
steer a fine line if he was going to fight. Every time he let himself be drawn
into a dogfight, the other Kilrathi ships tightened the range a little bit
more. At that rate, he would never be able to win. And sooner or later the
odds would tell against him.

   This time he didn't wait for the other ship to get so close. Instead, he
threw the Thunderbolt into a tight, high-G turn and opened fire as soon as
his weapons came to bear. The Dralthi returned fire with a full spread of
blaster bolts and missiles, and for all of Blair's attempts at dodging, they
racked up three solid hits, scoring away more than half the armor on his
port wing.

   Blair rolled away from the oncoming fighter, trying to keep his
starboard side facing the Dralthi, but the Kilrathi pilot was a veteran who
knew how to efficiently maneuver his craft. More blaster shots struck his
weakened side in rapid succession, sapping his shields.
   But the attack carried the Dralthi past Blair's Thunderbolt, and for a
few seconds the advantage went to the Terran. He slapped his weapon
selector switch and called up a Javelin heat-seeker. Blair's fingers
tightened around his steering yoke as he tried to line up the targeting
reticule over the Kilrathi fighter on his HUD display. It was close… very
close.

   The target indicator glowed red, and Blair fired blasters before
releasing the missile. The Javelin locked onto the heat emissions from the
Dralthi's engines and leapt outward. Seeing his danger, the Kilrathi pilot
made a fast turn, attempting to get under the missiles sensor cone to
confuse its on-board tracking system. Blair cursed as his board showed
the missile losing its lock.

   His energy readout showed his guns hadn't finished recycling yet, but
Blair took a calculated risk and switched power from the shields to the
weaponry systems. Then, determined to keep his fighter in line with the
rear of the Dralthi despite its twisting, turning maneuvers, the Terran
opened fire again. The blasters tore through the weakened shields, the
armor, and the entire rear section of the Dralthi, which erupted in gouts
of flame and spinning metal. "Scratch two!" Blair called.

   Then Hobbes was beside Blair, firing a warning shot at long range to let
the other three Kilrathi craft know the odds had changed. Almost
immediately they veered away, charting new vectors, as if deciding against
pressing the battle.

  "They are withdrawing," Hobbes said. "Do we pursue?"

  "I'm showing some pretty bad damage on the starboard side, and I'm
down to one missile," Blair replied grimly. "What about you?"

  "The first foe put up a valiant struggle," the Kilrathi replied. "I fear
my own missiles are exhausted, and I have forward and port-side armor
damage."

   "Those guys are fresh," Blair said. "I don't know why they're giving up
so easily, but I figure we'd better just count our blessings and head for
home before they spring any more little surprises on us."

  "The Captain will not be pleased, I fear. It seems we have not carried
out our mission."
   Blair didn't answer his wingman's comment directly. "Let's get these
crates moving, buddy. Set course for home base, standard thrust."


                          CHAPTER IV
Thunderbolt 3OO
Orsini System

    Of all the evolutions carried out by a fighter on deep space service, a
carrier landing was the most difficult and dangerous maneuver. Bringing
a fighter in with battle damage was that much worse, especially when
shipboard diagnostics could not pinpoint the full extent of the harm done
by the enemy hits. Blair studied his readouts as he drifted in his assigned
holding pattern, waiting for Hobbes to land. Half a dozen amber lights
were vying for his attention in port-side systems, including thrusters,
weapons mountings, and landing gear. Any one of them could fail if put
under too much strain, and the results would be catastrophic not only for
the fighter, but possibly for the carrier as well.

   Therefore, Hobbes was going in first. Once Rollins established the fact
that Blair was uninjured and in no immediate danger, the
communications officer waved him off. If Blair crashed and burned
coming in, it wouldn't leave Hobbes stranded with a damaged flight deck
and empty fuel tanks.

   So Blair waited—gloomy and brooding. His first trip off the carrier deck
ended in defeat. He should have considered the possibility of more Kilrathi
ships hiding near that asteroid, kept a tighter rein on Hobbes…

  Right now he was mostly surprised by their survival.

   The cats had surprised him twice today; once by springing the ambush,
then by backing off when he and Hobbes were ripe for the picking. That
seemed to be the only reason Blair and Hobbes were still alive, and that
grim thought worried him. Was he finally losing his edge?

   He had witnessed this during years of war. A veteran pilot with an
exemplary record would find his skills slipping away and his judgment
calls evolving into errors. Such flyers would get sloppy and careless, and
they did not live very long.
   Ever since the Battle of Earth, and especially after Concordia's loss,
Blair found himself growing increasingly uncertain about the war and his
role in it. Were his doubts starting to sap his cockpit performance? If that
was true, maybe it was time to rethink his whole position. He could
retreat into the purely administrative side of his job, as his predecessor
had apparently done… or he could request a new assignment, even resign
his commission and leave the war for a younger generation who still knew
what they were fighting for and had the sharpened skills needed to carry
on that fight.

   It was a tempting thought. But how could Blair drop out now?
Wouldn't that be a betrayal of all his comrades who hadn't been so lucky?
He wished he could talk to Angel. She always knew how to put everything
into perspective.

   "Snoop Leader, you are clear for approach," Rollins said over his
bitter reflections.

   "Roger," he acknowledged. Blair brought his full attention back to the
problems of landing. Fighter and carrier had matched vectors and
velocities precisely, and they were drifting less than a kilometer apart.
Using minimum thruster power, Blair steered closer, lining up the flight
deck with a practiced eye while watching the damage readouts for any
sign of a sudden failure in a critical subsystem. A pilot like Maniac
Marshall would have made a more dramatic approach, coming in under
power and killing all his velocity in one last, well-timed braking thrust, but
Blair wasn't taking any chances this time.

   The most critical moment of any carrier landing came at the end. Blair
had to steer the Thunderbolt directly into the narrow tractor beam that
would snag the fighter and guide it down to the flight deck and into the
hangar area. A tiny error in judgment could cause him to miss the beam
and plow into the ship's superstructure. Or he could hit the beam with the
fighter in the wrong attitude and damage both Thunderbolt and flight
deck.

   As the range in meters dropped steadily on the readout in the corner of
his faceplate HUD, Blair held his breath and activated the landing gear
control. A few seconds went by, and the amber damage light flickered,
blinked… then went out. A green light nearby declared the wheels down
and locked, but Blair raised a video view from the carrier deck and
zoomed in for a close-up of the fighter's undercarriage, just to be sure. The
blast burns and pockmarked hull plating made him wince, but the gear
had deployed and the fighter looked as ready for a landing as it ever would
be.

   He killed almost all of his momentum then, and the range countdown
slowed. Then, abruptly, the fighter shuddered as the tractor beams took
hold. Blair kept his hands poised over the throttles and the steering yoke,
ready to apply thrust quickly in case the tractors failed and he had to
abort. Slowly, carefully, painfully the fighter closed in, and the carrier's
superstructure loomed large in the cockpit viewport.

   The wheels touched down evenly, and the fighter rolled freely along the
deck, still pulled along by the tractor beams that held the Thunderbolt
despite the absence of gravity. The force field at the end of the hangar
deck cut off and the fighter glided smoothly into the depressurized
compartment. A moment later Blair's craft rolled to a complete stop, and
Blair gratefully relaxed and started the powering-down process.

   It took several minutes to repressurize the hangar deck. Blair was still
running through his shutdown checklist when the overhead lights flashed
red, signaling that the atmosphere was safe to breathe and that artificial
gravity was about to be restored. Outside he saw technicians bracing
themselves. Then the welcome sensation of weight gripped him again,
gradually rising until the gravity was set at Earth-normal. Techs, some
fully suited and others in shirtsleeves, swarmed on the deck around the
fighter.

    The cockpit swung open. Blair unstrapped himself and stood slowly,
stiff yet glad for the chance to move around again. After a moment, he
clambered down the ladder built into the side of the Thunderbolt. "It's all
yours, boys and girls," he told the technicians.

   Rachel Coriolis was there, her face creased in a frown. "Looks like you
were nearly cat food, skipper," she commented. "You'd take a lot better
care of 'em if you were the one that had to fix 'em up!"

  He shrugged, not really feeling up to a snappy comeback. "And maybe
mechanics wouldn't grumble so much if they had to be on the firing line."

  "What, and give up all this glamour?" Her grin faded. "Captain wants
you and Hobbes in his ready room for debriefing. And I don't think he's
handing out any medals today. Know what I mean?"
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Orsini System

  "If this mission was any indication of your abilities, Colonel, then I
must say that I wonder how you earned such a good reputation."

    Blair and Ralgha stood at rigid attention in front of the captain's desk,
listening to Eisen's angry appraisal of their patrol mission. Victory's
captain was plainly agitated, unable to sit still. He prowled the confines of
the ready room like a caged beast, pausing from time to time to drive a
point home to the two pilots. Neither of them had ventured a response to
Eisen, and Blair for one agreed with most of what he had to say. The
mission had been mishandled from start to finish, and as senior officer
Blair bore the full blame for everything that had gone wrong.

   Eisen leaned heavily on his desk. "I expected better of both of you," he
said, more quietly this time. "Especially you, Colonel. But maybe I'm just
expecting too damned much. Maybe the Confed has just pulled off too
many miracles in the past, and the miracles are starting to run out now."
He looked up. "Well? Do either of you have anything to say?"

    "I screwed up, sir," Blair said softly. "Underestimated the Kilrathi and
let the situation get out of hand instead of keeping a grip on… things." He
looked at Hobbes. "I allowed myself to get separated from my wingman,
and soaked up unacceptable damage in the process. That made it
impossible to press the fight when we were able to hook up again, even
though the enemy seemed unwilling to stand and fight."

  "And you, Ralgha?" Eisen asked. "Anything to add?"

  The Kilrathi renegade shook his head. "No, Captain, save that the
Colonel fought with skill and honor."

   "Honor doesn't matter to me nearly as much as winning," Eisen
commented, straightening up slowly, "but at least you both got back in
one piece." He mustered a faint smile. "The Confederation needs every
pilot it can muster, even a couple of senile old screw-ups like you."

  "Next time out, sir, I guarantee things will be different," Blair told him.
"You can count on it."

  "I'll hold you to it," the captain said. "All right, let's move on. I want a
heavier patrol dispatched as soon as possible. Draw up a flight plan for my
approval. I suggest a minimum of four fighters this time, and maybe a
backstop of four more in case the first team runs into trouble. We'll smoke
the bastards out one way or another."

   "I'll get on it, sir," Blair said. "Hobbes and I will lead 'em…"

   Eisen shook his head. "You know the regs. Except on magnum ops, you
stick to the flight rotation schedule. You're the wing commander, Colonel,
and you can't start trying to jump on board every op. That will burn you
out, and that's the last thing we need right now."

   Reluctantly, Blair nodded in acceptance. "As you wish, Captain," he
said slowly.

   "All right, then. You're both dismissed."

  Outside the ready room, Ralgha reached out and halted Blair with one
massive paw. "I am very sorry, my friend," he said gravely. "I let you down
out there today. And yet you were willing to accept the blame from
Captain Eisen that should have been directed at me."

   Blair shook his head. "Sure as hell wasn't all your fault," he told the
Kilrathi. "I should have been ready for the bastards."

   "Nevertheless, I failed you. That insolent peasant and his challenge… I
should never have allowed myself to be drawn into fighting him, leaving
you to face the others alone." Ralgha paused. "Did it seem to you, my
friend, that the enemy behavior was out of character?"

   "How so?" Blair asked. He, too, had wondered about the way the trap
unfolded, but he was especially interested in whatever observations
Hobbes might share. After all, Ralgha nar Hhallas was the closest thing to
a genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology aboard the Victory.

   "In the beginning, it seemed to me they were intending to fly a
traditional attack plan. There was no good reason to launch that first
attack if their aim was to draw us into an ambush. It was only after I was
engaged that the others broke off and attempted to draw you into their
trap. Could it be that the Empire has a particular interest in you?"

   "In me? How—"
   "You can be assured that the Empire has sources of information within
the Confederation, agents who could have identified your new assignment
to this ship. Spies are remarkably easy to plant, particularly when the
Empire has many human slaves to recruit."

   "You really think a human would spy for the Kilrathi?" Blair asked.
"And that the Empire would rely on a human slave to work in the Imperial
interest out of reach of the nerve lash?"

   "There are always a few who betray willingly, my friend. Their honor is
less strong than their ambition or greed. And Imperial Intelligence does
have techniques for guaranteeing cooperation from even the unwilling:
personality overlays, deep conditioning… many things. There are surely
spies reporting to Kilrah. And with your record and reputation, it is
possible that the Emperor or his grandson has singled you out as a human
leader to be terminated. War is far more personal with my people than
with yours, and it would be a great triumph to eliminate a wing
commander of your stature in battle."

  "So you think the ambush was planned? That would mean there is an
agent aboard this ship…"

   "Not necessarily," Ralgha said slowly. "We know the Empire can
monitor some of our ship-to-ship transmissions. I used your rank several
times during radio messages, and if that information was joined with
knowledge of your assignment to the Victory and of Confed troop
movements… I merely feel you should consider the possibility. The trap
may well have been prepared in hopes of your arrival, but it was not set in
motion until the battle had already begun."

   Blair shrugged. "Maybe you're right. But on the other hand, if I had
been in command of that Kilrathi flight, I would have done my best to
divide and conquer, just the way they did; no matter who blundered into
the trap." He paused. "Fact is, it looked more to me like they were damned
interested in you."

  "In me? It was only that first kilra'hra who dared challenge me."

   "That's my point," Blair said. "He charged in looking for hairless apes,
and it was only when you identified yourself that all hell started breaking
loose. And when you finished the first guy off and hooked back up with
me, the other guys got pretty shy all of a sudden."
  "Are you coming to doubt me, my friend?" Ralgha asked.

   "You know better than that. I'm just curious, that's all." Blair studied
his friend's alien features. "Maybe it's you they are afraid of. Your
reputation has to be at least as big as mine, after all these years. Maybe
bigger where the Empire's concerned. A renegade noble turned Confed
fighter pilot… I could see a few Kilrathi getting nervous if they ran into
you during a fight."

   The Kilrathi gave a rumbling chuckle. "That, my friend, sounds
unlikely. I am a disgrace among my people. I am nothing. It is only to a
good friend like you that my poor life means anything at all." Ralgha
looked away for a moment, a surprisingly human mannerism. "Although I
must say, it certainly felt good to be out there again. My gratitude for your
trust and support of me is endless."

  "Forget it, buddy," Blair told him. "You're back where you belong now."

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Orsini System

   The victory party was in full swing when the lift deposited Blair outside
the recreation hall set aside for use by the flight wing. He paused in the
corridor, reluctant to go inside. After all, they were celebrating a
successful op that had made good the mistakes he and Hobbes made the
first time out, and Blair didn't much care to be reminded of that fact
tonight. But as wing commander, he had a duty to his outfit, and part of
that duty was to show his support for them in success and failure alike,
even when it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He squared his shoulders and opened the rec room door.

   The noise was almost overpowering at first, with the blare of music
competing for dominance with the babble of conversation, laughs, and
cheers coming from a cluster of men and women around the flight
simulator in one corner of the compartment. Blair stopped just inside,
scanning the room. Gradually some of the noise died away as pilots
became aware of his presence.

  "See, the conquering hero comes!" Maniac Marshall proclaimed loudly.
The half-empty glass in his hand and the slur in his voice made it clear he
was well under way with his own celebration of the successful afternoon's
battle. The major had a female crew member with comm department
shoulder tabs backed into a corner, but as he turned toward Blair, she
quickly slipped away to join the spectators by the flight simulators,
looking relieved.

  "So," Marshall went on. "Come to join the victory party, is it, Colonel?
Guess you have to find 'em wherever you can, huh? When you can't
manage to earn one, that is."

   That provoked a few nervous laughs. Luckily, one of the pilots
approached Maniac with a pitcher of beer, offering him a refill. Marshall
held out his glass unsteadily and let her fill it for him. In the comparative
quiet that followed, Blair took a step forward and cleared his throat "I just
wanted to drop by and congratulate Gold Squadron for a job well done
today," he said loudly. "I'm sure there's nobody as proud of you people
tonight as I am."

   "Damn straight," Maniac interrupted. "Not just ten Kilrathi
fighters—two of'em killed by yours truly—but also a cap ship. And a supply
depot hidden inside that asteroid. All cleared out courtesy of Maniac
Marshall and the Gold Squadron… with an able assist by those two
brilliant scouts, Wrong-Way Blair and the King of the Kitty Litter! What
would we do without 'em, huh?"

   Blair fought down a flash of anger. Marshall was drunk and offensive,
but he was entitled to a little boasting. The major had led three other
fighters to probe the same region where Blair and Hobbes had run into
trouble, and flushed out a nest of Kilrathi fighters and a light cruiser that
had moved in after the first battle. According to all reports, Marshall had
done a decent job of keeping his command together while awaiting the
back-up flights arrival. They accounted for ten Dralthi and managed to
knock out the capital ship as well. Although some of the Thunderbolts
were heavily damaged, none had been destroyed. All in all it had been an
excellent job.

   "Captain Eisen asked me to let you know that the drinks tonight are
being charged to the shipboard recreation fund," Blair went on as if
Marshall hadn't spoken. Usually, drinks were paid for by the individual
officers and crewmen, with their cost charged against shipboard pay
accounts. But this was a special occasion—the first triumph of Victory's
new tour of duty. "So enjoy yourselves while you can. You'll be back on the
flight line soon enough!"

  That brought cheers from everyone. Most of the flight wing's personnel
were in the rec room for the party, except for pilots and technicians who
had duty tonight or first thing in the morning. There were also a fair
number of people from other carrier departments. Blair saw Lieutenant
Rollins at the bar, deep in conversation with a pretty redhead from Blue
Squadron.

   He looked around the room again and noticed a woman sitting alone at
one of the tables, her eyes resting on him with a coldly intense expression.
He recognized her from the Wing's personnel files: Lieutenant Laurel
Buckley (callsign Cobra), a member of Gold Squadron. That was all he
knew about her since her family and background records were sketchy.
She consistently received high marks in Colonel Dulbrunin's quarterly
evaluations in her file, but beyond that she was a mystery.

   The door opened behind Blair. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled
at Ralgha, receiving a slight bow in response before the Kilrathi moved on
toward the bar.

  "Hey, Hobbes," a new voice cut over the chatter that filled the room.
"How 'bout going a round with me, huh? Bet you a week's pay on one
hand."

   The Kilrathi shook his head gravely. "Thank you, no," he said, turning
to the bartender to order a drink.

   Blair studied the man who had hailed his friend. He was seated nearby,
a Chinese flight lieutenant who looked about thirty standard years old
until you saw the age in his eyes. The man caught Blair's look and flashed
him a lazy grin, holding up a deck of cards in one hand.

   "What about you, Colonel?" he asked, riffling the cards expertly. "Want
to play a hand? Since you're the new boy in town, I'll let you call the
game."

   "I think I'll keep my money if it's all the same to you," Blair said, sitting
down. The man was another pilot from Gold Squadron, and from all
appearances didn't have any problem serving with Hobbes. That
recommended him to Blair right away. "I learned a long, long time ago
never to play cards with the shipboard shark."
  "Well, it's a free Confed." The lieutenant put down the cards and stuck
out a hand. "I'm Vagabond. A belated welcome aboard's in order, I guess.
Or would condolences for your little scrap this morning be more
appropriate?"

   "Not much for protocol, are you?" Blair said, taking the proffered hand
in his. "Do you always go by your callsign or do you just have something
against the name Winston Chang?"

   He shrugged. "Formalities tend to be forgotten when you spend most of
your time just trying to survive, wouldn't you say?" He smiled, lifted his
drink, and took a sip. "What little spare time we have should not be
wasted on practicing salutes and mastering the intricacies of military
make-work."

  Blair looked him over, liking the man despite Changs irreverent
manner, or maybe because of it. "With that attitude, I'm surprised you've
been able to adapt to the military life at all."

   Vagabond shrugged again. "I've always felt that the military should
learn how to adapt to me, Colonel," he said with another grin. "After all,
I'm a genuine highflying hero type, with pilot's wings and everything!"

   Blair was about to make a sarcastic reply when his attention was drawn
to Hobbes. The Kilrathi had finished his drink in silence and turned from
the bar, heading for the door again, probably uncomfortable in the crowd
of humans. Ralgha, a Kilrathi noble before his defection, never
relinquished his aversion to large groups and noisy surroundings,
especially when they involved non-Kilrathi gatherings. It was one of the
reasons people found him so aloof and seemingly unfriendly, but it was
nearly as much a matter of carnivore instinct as of aristocratic breeding.

   As he approached the exit he brushed against the woman Blair had
seen watching him earlier, Lieutenant Buckley. She reached the door just
before Hobbes and stopped to listen to someone. Hobbes barely touched
her, but she spun quickly to confront him with an angry expression which
marred her attractive features. "Don't touch me!" she grated. "Don't ever
touch me, you goddamned furball!"

   Ralgha recoiled from her as if stricken, started to speak, then seemed to
think better of it. Instead he gave one of his bows and circled cautiously
around her. She glared at him until the door closed behind him.
   "Excuse me, Lieutenant," Blair said, suppressing the anger welling
inside him. "I have… a matter that needs to be attended."

  Chang looked from Blair to Buckley and back again, his smile gone. "I
understand," he said with a nod. "But I hope you'll keep something in
mind, Colonel. We've got a lot of good people on this ship. Even the ones
who may not fit in with your idea of… decorum."

  Blair stood up and crossed to the door. Buckley was still standing
nearby, flushed and angry. He took her elbow and pointed toward the
door. "Time we had a little talk, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "Outside."

  She let him lead her into the corridor. When the door closed and the
party sounds were no longer heard, they faced each other for a long
moment in silence.

   "Want to tell me what that little outburst was all about, Lieutenant?"
Blair asked.

   Buckley fixed him with an angry stare. "Ain't much to say, Colonel," she
said, managing to make the rank sound more like a swear word. "You
insisted on flying with it, and even after it let you down you'll probably still
take its part. Doesn't leave much scope for conversation, does it?"

   "Lieutenant Colonel Ralgha nar Hhallas is a superior officer,
lieutenant," Blair said sharply. "You will refer to him with respect. I will
not have one of my officers treating another member of the wing with
such blatant bigotry and hatred. Some day you might have to fly on his
wing, and when that happens…"

   "That won't happen, Colonel," she said stiffly. "I can't fly with… him,
and if you order it, I will resign my commission on the spot. That's all
there is to it."

   "I should take you up on that resignation right now, Lieutenant," Blair
said. "But you're a good pilot, and we need all the good pilots we can get.
I'd rather work this thing out. If you'd just give Hobbes a chance—"

   "You don't want me flying with him, sir," she said. "Because I won't
defend him in a fight. Better we go our separate ways… one way or
another."
   "Why? What's he ever done to you?"

  "He's Kilrathi," she said harshly. "That's enough. And there's nothing
you can do to change the way I feel."

   "I… see." Blair studied her face. It was a bad idea to let something like
this simmer inside the wing, but he wasn't willing to force a confrontation.
Not yet, at least. "I'll try to keep the two of you apart for the moment,
Lieutenant, but I expect you to behave like a Confed officer and not a
spoiled brat. Do you understand me?"

   "I wasn't asking for special favors, sir," she said, shrugging. "Just
thought you should know how things stand."

  "Just so you know where you stand, lieutenant," he said softly. "If I
have to pick between the two of you, I'll pick Hobbes every time. I'd trust
him with my life."

   She gave him a chilly smile. "That, Colonel, is your mistake to make."


                            CHAPTER V
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Orsini System

   The rec room was much quieter tonight than the night of the party and
considerably less crowded. Blair finished another long shift of poring over
reports and requisitions. He decided that a quick drink and a few
moments of simply sitting alone, perhaps watching the stars through the
compartments viewport, would help him get over the feeling of
confinement and constriction which plagued him more and more lately.
As he walked briskly through the door, he was hoping for some solitude.
He wanted to forget, just for a few minutes, that he had anything to do
with Victory, or the flight wing… or the war.

   But the impulse for solitude left him when he spotted Rachel Coriolis at
a table near the bar, viewing a holocassette that seemed to be displaying
schematics of a fighter Blair didn't immediately recognize. The chief tech
was one of the few people on board he felt comfortable around, and he was
certain she would know more than what information appeared in his
official files: real stories of some of his pilots and their backgrounds. After
the incident with Cobra Buckley the week before, Blair was still in the dark
about the woman's attitudes, and so far he hadn't been able to find any
answers.

   He stopped at the bar and ordered a glass of Tamayoan fire wine, then
walked over to Rachel's table. She looked up as he approached, giving him
a welcoming smile. "Hello, Colonel, slumming with the troops today? Pull
up a chair, if you don't mind being seen with one of us lowly techie types."

   "Thanks, Chief," he said. He sat down across the table from her and
studied the holographic schematics for a moment. "Don't think I recognize
that design."

   "One of the new Excaliburs," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.
"Isn't she a beauty? Heavy fighter with more guns and armor than a
Thunderbolt, but increased maneuverability to go with it. And I've heard a
rumor they're going to be mounted with a sensor cloak, so the little
darlings can sneak right past a Kilrathi defensive perimeter and nail the
hairballs at close range!"

   "Don't they classify that stuff any more?" Blair asked with a smile.

   She gave an unladylike snort. "Get real, skipper. Maybe you flyboys
don't hear anything 'til it gets declassified, but the techs have a network
that reaches damn near everywhere. We know what's coming off the line
before the brass does… and usually have all the design flaws spotted up
front, too."

   Blair chuckled. "Well, I hope your techs don't decide to turn on the rest
of us. I doubt we'd last long if you did. You like your job, don't you, Chief?"

   She switched off the hologram. "Yeah. I always liked working with
machines and computers. An engine part either works or it doesn't. No
gray areas. No doubletalk."

   "Machines don't lie," Blair said, nodding.

  "Not the way people do. And even when something's wrong with a
machine, you always know just where the problem is."

   Blair didn't say anything for a few minutes. Finally he looked her in the
eye. "I've got a people problem right now, Chief. I was wondering if you
could help me with it."

   "It ain't what I'm paid for," she told him, "and my free advice is worth
everything you spend for it. But I'll take a shot if you want."

  "Lieutenant Buckley. What can you tell me about her? The straight
dope, not the official file."

  She looked down at the table. "I heard about her little blowup with
Hobbes last week. Can't say anybody was surprised, though. She's never
made any big secret out of the way she feels about the Kilrathi."

    "What I want to know is why? I've been in the Navy for better than
fifteen years, Chief. I've been in all kinds of crews, seen all kinds of
shipmates and their hangups. But I never met anybody so single-minded
about the Kilrathi before. I mean, Maniac's got good reason to resent
Hobbes personally… but with Cobra, we're talking blind hatred. She won't
even give him a chance."

   "Yeah. Look, I don't know the whole story, so don't take this as gospel."
The tech leaned closer over the table and lowered her voice. "Right after
she came on board a buddy of mine from the old Hermes pointed her out
to me. She served there a year before she transferred here… her first
assignment."

   "I was curious about that in her file," Blair commented. "She seems
older than that. I'd have put her at thirty or so…"

   "That's about right," Rachel told him. "She got a late start. My friend
told me that the story on Cobra was that she'd been a Kilrathi slave for ten
years before the Marines rescued her from a labor camp. She spent some
more time in re-education, then joined up. She won top honors piloting,
and just cut through everything with this single-minded determination. I
think sometimes that the only thing holding Cobra's life together is the
hate she has for the Kilrathi. And I can't really say I blame her."

   Blair nodded slowly. "Maybe I can't, either," he said slowly. "I can't even
begin to imagine what it would be like to grow up a Kilrathi slave. She
must have been taken as a kid, raised to think of her own race as
animals…"

  "So it's no wonder she can't stomach Hobbes," the tech said bluntly.
"You and I know he's okay, but to her he just represents everything she
grew up hating and fearing." Rachel took a sip from her drink. "So cut her
some slack, Colonel. If you really want to fix the problem, that is."

   "I do," he said quietly. "But there are limits, you know. I sympathize
with her, but sometimes you just can't bend things far enough in the
Service to make all the square pegs fit."

   "That's why I'd rather work with machines," she told him. "Sooner or
later, people just screw up the works."

  "Maybe you're being too hard on people," he said "Some of us are okay
when you get to know us."

   She looked him up and down with a slow smile. "They need to pass
inspection, same as anything else." She stood up, collected the
holocassette, then tucked it into a pocket of her baggy coveralls. "I got
certain hours for that kind of quality control work, of course."

  Blair returned her smile, warming to her. "You keep that schedule
posted somewhere, Chief?"

   "Only for a select few, Colonel," she told him. "The ones with the best
schematics."

Ready Room, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   "I hope you're not expecting anything too exciting, Blair. This is
probably just another milk run, from the looks of it. At least that's what
we're hoping for."

    Blair studied Eisen's face, trying to locate a hint of sarcasm in his
expression. Since Gold Squadron's triumph over the Kilrathi cruiser and
its escort, enemy activity in the Orsini system had virtually disappeared,
and Victory had jumped to the Tamayo system, where they had been
carrying out a seemingly endless string of routine patrols. Blair and
Hobbes took their turn on the duty schedule along with the rest of the
wing, but so far there was no further combat. The only excitement since
the first big clash came when a pair of interceptors from Blue Squadron
tangled with four light Kilrathi fighters, sending them running in short
order.
   Eisen was right about the missions to date being milk runs, but was
there something more behind his comment? Meaning that was all Blair
could handle, perhaps? His impassive face gave away nothing as he called
up a holographic mission plan for Blair and Ralgha to study.

   "The cats—" Eisen broke off, shooting a look at Hobbes. "The Kilrathi
have been steering clear of the Victory, but they sent a couple of
squadrons of raiders to work the edges of the system, near the jump point
to Locanda. In the past week, they've picked off three transports outbound
for the Locanda colony while we've come up empty."

  Blair frowned. "I was posted in that system once, a few years back.
There's not a hell of a lot there. I'm surprised we sent three transports that
way in one week."

   The captain didn't reply right away. Finally he gave a shrug. "Some of
our intelligence sources in the Empire received word that the enemy is
planning a move against the Locanda System. Confed's been pumping
resources that way to try to catch them unprepared. Apparently the main
reason they are hanging around is to harass our supply lines." He looked
from Blair to Hobbes, then back to Blair again. "Needless to say, that
information stays in this room."

  "Yes, sir," Blair said. Ralgha nodded assent.

   "Right, then. Another transport is set to make a run today, but this
time we're sending an escort. We want to see if we can break this little
blockade of theirs once and for all, then open the pipeline into Locanda
again. Your job is to provide the escort and be ready for trouble, like I
said, with luck, they will miss this one. But if the bad guys return, we want
that transport covered. Understood?"

  "Aye, aye, sir," Blair replied formally.

  "Good. Let's cover the details…"

   It took a good ten minutes to go over the specifics of the mission,
establishing rendezvous coordinates and other details. When it was all
over, Blair and Hobbes stood. "We're ready, Captain," Blair said. "Come
on, Hobbes, let's get saddled up."

  "A moment more, Colonel, if you please," Eisen said, holding up a hand.
He shot Ralgha a look. "In private."

   "I will see you on the flight deck, Colonel," Hobbes said. The Kilrathi
seemed calm and imperturbable as ever, but Blair thought he could detect
a note of concern in his friend's tone.

  Blair sat back down as the Kilrathi left the room. "What can I do for
you, sir?"

   "Colonel, I'd like to discuss your attitude," Eisen said as soon as the
door had closed behind Hobbes. He sounded angry. "Seems to me you're
under the impression that you're too good to mix with the rest of the
pilots."

   "I'm not sure I understand, Captain," Blair said slowly. "I've been
getting to know them…"

   "But in three weeks aboard this tub, the only wingman you've flown
with is Hobbes." Eisen cut his attempted protest off. "I know he's your
friend, and I know there's still some bad feelings among some of the others
about working with him, but it isn't helping morale by you refusing to pair
with anybody else. I know Chang would fly with him, and probably one or
two of the others as well, so you could at least trade off now and then."

  "Sir, with all due respect, that isn't your decision to make," Blair told
him quietly. "You are CO of this ship, but the flight wing is my bailiwick.
Mine alone. I run the wing my way. A pilot has to be able to trust his
wingman, feeling complete total confidence in him, which is exactly the
way I feel about Hobbes. I choose to fly with him."

  "Even though he let you down your first time out?"

  "Sir?" Blair had been careful to keep the details of the first patrol
ambiguous in his official report.

   "Come on, Colonel, you know the networks. Even the CO hears some
things, no matter how much everybody works to cover them. Hobbes
hared off after an enemy fighter and left you in the lurch when they
jumped you."

  "I don't blame him, sir. The whole situation just sort of… developed."
   "Well, it's pretty difficult to see how you can continue to have
confidence in Hobbes after that mess, no matter how much you close your
eyes to it. And there's another point here, Blair. By saying how much you
trust Hobbes, you're implying that you don't have any faith in the others. I
don't like that. It's bad for morale—not just in your precious flight wing,
but involving the entire ship. I won't stand for anything that hampers the
performance of Victory or her crew." Eisen studied him for a few seconds.
"Do you have a problem with the rest of the wing?"

   "Sir, I just don't know them well enough yet," Blair said. "The only one I
do know is Marshall, and quite frankly I wouldn't fly with him if he was
the only pilot on this ship. He's a menace who should have had his wings
taken away a long time ago."

  Eisen looked thoughtful, but didn't speak.

   "As for the others," Blair went on. "Lieutenant Buckley has a good
record, but I'm not sure her head's screwed on straight. Chang seems like
a nice guy, but undisciplined and unpredictable. The others… I'm still
finding out about them. They are accustomed to each other, and they're
already paired into some pretty good teams. I don't think it is wise to rock
the boat until I've got a better handle on how they perform."

  "How will you find anything out about them if you don't fly with them?"

   "Every time they go out the launch tubes, I follow the mission from
Flight Control, Captain. Believe me, I'm starting to get a pretty good idea
of how they fly… and how they think. I'll start rotating the roster when I'm
ready… and not before then."

   "Well, I strongly suggest you speed up the process a bit, Colonel," Eisen
said. "Get to know them and start flying with them. If you don't, I think
you're going to have a serious morale problem. Is that clear?"

  "As a bell, sir."

  "Then you're dismissed." Eisen hesitated a moment. "And… good luck
out there today, Colonel."

   "Thank you, sir." Blair stood and gave Eisen a quick salute, then left the
ready room. As he rode down the elevator to the Flight Deck, he reviewed
in his mind everything the captain said. By the time the doors slid open,
he was seething inside.

   Someone plainly ran to Eisen behind his back, carrying tales, and
hinting that Blair was unfit. Blair was sure he knew just who it was.

Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

  A knock on the door made Blair look up from his computer terminal.
"Enter," he said.

    "You wanted to see me, Colonel?" It was Maniac Marshall, wearing a
flight suit and carrying his colorfully painted helmet under one arm. "I'm
up for a patrol in fifteen minutes, so this'd better be quick."

  "It will be, Marshall," Blair said coldly.

   The major started to sit, but Blair fixed him with an angry stare. "I
didn't give you permission to make yourself at home, Mister," he told the
pilot. "You're at attention."

   Marshall hesitated a moment, then straightened up. "Yes, sir, Colonel,
sir," he responded.

   "I have a little job for you, Major," Blair said, his voice low and
dangerous. "This morning, before my escort run with Hobbes, Captain
Eisen chatted with me about this unit's morale. He seemed to feel that I
was not inspiring confidence and good feeling among my people here."

   Marshall didn't respond. There was a long silence before Blair
continued. "From some of the things he said, I suspect that someone in
the wing has been going behind my back to him, carrying all sorts of
complaints about the way I choose to run things. Needless to say, Major, I
regard this as a very serious breach of protocol. Members of a flight wing
do not go outside the chain of command with their petty jealousies and
personal problems, and I intend to have no repetitions of this little
incident. Therefore, Major, I'm putting you in charge of reporting any
further violations of military procedure in the wing to me. If it comes to
my attention that there have been additional incidents of wing personnel
going outside the chain of command this way, I'll hold you responsible. Do
I make myself clear, Major?"
   "Crystal clear," Marshall said, enunciating each syllable precisely. After
a long pause he added, "Sir."

   "Very good, Major," Blair said. "I won't keep you from your patrol any
longer. You're dismissed."

   He leaned back in his chair as Marshall left the office, feeling some of
the anger and tension draining from him. Blair was convinced from the
very beginning that Marshall was the one who had been complaining to
Eisen, but of course he had no proof. This put Maniac on notice without
requiring any actual accusations.

   The confrontation alleviated some of the frustrations of the morning
operation. He and Hobbes had escorted the transport to the jump point
without any sign of an enemy fighter. The return trip proved equally
peaceful. That was good, in one sense, but it was beginning to seem as if
he would never get a chance to compensate for their first unsuccessful
mission. It was even more unnerving to discover that raiders had hit
another ship leaving the Locanda System at the same jump point just an
hour after Blair and Hobbes returned to the Victory.

   The whole situation gave him pause for thought. He could not help
mulling over the conversation with Hobbes after their first battle and the
Kilrathi's speculations about the possibility of an intelligence breach.
Could someone be feeding details of Confed ship movements to the
enemy? And, if so, was there some specific reason why he and Hobbes
might be singled out for special attention? Blair was still struck by the fact
that the Kilrathi had seemed to want to avoid engaging Hobbes…

   He remembered old Cultural Intelligence briefings about Kilrathi social
customs. Perhaps there was a high-ranking Imperial noble assigned to the
Orsini System who had declared a formal state of feud with Ralgha nar
Hhallas. That might make other pilots wary of getting involved, leading
them to avoid action against Hobbes.

   It sounded like a good working theory… but it still suggested that the
Kilrathi knew much more about Confed operations than they should. Were
they simply keeping close track of Terran communications or might there
be spies in the fleet, even here aboard the Victory?

  Did Cobra, the ex-slave, have any place in all this? Or was it all just an
unfortunate but suspicious coincidence?
  Blair hoped that was the case. He did not want to face the reality that
someone in his flight wing was actually a Kilrathi spy.

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   "Sir?"

   Blair turned his chair to face the door to the Flight Control Center. It
was nearly midnight, ship's time, but he had decided to spend some extra
hours tonight going over flight plans for the Wing's projected operations
for the next day. He hoped to extend patrols to cover the Locanda jump
point more effectively so that future losses in that volume of space might
be avoided. If he couldn't find a better way to keep the Kilrathi raiders
under control, he would talk Eisen into actually moving the carrier closer
to the jump point for a more constant watch.

  He was glad of the interruption. It was difficult and tedious work at
best. After working for hours, any break in the routine was welcome.

   Blair studied the slender, slightly-built young woman standing in the
open doorway. She was another of Gold Squadron's pilots, Lieutenant
Robin Peters, but so far he had not spoken with her. Nonetheless, Blair
was impressed by both her combat record and her patrol performance
since he had joined the ship. She was most frequently teamed with Chang
as wingman. The two made a competent team. "They call you Flint,
right?" he asked.

   She nodded. "Glad to see you've at least looked over the flight roster,
sir," she said with a faint smile.

   "I've given it a glance," Blair responded.

   "Then maybe you've noticed, sir, that there are other pilots on board,
aside from Colonel Ralgha."

   "People on this ship sure as hell do take a lot of interest in my choice of
partners," Blair said. "Wingman assignments were still my prerogative,
last time I checked."

   "Sir," the lieutenant began, sounding tentative. "I come from a long line
of fighter pilots. My brother, my father, his father before him… I guess you
could say flying's in my blood."

  "Your point being… ?"

  "I know your record, and I would expect you to at least look over ours.
We have racked up our share of kills. We're not scrubs out here, sir."

  "Nobody said you were," Blair told her.

   "No, sir, nobody ever said anything. But you've made it pretty clear you
don't think the rest of us are worth flying with." She looked away. "If you
don't give us a try, how are you ever going to decide if we're up to your
standards?"

    "Oh, I've made a few decisions already, Lieutenant," Blair said. "Believe
it or not, I do know something about how a flight wing works. I've only
been serving in the damned things for my entire adult life." He paused for
a moment. "So you feel I should be flying with other wingmen, not just
Hobbes. You have any specific recommendations?"

   She looked back at him with a hint of a smile. "Oh, I would never
presume to do your job for you, sir. After all, choice of wingmen is your
prerogative, isn't that right? I just work here…"

   "Well, consider your message delivered, Lieutenant." He smiled, coming
to a decision about the woman. "And tomorrow afternoon, when you take
that fourth shift patrol you're scheduled for…"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "I hope you'll be willing to break in a new wingman. He's an old-timer,
but not a scrub… at least I hope not."

  "I'll be looking forward to it, sir."


                           CHAPTER VI
Thunderbolt 3OO
Tamayo System

  "Well, looks like we came up dry again," Blair said over the comm
channel, not bothering to hide his disgust. "Shall we head for home,
Lieutenant?"

  "Sounds good to me, sir," Flint responded.

  The patrol was routine, like so many others the Victory's pilots
encountered these past few weeks. It seemed that changing wingmen had
not brought any corresponding change in Blair's luck.

   "Watchdog Leader, this is Kennel. Do you copy, over?" The voice
belonged to Lieutenant Rollins. Victory's Communications Officer sounded
keyed up.

  "This is Watchdog Leader," Blair said. "What've you got, Kennel?"

  "Long-range sensors are picking up a large flight of incoming bogies,
Colonel," Rollins said. "And they ain't friendly, by the looks of things.
They're coming from quadrant Delta… looks like a full-scale attack force,
not just a patrol. Captain requests you RTB immediately."

    "Roger that, Kennel," Blair said. "We will Return To Base immediately."
He was visualizing the tactical situation in his mind's eye. Relative to the
carrier's position, ships coming out of Delta Quadrant would be almost
exactly opposite the point he and Flint were covering on their patrol, and
if the enemy appeared on the long-range sensors, they would be located
within the same range of the ship as the two Thunderbolts. Blair could
expect to get back to Victory at approximately the same time as the
enemy, presuming they were planning to press home the attack.

   Suddenly he wished that he had not complained about the lack of
action quite so much…

   "Kennel, this is Watchdog Leader," Blair went on after a moments
pause. "Order Red and Gold Squadrons on a full magnum launch, all
fighters up. Colonel Ralgha to take operational command until I arrive.
And call in all Blue Squadron patrols as well. I want them to rendezvous
with me at coordinates Beta-Ten-Niner."

  "Rendezvous… Beta-Ten-Zero-Nine," the lieutenant repeated. "
Understood."

  "Have Chief Coriolis put up a refueling shuttle to meet us at those
coordinates. Launch ASAP… before the furballs get close enough to
interfere."

  "A fuel shuttle, Colonel?" Rollins sounded uncertain.

   "You heard me, Lieutenant," Blair said. "All of the patrol flights are
near the end of their cycles out here. I was about to head for home, but I
don't plan on any of us hitting an all-out donnybrook with dry tanks, so
we'll do some in-flight refueling before we join the party. Any problems
with that on your end?"

   "Ah… wait one, Watchdog," Rollins said. Blair could picture the man,
in the silence that followed, passing on the gist of his orders to Eisen for
confirmation.

   While he waited for a confirmation from Victory, Blair called up his
navigation display and entered the rendezvous coordinates into the
autopilot. "Flint, you copy all that?"

    "Yeah, Colonel," she responded, sounding excited. "Looks like we get a
little party after all."

   "Watchdog, this is Kennel," Roflins said before he had a chance to
respond to Peters. "Your instructions are being carried out. Captain says
not to stop for any sightseeing along the way."

  "Tell him the cavalry's on the way," Blair said, smiling. "Okay, Flint, you
heard the man. Punch it!"

   The computer took over the controls, steering the fighter toward the
rendezvous point while Blair concentrated on monitoring the comm
channels to keep track of the unfolding operation. It appeared things were
going smoothly on the ship. Fighters were routinely kept on standby,
prepped for a magnum launch on fifteen minute's notice or less. If Blair
was right about Chief Coriolis, it would definitely be "or less" today. He
had faith in her department… as well as in her.

   What worried him more was the wing itself. Hobbes would have to take
charge until Blair was close enough to do more than hurl advice, and with
the previous bad feelings about the Kilrathi renegade, there could be
trouble on the firing line. If a hot-head like Maniac or Cobra decided not
to accept Ralgha's orders, the whole situation could degenerate into a
disaster in minutes. Hobbes knew all the right moves, but did he have a
sufficiently forceful personality to make a collection of Confed pilots, a
notoriously independent breed at the best of times, carry out those moves
the way they were supposed to?

  "Rendezvous coordinates coming up, sir," Flint reported, jerking Blair
out of his reverie. "The shuttle's on my scope now."

   He checked his own monitor. "Confirmed. Looks like we're first" That
made sense. The long-range interceptors on patrol in Alpha and Gamma
Quadrants were further from the ship when he issued the recall order,
probing ahead of the Victory. He and Flint took the rear patrol, covering
both Beta and Delta in the carrier's wake. "All right, Flint, belly up to the
bar and get your fighter a drink."

   "Roger," was her laconic reply.

   After a few minutes, she reported her tanks full and cast off from the
shuttle, making room for Blairs fighter. He lined up the boxy little craft
with practiced ease, letting the shuttle's tractor beams snag the
Thunderbolt and pull it in slowly. When they were bare meters apart, a
refueling hose extended from the belly of the shuttle to plug into the tank
mounted amidships. "Contact," he announced as the green light showed
on his status board. Fuel began to flow from shuttle to fighter.

   When it was finally over, Blair released the hose and watched it reel
into the shuttle before applying reverse thrusters to edge the Thunderbolt
away. "Watchdog Leader to Shuttle Hardy. Thanks for a wonderful time.
But I'm not always this easy on a first date, y'know?"

   The shuttles pilot chuckled. "You mean you're not going to stick around
and cuddle? You flyboys are all alike." There was a pause. "Nail a couple of
kitty-cats for us, Colonel, since we can't be in the shooting."

  "They also serve who only stand and pump fuel, Hardy " Blair
misquoted. "You just keep our people flying."

Hunt Leader
Tamayo System

   Flight Commander Arrak could feel the battle lust surging through his
veins. For better than eight days, his squadron operated in this
human-held system, yet with orders not to press a full-scale battle with the
enemy. Ambushes of enemy transport ships and clashes with Terran
fighter patrols were reported by other squadrons off the carrier Sar'hmi,
but all strictly limited to the point where pilots were beginning to
complain of the stain on their honor.

   Now that was changed. Operation Unseen Death was beginning, and
Sar'hrai now was ordered to damage or destroy the Terran carrier
stationed in this system, to further isolate the main target of the Kilrathi
strike, the nearby system the humans called Locanda. Warriors of the
Empire need not hold back any longer…

   "Hunt Flight, Hunt Flight, this is Sar'hrai Command." The voice
belonged to Khantahr Baron Vurrig nor Tsahl, the carrier's commanding
officer. "Remember standing orders. Engage all enemy craft
encountered… but if you identify the fighter belonging to the renegade
Ralgha, he is not to be attacked. Repeat, on positive identification of the
Terran pilot called Ralgha, or Hobbes, break off action and do not press
the attack."

   The order made Arrak want to snarl in defiance. Didn't the High
Command realize what a problem it was distinguishing Terran fighters in
combat? The orders had been issued since the arrival of the Terran ship.
They had already deprived Arrak of the chance to score a kill against the
renegade the day before, his one chance of real action to date. Kilrathi
ships monitored Terran communications closely to track the movements
of the renegade, and a pilot in the Talon Squadron was executed by the
Khantahr for protesting those orders in the name of a feud between his
clan and the renegade.

   Clearly the orders came from very high up indeed, if they overrode a
clan feud. Arrak heard a rumor that the order originated within the
Imperial Palace, which meant Crown Prince Thrakhath must have taken a
personal interest in the matter. But it would not be easy, in the heat of a
major battle, to carry out those instructions.

   The renegade was better dead anyway. Years ago he had defected,
carrying an entire capital ship and enough vital secrets to set back the
Imperial war effort by a decade. Since that time, the scum (once a Lord of
the Empire but now nothing more than an outcast) actually dared fly
human fighters against his own kind.
   Well, the confusion of battle made it difficult to know when orders were
violated accidentally… or deliberately. And given any chance at all, Arrak
knew he would not turn from destroying the traitor Ralgha if the chance
presented itself.

  "Hunt Flight," he said, exulting at the approach of battle. "Prepare to
engage!"

Thunderbolt 3OO
Tamayo System

  "Here they come!"

   "Maintain formation. Meet the enemy with overwhelming force, and
he will be ours."

  "Look sharp, people …"

   The voices on the radio were growing more and more excited, except
for the rigidly controlled growl from Hobbes. Blair could feel his own
adrenaline pumping as if he was already on the firing line beside the other
pilots. He fought to keep from adding encouraging comments of his own
to the radio traffic that was already out there.

  He checked his autopilot display again. ETA four minutes…

   Blair was torn between waiting for the outlying patrol ships to assemble
and refuel so the entire force could strike at once, and plunging straight
into the fray as quickly as he and Flint could to reach the vicinity of the
Victory. Eisen had urged them not to lose any time, but a larger relief
force would certainly have been worth a few extra minutes.

   In the end, though, Blair had decided that he and Flint needed to join
the others as quickly as possible. The question of how well Hobbes could
control the wing loomed over him in addition to the potential ill effects on
morale if Blair missed the second large-scale fight mounted by his flight
wing. So he left instructions for the two interceptor patrols to form a
single relief flight, but he and Flint were already on their way into battle.

  He was glad of the decision now. It would be four minutes before the
two Thunderbolts could join their comrades, and in combat, four minutes
could be an eternity.
   "They're breaking formation," a voice announced. Blair thought it was
Lieutenant Chang. "Starting their attack runs… now!"

   "I've got the first hairball" Maniac Marshall announced. "Watch my
tail, Sandman."

   "Do not lose contact with your wingmen," Ralgha's voice urged. "And
do not let them draw you away from the carrier."

   From the chatter, Blair could picture the unfolding battle even before
Rollins fed him tactical information on his monitors. They counted at least
thirty incoming Kilrathi ships, a mix of Dralthi and lighter Darket, ranged
against eighteen Confed fighters and the larger but less responsive
hull-mounted defensive batteries aboard Victory. From the sound of
things, Hobbes was trying to keep the Terran craft in a rough defensive
line, with paired wingmen watching over one another. But hotheads like
Marshall were likely to let themselves be distracted by individual
opponents and drawn into dogfights, forgetting the big picture.

  The Kilrathi had ships to spare. They would still be able to hurl a
powerful force against the Terran carrier after all the screening fighters
were accounted for.

   "I've got the next one." That voice, cold and deadly, belonged to
Lieutenant Buckley. Another pilot easily drawn by the enemy, if she took
her attitude into the cockpit with her. "See how you like this, kitty!"

   "I always heard about target-rich environments!" Blair recognized the
voice as belonging to Captain Max "Mad Max" Lewis, another Gold
Squadron pilot. "C'mon, Vaquero, let's show 'em a thing or two!"

   "Scratch one! Scratch one! We have achieved kitty litter!" Marshall's
cry was triumphant.

   "Make that two," Cobra chimed in a moment later. Despite the depth
of her hatred, she sounded as tightly controlled as Hobbes, as if the wild
passion were translated into a cold, deadly intensity.

  Blair checked his autopilot. Two minutes…

  "Flint, go to afterburners," he ordered. "Full power. Lets get up there!"
He shoved his throttles fully into the red zone, feeling the extra G-force
press him against his seat.

  "Maniac! Maniac! I've got two on my tail! Give me a hand, Maniac!
"That was Marshall's wingman, Lieutenant Alex Sanders, running name
Sandman. After a pause, he went on, voice rising with excitement… or
panic. "For God's sake, Maniac, give me a hand!"

   "Break left on my signal, Sandman," Ralgha's voice cut him off. "
Steady … steady . . . break!"

   The tactical sensors were picking up details of the battle now, and Blair
watched as the symbols representing Hobbes and Vagabond moved
together to support the beleaguered Sanders. Maniac Marshall was far
away now, almost at the limit of the scans, hotly engaged with a Dralthi
and paying little attention to the other Confed pilots.

   One of the Kilrathi ships pursuing Sandman disappeared under the
onslaught of Ralghas sudden attack, while Chang dove in toward the
second and forced it to break off.

  "Thanks, Hobbes," Sanders said, a little breathless now. "I… thanks."

   "I'm hit! Front armor's gone . . . my shields …" Mad Max Lewis was
almost incoherent. "He's coming in for another pass… Noooooo!!"

   The symbol representing the Terran Thunderbolt faded from Blair's
tactical screen. The rest of the fighters were jumbled together, a mad,
chaotic dance played on the screen while Blair clenched his hands around
his steering yoke in frustration. Gold Squadron was fully engaged now,
while the lighter craft of Red Squadron operated on the fringes of the
battle, surrounding any Kilrathi ships that penetrated the defensive line.
But the sheer weight of numbers began to play a major role as more and
more Kilrathi pilots jumped into the fray. Even though they flew as
individuals, they were still a team determinedly pressing their Terran
opponents.

   "Enemy coming into range, Colonel!" Flint warned. "What's your
pleasure?"

   "Stick close, Flint," he said, powering up his weapons and locking his
targeting array on the nearest Dralthi. "And watch my back. Things are
going to get pretty damned rough out here in a second or two!"
   His target chased a Thunderbolt, the two fighters circling each other,
attempting to find some type of advantage. Now, as Blair and Flint
appeared, the Dralthi broke off and rolled left, dodging and juking as it
tried to gain some distance.

   "Not this time, fuzzball," Blair said, lining up the crosshairs and
opening fire with his blasters. The energy bolts raked along the top of the
enemy fighter, hitting directly behind the cockpit, between two large,
forward-sweeping bat-wings. The Kilrathi fighter seemed to stagger and
wrenched away to port as the pilot tried to evade. Blair used his thrusters
to spin his ship in flight and lined up on the Dralthi again before the
Kilrathi could finish his turn.

   His fingers tightened over the firing stud, and the blasters tore through
the weakened shields and armor. The fighter disappeared in a ball of
flame and spinning debris. "Got him!" Blair said. He checked his sensor
monitor for a fresh target.

   "Thanks for the assist, Colonel," said the pilot of the fighter he had
rescued. It was Lieutenant Mitchell Lopez, Vaquero, who had been Mad
Max's wingman.

   "Welcome to the battle, my friend" Ralgha said. "Will you take over
the command?"

   "I relieve you, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Gold Squadron, from Blair.
Reform on me! You're getting too damned spread out. Repeat, reform
skirmish line around me. Hobbes, what's the story?"

   "One Thunderbolt and two Hellcats destroyed, Colonel," Ralgha said
formally. "And Lieutenant Jaegers Thunderbolt is severely damaged."

  "Right. Jaeger, disengage. If you think you can make a safe landing, get
back to the carrier. Otherwise pull back and we'll help you in later. Who's
your wingman?"

  "Cobra, sir," Helmut "Beast" Jaeger responded.

  "Okay. Vaquero, Cobra, you're teamed now. Cover Beast's withdrawal
and then get back in formation. Got me?"

  "Understood," Vaquero replied.
   There was a pause before Cobra spoke up. The tactical display showed
she was still engaged with a Darket, but her opponent suddenly vanished
from the screen. "I'm on it, Colonel" Lieutenant Buckley said at last. "Let's
do it, Vaquero, so we can get back in there and kill us some cats!"

  The three Thunderbolts peeled off, while the rest of the Terran craft
began to take their positions around Blair and Flint… all except one.

    "Marshall!" Blair rasped. "Maniac, if you don't get your tail back here
I'll open fire on you myself!"

  "Coming, Mother," Maniac responded, unabashed.

    The fighting was still going on, and Blair restrained himself from
flinging himself into the action as he issued orders and studied the tactical
situation. By now the battle had moved close enough to the Victory for the
carrier's big guns to join in the defense, and that was forcing the Kilrathi
force to be cautious. Their casualties were heavier than the Terrans', but
they still outnumbered Blair's command slightly, and more of their ships
were comparatively fresh and undamaged. The odds still didn't look too
good.

   Blairs mind raced, grappling with the tactical picture on his screen.
Somehow the Terrans had to take the initiative, force the Kilrathi to battle
under conditions favoring the defenders. Victory's guns would go a long
way toward redressing the balance. So would the four interceptors, but
they were still at least six minutes away, and after the initial surprise of
their arrival they could not sustain a long-term advantage under these
circumstances. What they needed was a way to maximize all of the Terran
assets in one thrust, something the Kilrathi would not see coming.

  He found himself smiling grimly under his helmet. There was one
maneuver that just might work…

  "Kennel, Kennel, this is Watchdog Leader," he said urgently. "Come in,
Kennel."

  "Reading you, Colonel" Rollins replied.

   "Go to tight-beam and scramble," he ordered, switching the circuits on
his comm system. A moment later a green light shimmered under the
comm screen, indicating that Rollins had set up a tight laser-link between
the carrier and his fighter. The system was excellent for secure
communications between large ships or between the carrier and an
individual fighter, but it was inefficient for ship-to-ship transmissions
between fighters due to their smaller size, higher speeds, and
unpredictable maneuvering.

   But what Blair wanted to do now must be kept secret until his trap was
sprung.

   "I want you to pass the word to each fighter, lieutenant," Blair said
without preamble. "New orders for all ships. On my mark…"

Hunt Leader
Tamayo System

  Flight Commander Arrak gave a snarl of triumph as he listened to the
computer translation of the Terran command frequency radio broadcasts.

   "We can't take any more of this!" the human commander was saying. "
All ships, break off and tvithdraw! Break off while you still can!"

  That was what Arrak had been waiting to hear. The Terrans put up a
good fight, but they were outnumbered and outgunned, and he knew they
would be stretched too thin sooner or later. This was his chance.

   "They are beginning to withdraw," he said, the battle madness singing
inside him. "Concentrate fire on the carrier. We will deal with the apes
once the capital ship is destroyed!"

   On his tactical screen, the Terran fighters were breaking off to flee past
the covering bulk of the carrier. Arrak showed his fangs and pushed his
throttles forward. He sensed a moment's regret that he was unable to
corner the ship he had identified as the renegade's, but his duty now was
clear.

   The renegade would still be out there, and helpless, once the carrier was
destroyed.

   "Talons of the Emperor!" he called, the old battle cry making him
tremble with anticipation of glory. "Attack! Attack! Attack!"
                         CHAPTER VII
Thunderbolt 3OO
Tamayo System

  "They're heading in," Blair said. "Look sharp, people."

   On his screen, he saw the blips representing the Kilrathi attack force
gathering speed as they advanced toward the Victory. With the Terran
fighters withdrawing from the battle, the Kilrathi could begin high-speed
attack runs on the carrier, using maneuverability and velocity to evade the
beams from the capital ships defensive batteries. It was exactly the kind of
situation every pilot hoped for: a big, clumsy carrier stripped of its
defensive fighters and lying almost helpless against a massed bombing
run.

  Only this time, the carrier wouldn't be quite as helpless as she
appeared…

  "Captain says any time you're ready, Colonel," Rollins said, a note of
worry creeping into his voice.

   He didn't let the lieutenants fears push him into acting too soon. Blair
checked his sensors again, saw the four interceptors beginning their swing
to bring them squarely behind the attackers. His own fighters had started
this maneuver feigning panic and disorder, but now they were beginning
to reform into four distinct groups.

  The time was almost right…

   "Execute!" He almost shouted the order as he wrenched the steering
yoke fiercely and advanced the throttles into the afterburner red zone
again. By the time this counterthrust was over he would be nearly dry
again, but hopefully none of the Confed fighters would need any fuel
reserves after this. "Execute turn and attack at will…"

   Inevitably, someone—it sounded like Maniac—gave a whoop and
shouted "Who's Will?" Blair ignored it and concentrated on the enemy
ships clustered ahead.

   The carrier opened fire with a barrage from her main batteries. One of
the attackers flew straight into the beams. It came apart, looking like a
spectacular fireball that seemed to herald the beginning of the new phase
of this savage fight.

  Blair hoped it would be the final phase.

Hunt Leader
Tamayo System

  "It is a trap! The apes have set a trap!"

   Arrak somehow refrained from cursing or snarling, but despite his
control he still thought longingly of sinking his fangs into the neck of the
pilot, whoever he was, who filled the comm channel with his inspired
revelations of the obvious. Yes, the apes had set a trap, drawn his fighters
in closer to the Terran carrier where they would be caught between the
capital ship's big guns and four… no, make it five converging groups of
fighters. There were more Confederation craft out there now, a whole new
group that had not been in the fight until now. It was a masterful trap,
worthy of a Kilrathi hunter.

   "Break off!" he snarled. "Break off the action against the carrier and
regroup. It seems we have to give the hairless apes another lesson before
we can finish this."

   Then he had no more time for talk. A pair of heavy Terran fighters
suddenly appeared out of nowhere and were trying to lock onto him from
the rear. Arrak needed all his skill and concentration to keep the enemy
from winning that decisive advantage. He pulled a tight, high-G turn to
starboard, using his attitude thruster to make the Dralthi swing around
even faster, and opened fire with all guns at once. The Terran fighter's
shields absorbed most of the damage, but his sensors registered a hit
against the underlying armor as well.

  "You fly well," the Terran pilot commented, using the standard
Imperial tactical band. "Are you worth fighting? Declare yourself if you
wish the honor of battle with Ralgha nar Hhallas."

   Arrak showed his fangs under his flight helmet. The renegade! He
couldn't reply, lest he reveal to his superiors his disobedience of standing
orders, but he could defend himself against the enemy attack…

  The Kilrathi passed mere meters from the Terran fighter, close enough
to see the bulky spacesuited shape of his adversary through the viewport.

  It would be a battle to remember.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Tamayo System

   "A hit! A hit! That'll show the kitty who's the boss!" "Rein it in,
Maniac, and do your job," Blair snapped. He lined up a shot and launched
a heat-seeker at the nearest Darket, his eyes already searching the sensor
screen for a fresh target. He hardly needed to look to know when the
lighter Kilrathi ship blew up. He had encountered these fighters often
enough over the years to know just about what level of punishment they
could take, and he was rarely wrong.

  Close by, Flint was heavily engaged with a Dralthi, the two fighters
weaving a complex pattern as they circled and dodged, looking for a
moment's advantage to administer a lethal strike.

  "You need an assist, Flint?" Blair asked, steering toward the
dogfighters.

   The Thunderbolt delivered a sustained burst of energy beams at the
Dralthi and dived in hard and fast. "Find your own party, Colonel," Flint
said. "This furball is all mine!"

   A pair of missiles streaked from the underside of her wings and struck
home just above the Dralthi's engine mountings. An expanding ball of
superheated gas and whirling debris consumed the Kilrathi ship, and
Peters drove her Thunderbolt straight through the fireball with a
triumphant shout, "Yes! That's another one for you, Davie!"

   Blair wondered who she was talking about or to, but only for a moment.
His attention returned to the monitor, showing the Terran trap closing
perfectly. By having Rollins pass his orders by tight-beam
communications finks, he was able to prime the entire Terran force to fall
back on his broadcast command. It looked and sounded like a
panic-stricken withdrawal, but in fact everyone knew their precise jobs
and prepared for a counterattack as soon as he gave the signal. Now the
carrier was laying down a withering barrage, and the four refueled
interceptors from Blue Squadron appeared to join the Hellcats and
Thunderbolts in closing off the enemy escape route.

   Now the Terran fighters were spread in a rough hemispherical
formation, trying to keep the Kilrathi from escaping the trap. Even if they
did, the Kilrathi took heavy losses in the counterthrust. They knew they
were in a fight, that much was certain.

   "Hobbes, can you help me out?" That was Vagabond, his breathing
sharp and rapid. "I got two of these guys all over my tail! I need help here
…"

  "I cannot assist," Ralgha replied. "My opponent is pressing me very
hard."

   Blair checked his screen, noted the two fighters. They weren't far away.
"Flint, you back up Chang," he ordered. "I'll backstop Hobbes. Got it?"

  "Got it," Flint confirmed. "Vagabond, you just keep the little bastards
busy. I'm on the way!"

   Ralgha and his opponent were well-matched, though the heavier
Thunderbolt should have given Hobbes an edge. That was probably offset
by the fact that the Dralthi was more maneuverable, at least in the hands
of a good pilot, and from the looks of things this one was little short of
brilliant. Before Blair could get into effective range, the enemy ship
executed a perfect fishhook maneuver, angling away from the Thunderbolt
until just the right moment, then suddenly turning back on itself and
driving in fast with guns blazing. Somehow Ralgha managed to evade the
worst of the fire and loop around to settle on the other pilot's tail as he
shot past, but a moment later the Dralthi applied full braking thrusters
and Hobbes shot past him. Now their roles were reversed, with the enemy
pilot tailing Ralgha.

   The targeting reticule on Blair's HUD flashed red, the signal for a target
lock. Blair opened fire, concentrating on a weakened spot in the Kilrathi's
shields. The enemy ship took a hit, then rolled out of the line of fire and
accelerated off at an unexpected angle.

  "Damn," Blair muttered. "This guy's good."

   "Agreed," Ralgha said gravely. "But not, I think, good enough to fight
us both, my friend. He withdraws now."
    His sensor screen confirmed Ralgha's comment. The enemy pilot was
still accelerating away from the two Terrans, evidently content to leave
them alone for the time being.

Hunt Leader
Tamayo System

   Flight Commander Arrak felt his blood lust begin to fade. For a few
moments he nearly lost himself to the battle madness, until the second
Terran fighter appeared and launched its devastating attack. Although he
managed to evade the worst of it, the enemy fire shorted out his weapons
systems and left Arrak without armaments, unable to carry on the
dogfight.

   Some Kilrathi pilots might have continued in the battle anyway,
seeking one good chance to ram an opponent and die with his claws
figuratively at the enemy's throat. That was the stuff of battle songs and
the Warriors Path. But Arrak was a flight commander, and he owed duty
to his warriors as well as to his Clan and his honor. Right now it was
Arrak's duty to extricate as many of his pilots from this debacle as
possible. There was no way that throwing himself into a collision with the
renegade or another Terran ship would help to accomplish what needed to
be done.

    He studied his tactical display with a sinking feeling that was only
partial regret for failing to finish the fight. Only one fighter in four of his
original force of four eights was still flying, and most of those were
damaged. Still, they broke clear of the Terran defensive line while the
Confederation fighters engaged their less fortunate comrades. Now it was
the Imperial force that was outnumbered and outgunned, and there was
little hope of achieving any sort of dramatic success now. They might take
out a few of the Terrans, but at an even heavier price than they had paid
already.

  "All ships return to Sar'hrai," Arrak ordered reluctantly. "Withdraw
and return to Sar'hrai immediately."

   "Flight Commander, not all of our comrades have disengaged," a pilot
argued, snarling anger. "If we withdraw they will fall to the fangs and
claws of the apes..."
   "Then stay and die with them!" Arrak snapped. "And your Clan will
know the dishonor of owning a warrior who disobeys a direct order in the
face of battle!"

   He didn't wait for a reply. At full acceleration, the Dralthi turned away
from the disastrous battle and drove through the empty dark, seeking the
security of home.

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   Blair's fighter was last to return after the battle, and it took several
minutes for the backed-up traffic handlers on the flight deck to get to him.
By the time his Thunderbolt rolled to a stop in its repair bay, the deck was
fully pressurized and the gravity was restored to Earth-normal. All three
shifts of technicians were assembled to handle the returning fighters, and
there was a lot of activity on the deck when Blair finally climbed out of his
cockpit and started toward the entrance to Flight Control.

   A welcoming committee met him, not just technicians and some of his
pilots but crewmen from every department of the ship, surging into the
expanse of the flight deck, cheering loudly. Eisen was at the head of the
pack, with Lieutenant Rollins close behind him. Rachel Coriolis stood to
one side with a grin on her face, flashing him a thumbs-up sign.

   "Good job, Colonel," Eisen said. "A credit to the ship. You did the old
girl proud today."

  "Outstanding!" Rollins added. "You really outfoxed those kitties today!"

   Blair returned their smiles, but inside he was feeling anything but
triumphant. They had barely beaten off the Kilrathi attack; a few more
enemy fighters would have turned the tide against the Terrans. Then there
was the inevitable butcher's bill: Mad Max Lewis was dead, along with five
pilots from Red Squadron and one from Blue. Seven dead out of
twenty-four pilots engaged… steep losses indeed. And some of the ones
who made it back suffered serious damage in the fighting. They could
easily have lost twice as many ships if the Kilrathi had only been a little
luckier or a little better armed.

  Everyone else saw it as a great victory, but for Blair it was just one
more battle. One more chance for good men to die staving off defeat for a
little while longer without accomplishing anything significant in the
process. That had been the story of the war for as long as he could
remember now: meaningless victories, defeats that drove the
Confederation further and further down, and always death. Death was the
only constant through it all.

   He left the cheering throng behind and pushed through to the steps
that led up to Flight Control. Maybe the others could celebrate, but all
Blair felt like doing now was mourning the dead.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   There was another victory party scheduled for the evening, and it
promised to be even bigger and more boisterous than the earlier one. Blair
knew he would have to put in an appearance, but he decided to drop by
the rec room early to get a drink or two under his belt before things got
too far out of hand.

   When he arrived, he thought for a moment that he was already too late.
He opened the door to a blast of raucous music just as he had at the
previous celebration. But this time there were only a handful of people
clustered around the bar.

   An officer was sitting at the terminal controlling the sound system, one
hand making tiny adjustments to the board while the other tapped to the
rhythm of the music. The man slumped in his chair, his eyes closed,
completely mesmerized by the sound. Blair recognized his aquiline profile.
He was Lieutenant Mitchell Lopez, callsign Vaquero, the man he had
assigned as wingman for Cobra in the middle of the battle.

   He stood behind the man and waited for a long while, wincing a little at
the loud music. When it was clear that Lopez wasn't planning to come up
for air any time soon, he finally tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

  "Hey, man, can't you have the decency to wait for the piece to end?"
Vaquero said without opening his eyes,

   "Lieutenant…" Blair said the word blandly, but Lopez recognized his
voice at once. He was out of his chair and standing at attention in one
quick movement. Blair had to fight to keep from smiling at the man's
reaction.

  "Uh, sorry, sir," Lopez said, stammering a little. "Didn't expect you here
until the party, sir."

   "At ease, Lieutenant," Blair said, smiling.

   Vaquero relaxed. He caught the look Blair gave in the direction of the
speakers and hastened to turn down the volume. "Just getting the system
set for tonight, sir," he explained.

   "Aren't there technical people who're supposed to do that?" Blair asked.
He gestured to the seat Vaquero had vacated, and when the lieutenant was
sitting, Blair took another chair nearby.

   "The last guy who did this job had a tin ear and ten thumbs," Lopez
said with a grin. "And his musical taste left a lot to be desired, too. So I
just kind of took over."

   "Musical taste," Blair repeated.

   "Yes, sir. You know, music really does set the mood. Playing something
with nothing but minor chords makes you want to run a suicide mission.
But this is different." He waved a hand toward the board. "Rockero from
the Celeste System. It's bright, it heats your blood, it makes you want to
live a long life."

   Blair gave him a sour look. "It makes me want to put on a flight helmet
to filter out some of the noise," he said, smiling briefly to take the sting
out of the comment. "I like something a little more soothing… like a
bagpipe duet or a couple of cats in heat."

   The Argentine pilot laughed. "I guess my musical taste isn't for
everyone. But I've had no complaints so far… until you, that is."

  "I'm not complaining, Lieutenant. Just pleading for a little
moderation." Blair signalled a waiter. "Can I buy you something to drink?"

   "Tequila," Vaquero said. The waiter nodded, taking Blair's order for a
scotch as he left. "That was quite a fight today, wasn't it, Colonel?"
   Blair nodded. "I'll say. We were damned lucky."

   "Yes, sir. Uh… thanks again for the way you bailed me out. Thought I'd
played my last tune for sure."

   "Are you a pilot or a musician, Lopez?"

   "Oh, I'm a pilot, sir. Pretty good one, too. Check my kills; you'll see." He
looked down at the table. "But my family, they made guitars for many
generations. I've got one that's almost two hundred years old. The sound
just gets richer as it gets older, you know?"

   Blair nodded, but didn't speak. There was something in the man's eyes
that made him unwilling to break his mood.

   "I'm the first one from my family to go into space," Lopez went on a
moment later. He sounded wistful. "The first to be a fighter instead of a
craftsman or a musician. But some day I'm going to open a cantina and
bring in the best to play that guitar. We need a place for old fighter
jockeys like you and me, Colonel, where we can get together and swap lies
about our battles and tell each other how much different things are
without the war…"

   Blair looked away. It was a pleasant dream, but he wondered if Lopez
would ever really get his wish. The war had existed longer than either of
them had been alive, and it didn't look like humanity was likely to end it
soon. He was afraid that the only way the war would end in his lifetime
was in a Kilrathi victory. More likely it would claim them all, and drag on
to claim another generation's hopes and dreams. "Hope there's enough of
us to keep you in business, Vaquero," he said quietly.

   "Don't you worry, sir. We'll make it through. And you and I can sit at a
quiet table, watch the beautiful women and listen to the music of that
guitar…"

   "You still don't sound much like a pilot, Vaquero," Blair told him.

   "Don't get me wrong, sir. I do my job, whatever it takes. But some of
the others, they actually like the killing. Me, I do it because I have to, but I
take no pleasure from it. And when it's over, I will walk away with no
regrets."
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Locanda System

  "My Prince, the shuttle from the Sar'hrai has arrived. With Baron
Vurrig and the prisoner."

   Thrakhath, Crown Prince of the Empire of Kilrah, showed his teeth.
"Bring them, Melek," he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his
voice. His talons twitched reflexively in their sheaths.

   A pair of Imperial Guardsmen ushered two newcomers before the
lonely throne at the end of the Command Audience Hall. Here, by long
tradition, the noble commander of a ship in space dispensed justice to the
warriors under his command. Today Thrakhath upheld that tradition yet
again.

   "My Lord Prince." Khantahr Baron Vurrig nar Tsahl dropped to one
knee. The other officer, hands in manacles, sank awkwardly to both knees
beside the noble. "Sar'hrai is at your command, as ever."

   "Indeed?" Thrakhath fixed the Baron with an icy stare. "I wanted the
jump point from Orsini cut, and the Terran carrier damaged beyond
capability to interfere with Operation Unseen Death. But the blockade was
only partially effective and the attack on the carrier was repulsed without
touching the ape ship. Is that a fair assessment of your performance?"

   "Lord Prince…" Vurrig quailed under his stare. "Lord Prince, there
were many… complications, especially due to the renegade. We could not
press home attacks against ships he escorted without risking a breach of
your orders…"

  "This one did, or so your report claimed."

   "Yes, Lord Prince. This is Flight Commander Arrak. He engaged the
traitor in battle despite my specific orders to the contrary."

  "But Ralgha was not harmed?"

  "No, Lord Prince."

  "So, Arrak, you are inept as well as insubordinate, is that it?"

  Arrak met Thrakhath's stare with unexpected spirit. "In battle, Lord
Prince, it is not always so easy to set conditions," he said defiantly.

   Thrakhath felt a stir of admiration. The flight commander knew he was
doomed for his disobedience, so he met his fate with a warrior's pride.
Baron Vurrig, on the other hand, danced and dodged like prey on the run
from the hunter.

   "Let Arrak have a warrior's death. He may fight any champion or
champions who wish the honor of dispatching him." Thrakhath noted
Arraks nod. He was proud to the bitter end. "As for you, Baron… because
of you we must push back the timetable for Operation Unseen Death. We
must await additional ships so that we may ensure the Terrans not
intervening when we launch our strike. You will be relieved as commander
of Sar'hrai.. . and suffer the penalty for your incompetence. Death… by
isolation. The coward's end, alone, ignored, cut off until you die from
thirst, starvation, or madness. See to it, Melek."

   "Lord Prince—" Vurrig began. He was grabbed by the guardsmen and
dragged away, his appeals for mercy echoing hollowly in the chamber.

   "I regret the failure, Lord Prince," Melek said quietly, "but at least the
renegade came to no harm."

  "We must hope that the War God continues to smile on us, Melek,"
Thrakhath said coldly. "The time is not yet ripe to deal with Lord Ralgha…
but it is coming. As is the day of our final victory."


                         CHAPTER VIII
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   "According to Chief Coriolis, the last of the battle damage should be
repaired by this afternoon," Blair concluded. "So the wing will be up and
running… except for the ships we lost."

   "Good job, Colonel," Eisen said. "I'd say three days is a pretty good
turn-around time, considering the way your fighters looked when they
touched down. Give my compliments to the Chief for a job well done by
her techs."
  "Yes, sir. They did a fine job." Blair paused, then cleared his throat.
"About the losses…"

  "We've already taken care of the situation," Eisen told him. "Mr.
Rollins?"

   The Communications Officer consulted his portable computer terminal.
"No problem at all on the Hellcats, sir," he said. "The CO at Tamayo Base
called for volunteers from the point defense squadron stationed there.
They'll be aboard first thing tomorrow."

   "Fast work, Lieutenant," Blair commented.

   "The commander was pleased with the support he's been getting from
the Navy. He was eager to help." Rollins frowned. "I'm not so sure about
Mad Max's replacement."

   "What's the problem, Lieutenant?" Eisen asked.

   "There's a home defense squadron on Tamayo that flies Thunderbolts,
sir," Rollins said slowly. "Strictly reservists, mostly rich kids who figured it
was a good dodge to avoid active military service and still get to wear a
pretty uniform and boast about being hot fighter pilots. The squadron was
activated into Confed service when the cats moved into the system."

   "Well, we've had green pilots before," Eisen said. "I dare say the Colonel
can break in one of these kids fast enough. Or are they being sticky about
transferring someone?"

   "Oh, they're willing to give us a pilot and his fighter, sir," Rollins said.
"A little too willing, the way I see it. I think they're planning on handing us
one of their discipline problems."

  Eisen shrugged. "Hardly unusual. We'll just have to ride him until he
snaps to attention. Right, Colonel?"

  "Or ground him and find another qualified pilot," Blair said, nodding.
"What makes you think he's going to be a problem, Lieutenant?"

   "Hey, I told you, Colonel," he responded with a grin. "Radio Rollins
always has his ear to the ground. One of my… sources at Tamayo Base was
warned by the Home Defense boys that they were looking for a place to
dump this guy. I just gotta wonder though, what kind of a screw-up gets
thrown out of an HD squadron? Know what I mean?"

  "As long as he can fly and he's got a Thunderbolt, I can use him in Gold
Squadron," Blair said. "He can't be any more difficult to handle than
Maniac Marshall."

   "I hope you and Major Marshall can work out your little… problem,
Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "I don't like to have this kind of conflict
between two senior officers. Marshall's record is impressive, even if it's not
quite as outstanding as yours. I'm not sure I understand why the two of
you have such difficulties with each other."

   "Part of it's purely personal, Captain," Blair said. "We've been
competing against each other since the day we met. At least he's been
competing with me." He smiled. "I, of course, am blameless in the whole
thing."

  "Of course," Eisen said blandly. Rollins chuckled.

   "But I do my best to keep the personal problems and the cockpit apart,
Captain," Blair went on seriously. "I mean, you don't have to like a guy to
serve with him. But Marshall's flying style… it scares me, sir, and just
about everybody else who flies with him. You saw the tactical tapes on the
battle?"

   Eisen nodded. "Yeah. Marshall got heavily involved out there a couple
of times."

    "He chased anything he could see," Blair told him. "Hobbes saved
Sandman because Marshall was too busy playing the personal glory game
to support his own wingman. He gets kills, sir, but he does it by ignoring
the team. You of all people should know that the team must always come
first."

   "Sounds like you don't want him on your team at all," Eisen said. "I'd
rather not try to transfer him…"

   "I'm not asking you to, sir," Blair told him. "Look, Maniac is not my
idea of the ideal wingman, but he's better than when we were on the old
Tiger's Claw together. And despite his lack of discipline, he's a good pilot
who knows how to score kills. Right now we need everyone like that we can
find." He paused. "I know you're concerned about having us clash, but I
guarantee that when the Kilrathi come into range we're on the same side.
If there's one thing we agree on, it's our duty."

   "Glad to hear it, Colonel," the captain said. "I think things are about to
get a lot rougher for us, so I want to be sure we're all up to it."

  "Rougher, sir?" Blair asked.

   Eisen nodded. "That's the reason for the big scramble to get the wing
up to full strength again. We've been given new orders, Colonel. Seems the
situation in the Locanda System is getting tense. There has been a sharp
uptick in Kilrathi activity there, even a couple of sightings that could be
the Hvar'kann, Crown Prince Thrakhath's new flagship. And we know for
a fact the carrier that launched the attack on us, the Sar'hrai, withdrew
through the Locanda jump point shortly after the battle. It seems that a
major installation of troops will arrive on Locanda, so the High Command
wants us to reinforce them."

   "Seems a damned strange place for a push," Blair commented. He
remembered the Locanda System: a struggling colony world with a few
scattered outposts, all of which had seen better days. "Twenty years back,
maybe, it would have made sense, but they've tapped out most of the really
valuable mineral resources. When I was stationed there, they were in the
middle of an economic depression because a couple of their biggest
industries decided to relocate out-system. I don't see the attraction for the
Empire's attention… certainly not the Prince himself."

  "Yeah," Eisen grunted. "Intelligence hasn't been able to come up with
anything yet. But ours is not to reason why."

  Rollins looked like he was about to say something, but he didn't After a
moment's silence, Blair spoke up. "When do we jump?"

   "Two days. Time enough to get our rookies settled and take on fresh
stores. Then we're out of here."

   "And smack in the middle of trouble," Rollins muttered. Blair doubted
that Eisen heard the comment.

  "The flight wing'll be ready, sir," he said formally.
   "Good. If it's true the cats are building around Locanda, we'll have to be
ready for anything." Eisen looked from Blair to Rollins. "That's all for now.
Dismissed."

   Outside the ready room door, Blair touched the comm officer's sleeve.
"A moment, Lieutenant," he said.

  "Sir?"

   "I had the feeling you knew something more about this Locanda op. Am
I imagining things, or have you been listening to more of your… sources?"

  Rollins met his eyes with a steady gaze. "You sure you want another
dose of paranoia, Colonel?"

  "Cut the crap, Lieutenant. If you know something about this
operation…"

   "It's nothing definite, Colonel," Rollins said reluctantly. "Not even from
the official channels. Captain doesn't know anything about it."

  "Well?"

   "I know a guy on General Taggart's staff in Covert Ops. He said
Thrakhath was reportedly working on some new terror weapon which was
just about ready for testing. I don't know if this has anything to do with
that, but if Thrakhath's really in Locanda then this could be the test. It
makes sense, when you think about it."

  "How so?"

   "Well, like you said, Locanda's past its prime. It's of no real strategic
value, depleted of all valuable resources. The Kilrathi could raid it for
slaves, but they can get slaves anywhere. If they really do have some new
weapon, something big enough that it will cause mass destruction,
Locanda Four would be a pretty good place to try it. Whether it works or
not, the cats don't take out anything they want… but if it did work, it
would be a pretty damn good demonstration."

  "Any idea what this wonder weapon is?"

  "My guy didn't say. But I've got my suspicions that Intelligence knows
more than they're telling us about the whole mess." Rollins lowered his
voice. "You know those transports we've been trying to pump through the
jump point to Locanda? They've all been medical ships; like the High
Command was getting ready for a lot of casualties."

   "Bioweapons," Blair said, feeling sick.

   "That's my take," the Communications Officer agreed. "Think about it.
Thrakhath would love to get his hands on the Confed infrastructure.
Except for a small stock of slaves, the Kilrathi don't want humans around
to compete with them. Seeding choice colony worlds with some new kind
of plague would be the perfect way to kill us with a minimum of damage
to technology or resources. If the weapon tests well, you can bet the
Kilrathi will be hitting someplace important the next time around: Earth."

    "Yeah… maybe. We certainly showed 'em the way, back when the
Tarawa made the raid on Kilrah a couple of years ago. If they've got an
effective biological agent and a reliable delivery system, a handful of
raiders could wipe us out." Blair fixed Rollins with a stern look. "Still, this
is all just speculation, Lieutenant, based on your leak over at Covert Ops
and a lot of guesswork."

   "Theory fits the facts, sir…"

   "Maybe so. But it's still just a theory until you get genuine proof. Don't
spread this around, Rollins. There's no point in getting everybody in an
uproar over a possibility. You read me?"

   The lieutenant nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I'll keep it to myself. But you
mark my words, Colonel, this is going to be one hell of a nasty fight this
time."

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   Flight Control was fully crewed with a dozen techs and specialists
monitoring the activity going on around the carrier and on the flight deck.
This morning, Blair decided to preside over operations himself. He took
his place on the raised platform which dominated the center of the
compartment at a horseshoe-shaped console that could tap into all aspects
of wing activities.
   "Last of the new Hellcats is down and safe, Colonel," a tech reported
from a nearby work station. "Deck will be clear for the Thunderbolt in two
minutes."

   "Two minutes," Blair repeated. "Well, Major, what do you think? Will
they do?"

   Major Daniel Whittaker, Red Squadrons CO, watched over Blair's
shoulder while the new arrivals were coming in. He was old for his rank
and position, with iron-gray hair and an air of cautious deliberation. His
callsign was Warlock, and Blair had to admit he could have passed for a
high-tech sorcerer.

   "They fly well enough," Whittaker said quietly. "I've seen better carrier
landings, but these boys and girls have been rotting away in a planetside
base where you don't get much chance to practice carrier ops. We'll whip
them into shape quick enough, I'd say."

   "We'll have to, Major. If the bad guys are out in force around Locanda,
point defense will get a real workout."

   "Thunderbolt HD Seven-zero-two, you are cleared for approach," a
speaker announced. "Feeding approach vectors to your navcomp… now."

   Blair turned his attention back to the external camera view. The
computer enhanced the image so he could see the Thunderbolt clearly
against the backdrop of brilliant stars. As he watched, he could see the
flare of the fighter's engines as the pilot maneuvered his ship onto its
approach path.

   "What the hell is that idiot doing?" someone demanded. "He's ignoring
the approach vectors we're feeding him!"

   "HD Seven-zero-two, you are deviating from flight plan" the comm
tech said. "Recheck approach vectors and assume designated course."

   The image on Blairs screen swelled as the fighter stooped in toward the
carrier, still gathering speed. Blair punched up a computer course
projection and was relieved to see that the projected flight path would
cause the ship to steer clear of the carrier, but it would be a near miss. If
the idiot deviated from his path now, he could easily dive right into the
deck. "Belay that transmission," he snapped, "and have the flight deck
emergency crews on standby."

   An alarm, low but insistent, rang across the flight deck, and Blair could
see technicians scrambling to their emergency stations.

   The Thunderbolt streaked over the flight deck with bare meters to
spare, executing a roll-over as it passed. Then it looped away, killing its
speed with a sharp braking thrust and dropping effortlessly into the
original approach path. Blair let out a sigh of relief.

   "He's on target," someone announced laconically.

   "He does that again and he'll be a target," someone else said. Blair
shared the sentiment. Rollins had warned Blair that the new pilot was
likely to be a problem, but he'd never imagined the man would pull a
stupid stunt even before he reported aboard. Fancy victory rolls looked
good in holomovies and stunt flying by elite fighter show teams, but they
were strictly prohibited in normal carrier operations.

   The new pilot had a lot to learn.

   The Thunderbolt performed perfectly, hitting the tractor beams
precisely and touching the deck in a landing maneuver that could have
been used in an Academy training film. Moments later, the fighter rolled
to a stop inside the hangar deck. Gravity and pressure were quickly
restored as the technicians secured from their emergency preparations.

  Blair, seething, was on his way to the deck before the gravity hit
one-half G.

   The pilot climbed down the ladder from his cockpit and paused to
remove his helmet, an ornately decorated rig which carried the word
FLASH in bright letters, presumably his running name. He was a young
man, under thirty from his appearance, but his flight suit carried a majors
insignia. He glanced around the hangar with an easy grin, stopped to wipe
away a speck on the underside of the Thunderbolt's wing, then sauntered
casually toward the exit. He seemed completely oblivious to Blair.

   "Hold it right there, Mister," Blair snapped.

   The man gave him a quick look that turned into a double-take as he
caught sight of the bird insignia on Blairs collar tabs. He drew himself
erect in something that approximated attention and rendered a casual
salute. "Didn't expect a high-ranking welcoming committee, sir," he said.
His tones were lazy, relaxed. "Major Jace Dillon, Tamayo Home Defense
Airspace Command. I'm your replacement pilot."

  "That remains to be seen," Blair said. "What's the idea of pulling that
damned stunt on your approach, Dillon?"

  "Stunt, sir? Oh, the flyby. Hell, Colonel, it was just a little bit of
showmanship. They don't call me Flash for nothing, you know." Dillon
paused, seeming to realize the depth of Blair's anger for the first time.
"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I just thought I had to show you
Regular boys that Home Defense isn't a bunch of no-talent weekend
warriors, like everybody thinks. Figured if you saw I knew how to handle
my bird then you'd know I could pull my weight, that's all."

   Blair didn't answer right away. He could almost understand the man's
thinking. Home Defense units had a poor reputation with the regular
Navy, often entirely undeserved. There had been a time, back when Blair
was this kid's age, that he might have pulled the same kind of stunt to
make a point with a new command.

   "All right, Dillon, you can fly. You proved that much. Next time I see
you in that bird of yours you better show me you know how to obey regs,
too. You hear me?"

   "Yes, sir," Dillon replied.

   "Your Home Defense unit… does it use standard Confed ranks?"

   "Yes, Colonel."

   "And you're a major…"

   Dillon flushed. "Yes, sir, I am."

   "I find that a little difficult to believe, Dillon. A major is usually more
seasoned."

   "The rank's legitimate, sir," Dillon said, sounding defensive. "Rank
earned in Home Defense units is automatically granted in the Confed
Regulars upon activation of the unit."
  "Of course." Blair studied him for a moment. "So you hold a major's
commission in the Home Defense. Let me guess… your father's either the
unit commander or a prominent local backer who helped fund the unit,
and you were bumped through the ranks to Major in consequence, right?"

  "Sir, I'm fully qualified as a pilot…"

   "We established that, Major. I'm interested in your rank qualifications.
Is my assessment correct?"

   Dillon nodded reluctantly. "My father donated some funds when the
unit was put together," he admitted. "But the rank is legitimate, sir. I was
a test pilot with Camelot Industries before I signed on with the HDS, and
I've been with my squadron for two years now."

  "Two years," Blair repeated. "Any combat action?"

  "Er… no, sir."

   He sighed. "Well, Dillon, you're a major in the Confed Navy Flight
Branch now, heaven help you… and the rest of us. Try to conduct yourself
as a responsible officer of this ship and this flight wing. Do I make myself
clear?"

  "Yes, Colonel."

  "Then… welcome aboard, Major Dillon. Report to Lieutenant Colonel
Ralgha for indoctrination and assignments. You're dismissed."

   He watched the young man leave the hangar, not quite as cocky or
relaxed any longer. It seemed that the Home Defense squadron had truly
dumped a hard-shelled case on the Navy. Dillon was an inexperienced kid
who carried a major's rank and the powerful protection of a wealthy
family to boot. Dillon would soon learn that neither benefit would mean
much when the wing went into action. It was ironic, in a way. His father
had probably put him into the HDS to get him out of the dangerous job of
test pilot.

   Blair found himself hoping the kid would not have to learn his lesson
the hard way. Not that he particularly cared what happened to this young
showoff… but if he turned out to be the weak link in the wing, he could
take better men and women down with him before it was all over.
Wing Commander's Office. TCS Victory
Locanda System

    The ship completed the jump to the Locanda System and began normal
operations immediately. Blair spent a long day in Flight Control,
supervising the first patrols dispatched to scout the region of space
around the jump point and trying to get a feel for the new pilots in his
command As Whittaker had predicted, the new additions to Red
Squadron seemed to be settling in well, but Flash was another matter. It
still bothered Blair to have an inexperienced combat pilot with such a
high rank, and the problem had caused him a sleepless night before he
finally decided how to handle it.

   He needed to team Dillon with a wingman who outranked him, that
much was evident. Let Flash be the ranking officer on some patrol mission
which ran into trouble and the result would be disaster. Blair knew he
would have to match Dillon with either himself, Hobbes, or Maniac
Marshall—the only three pilots in Gold Squadron with the rank to keep
Dillon under tight control.

   Blair was sorely tempted to assign Flash as Maniac's wingman. The two
deserved each other, and it might have been a valuable lesson for Marshall
to see what it was like to fly with someone unreliable on his wing. But that
would have been a risky choice at best. If Maniac didn't rise to the
challenge, Blair would end up with two dead pilots. Even unreliable fighter
jocks were assets not to be squandered so carelessly.

    So the choice remained between himself and Hobbes. He hesitated over
it for a long time before finally putting Flash on Ralgha's wing. Blair was
concerned that he was letting his personal distaste for the younger man
cloud his judgment, but in the end, he decided that the Kilrathi renegade's
calm, tightly-controlled manner was the right counterbalance to Dillon's
inexperience and enthusiasm.

   Flash accepted the match-up with equanimity. Apparently he harbored
no special feelings against the Kilrathi, and seemed content to fly with
Hobbes. The two left on patrol soon after the jump and the patrol was
successful, without incident.

   But Blair found himself resenting the necessity which forced him to
assign Hobbes and Flash together. He missed flying with Ralgha on his
wing. Flint had done a competent job, and he had flown a couple of patrols
with Vaquero that went well, but it wasn't the same. He still didn't know
the others in the squadron the way he knew Hobbes, and he couldn't count
on them to know his mind the way the Kilrathi always did.

    Blair wearily straightened in his desk chair. Sometimes it seemed as if
he would never get a handle on the assignment to Victory. He had always
found it easy to meld into a new ship's company, but this time was
different. He came on board determined to remain distant from the
others. Blair needed to avoid getting too close, as he had done with his
comrades on the Concordia. Blair doubted he could handle losing another
shipload of friends… but he was finding it difficult to deal with day-to-day
life among people who were still essentially strangers. Perhaps he had
made the wrong decision from the start.

  He slowly rose. The day's work was done and his bunk was waiting for
him.

   All that really seemed to matter anymore was getting through one more
day, performing his duties, and somehow staying sane in the face of a war
that seemed more insane every day. It was a far cry from the dreams of
glory that had once beckoned Christopher Blair into the life of a fighter
pilot, but duty—simple and straightforward—was all that remained for
him.


                          CHAPTER IX
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Locanda System

   At first glance, there were no customers in the Rec Room when Blair
entered, only the grizzled old petty officer who ran the bar. He was a
member of the crew from the old Leningrad years ago; one of the handful
of survivors who managed to escape the Kilrathi attack that destroyed her.
The wounds he suffered in the escape were enough to have him invalided
out of active duty, but Dmitri Rostov loved the Service too much to really
retire. So he tended bar and swapped stories about the old days, never
complaining about the arm and the eye sacrificed in the service of the
Confederation.
   Ironically, Leningrad was destroyed by the Imperial cruiser Ras
Nik'hra, under the command of Ralgha nor Hhallas before his decision to
defect. Blair had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Rostov didn't
seem to hold a grudge against the Kilrathi, indeed he rather seemed to
enjoy talking to the renegade when Hobbes came in to drink.

  It was a pity some of the people who served with the Kilrathi pilot could
not bury the hatchet the same way.

  "Hey, Rosty, how's it going?" Blair gave him a friendly wave. "Don't tell
me none of my drunks are hanging out here tonight."

   Rostov shrugged and grunted as Blair approached the bar, gesturing
toward the observation window on the far side of the compartment. One
lonely figure stood framed against the star field, staring out at the void. It
was Flint.

  "A slow night tonight, Comrade Colonel," Rostov agreed. He ventured a
heavy smile. "Perhaps you work them too hard, tire them out too much.
Even when I get a customer, it is to look, not to drink."

   "I'll take a scotch," Blair said. He waited while the one-armed bartender
programmed the order then handed him the glass, using his thumbprint
to charge the drink to his account. "Thanks, Bear."

   He crossed to the window where Flint stood, but didn't speak. Part of
him wanted to respect her privacy, but another part wanted to draw her
out, discover something about the woman behind the barriers she put
around herself. She was his wingman, and Blair needed to know more
about her, even if she was reluctant to be open with others.

   The lieutenant seemed totally absorbed in her own thoughts, and Blair
doubted she even noticed him. But after a moment she glanced at him.
"Sir," she said quietly. That one word carried a range of emotion; sadness,
and loneliness mixed with a hint of stubborn pride, exposing a glimpse
into Flint's soul.

  "I didn't mean to disturb you, Lieutenant," Blair said. "I was just
wondering what it was about the view that had you so… involved."

   "Just… thinking," she said reluctantly.
   "I flew here once," Blair went on. "A lot of places to hide in this system,
with the moons and the asteroids. Your first time?"

  Flint shook her head ruefully. "This is my home system, sir," she told
him. "My father commanded a Home Defense squadron after we settled
here from Earth. Taught me everything he knew about flying."

   "A family tradition, then," Blair commented.

   She looked away. "He planned to pass it on to my brother David, but…
the Kilrathi had their own plans."

  "I'm sorry," Blair said, knowing the inadequacy of words. He should
never have questioned her, dredging up the past this way.

   "Everyone's lost someone, I guess," Flint said with a little shrug. "They
don't give you medals for it. But coming back like this… it brings back a
lot of memories, is all. A lot of stuff I haven't thought about since I went
away to the Academy."

   "You haven't been back since then?"

   She shook her head. "Not much point. My mother took Davie's death
hard. She just… gave up. He died when I was fifteen. My Dad was killed in
the cockpit, fighting the cats when they raided here the year after I left. He
scored twenty-one kills over the years after Davie was killed. He said each
one of them was dedicated to Davie's memory, so he'd have a proper
escort of cats to join him in the afterlife. They said… they said he died
trying to nail number twenty-two, which would have matched Davie's age,
but Dad didn't make it." Her voice was flat, level, but Blair could see a hint
of tears in her eyes. "I've made eighteen kills since I left the Academy. Four
more for Davie, and then I start racking them up for Dad. Maybe I won't
score fifty-seven for him, but I'm damned well going to try."

   Blair didn't say anything for a long time. He wasn't sure what bothered
him most, the woman's preoccupation with vengeance or the cold,
matter-of-fact way she talked about it. It was almost as if she was so
wrapped up in her quest that she had lost touch with the emotions that
set her on the path in the first place.

  Finally he changed the subject, gesturing toward the viewport. "Which
one was home?"
    She pointed to a distant gleam of blue-green, barely showing a disk.
"Locanda Four. The main colony world" She paused. "It's a pretty world…
or it was. Dark purple nights, with bright moons that chased each other
across the sky. The insects would sing… different serenades, depending on
the closeness of the moons. Davie and I would sit up late together, just
listening…"

   "I could try to get you some planet leave, while we're here," Blair
offered. "You must have some family left? Or friends, at least?"

    "Just my uncle's family," she said. "I haven't been in touch with any of
them for years." Flint hesitated, still staring at the distant point of light
that had been her home. "No, thanks, Colonel. I appreciate the offer, I
really do, but I've got too much I need to do here with the rest of the wing.
I can't be on the sidelines if the cats are really planning a fight. Not here of
all places. I need to be a part of whatever comes down."

    Blair studied her with a penetratingly probing gaze. "Look, Flint," he
said at last, "I know something about the way you feel. Lord knows I've lost
many people who were important to me over the years. But when we climb
into our cockpits and get out there in space, I'm not sure I can afford to be
with both you and your brother on my wing. I need you fighting for
yourself, for the Wing, for the ship… not for a memory, not for vengeance.
It cost your father his life. I don't want you to have to pay the same price."

   She looked at him, the tears in her eyes catching the light. "I just can't
give up now, Colonel," she told him. "It's too much a part of who I am and
what I've become. You've seen me fly; seen me fight. You know I can get
the job done. Don't take it away from me. Please…"

   Blair took a long time to answer, sipping his drink to give himself more
time to think. "All right," he said at last. "I guess you're not carrying
around any more baggage than the rest of us. Maniac's still trying to prove
he's the best, Hobbes is trying to live down being from the wrong damned
species, and Cobra just… hates cats. You're in pretty good company, all
things considered."

   "What about you, Colonel? What baggage is Maverick Blair carrying
around after a whole lifetime spent fighting in the war?" Flints eyes held a
glint of interest that made her whole face seem more alive.

   He thought about Concordia… and about Angel, still out there
somewhere on her secret mission. "Classified information, lieutenant," he
said, trying to muster a smile. "One of the privileges of being a colonel is
never having to let the troops know you're human."

  "And are you?" she asked.

  He let out a sigh. "All too human, Lieutenant. Believe me, I am all too
human."

  They stood side by side and watched the stars for a long time in silence.

Flight Wing Briefing Room. TCS Victory
Locanda System

  "Okay, people, let's get down to business," Blair said. "I'd like to
conclude this briefing sometime before peace is signed, if you don't mind."

   A few scattered chuckles greeted his sally, and the ready room quieted.
Blair glanced at the faces grouped around the table: the squadron
commanders, deputies from each of the four squadrons, and
representatives from the Wing's technical and maintenance staff and
from Victory's Intelligence Office. Rollins was there as well, still
functioning as Blairs aide and liaison between the flight wing and the
bridge crew.

   "Okay," Blair went on. "Here's the drill. For those of you who don't pay
attention to the daily shipboard news, we've jumped into the Locanda
System. It's been on or near the front lines for years now, and subjected to
repeated raids by the Kilrathi Empire." He pushed a stray thought of Flint
and her family from his mind and continued. "Until sometime early last
month, there was an Imperial base deep in the asteroid belt on a fairly
large rock designated Felix on our charts."

   He activated a holographic projector to display the star system. "But
three weeks ago, a patrol out of Locanda Four discovered that the Empire
was no longer maintaining perimeter patrols around Felix, so a
well-equipped force was sent to check it out: a destroyer, a heavy fighter
escort, and a transport carrying a company of Marines. They met no
resistance, and they discovered that the Kilrathi base was completely
abandoned. Everything had been cleaned out. That base supported at least
three squadrons of fighters and a depot large enough for a carrier to do a
field refit. But they gave it up—lock, stock, and fighter bay."

   "But I heard there was supposed to be all this activity here." That was
Denise Mbuto, callsign Amazon, the major commanding the interceptors
of Blue Squadron. "Everybody said there was going to be some kind of big
push."

   Blair nodded. "Yeah. Felix was abandoned while reports were received
concerning increased Kilrathi ship activities in these parts, such as several
capital ships, including three carriers. One was the Sar'hrai, which
launched that strike on us at Tamayo. There was also a report placing
Crown Prince Thrakhath's brand-new flagship here. Certainly there have
been a lot of little dustups involving Kilrathi fighter patrols and a few light
cap ships, destroyers and such."

   "It would make little sense to abandon a well-defended base while
building up the fleet presence," Ralgha said slowly. "Thrakhath is many
things—arrogant, ambitious, ruthless—but I have never considered him to
be a fool. There is something here which we cannot see as yet."

   "Maybe the local boys are just seeing things," Marshall said. "One
carrier passes through on the way to hit us at Tamayo, and it turns into a
whole damned fleet with the head kitty-cat in person commanding."

   Blair shook his head. "No. Most of the reports are too well supported by
evidence. We have tracking and sensor data that bears out the notion of
three carriers and maybe eight smaller capital ships. That's a pretty fair
sized force to be hanging around a backwater like Locanda. And Hobbes is
right. The asteroid base would have been a useful adjunct to operations…
too useful to be abandoned casually."

   "Perhaps the fleet was sent to cover the withdrawal of the base
contingent," Warlock Whittaker suggested. "It would take a lot of
transports to dismantle a base that size, and if they thought we had
enough ships to interfere with them, they would have a powerful escort in
place."

   "They might even be moving the base," Major Luigi Berterelli,
commander of Green Squadron, added. "If they were looking to expand
their facilities, or if they just thought our patrols had learned too much
about the post on Felix, they might have decided to set up something
bigger and better elsewhere. That would require an escort, too, while the
new base was still getting up and operating… and if they had a new base,
it could be supporting whatever else the cats have planned for that flotilla
of theirs." Berterelli had an anticipatory gleam in his eyes, as if he could
already see this new base lined up in his bombsights. Green Squadron had
not seen much active service lately, but a Kilrathi base would give the
bombers a chance to show what they could do.

   "Those are possibilities," Blair agreed, "but by no means the only ones."
He nodded toward Commander Thomas Fairfax, Victory's senior
intelligence officer. "Commander?"

   "Headquarters has been monitoring Kilrathi radio transmissions
regarding Locanda for several weeks now, trying to discover just what
their intentions are with regard to the system. A courier in from Torgo
this morning brought a summary of the most recent findings." Fairfax
paused, consulting a portable computer terminal. "First of all, it is
believed that their original timetable for whatever is happening at
Locanda has been rendered inoperative, possibly due to problems which
have arisen in related missions elsewhere."

  "Tamayo, maybe?" Mbuto suggested with a savage smile.

  "Uncertain," Fairfax said seriously. "At any rate, we believe them to be
behind schedule already, which means the action could get heavy any time
now."

  "The real question is, what action?" Major Ellen Pierce, Whittaker's
Exec, put in.

   "Linguistics are relating trouble with certain intercepted Kilrathi
broadcasts." The Intelligence Officer plunged ahead as if she hadn't
spoken. "One message in particular definitely refers to Kilrathi intentions
for the Locanda System… it uses a word we've never seen before.
Trav'hra'nigath."

  "Bless you," Maniac said with a grin.

  Blair glared at him. "Hobbes… does that mean anything to you?"

  Ralgha was giving the Kilrathi equivalent of a frown. "The nearest
English translation, my friend, would be literally to grant the prize
without struggle." He paused. "Surrender? That is not a concept my
people embrace. Struggle is the one constant in life."

  "They are planning to surrender the system?" Blair asked. "That doesn't
explain the buildup, though it would at least account for abandoning the
base."

   "The implications of the messages we've intercepted suggest that the
Empire intends some gesture at Locanda," Fairfax said. "A demonstration
of power…or of intentions. Again, we're not entirely sure about the exact
meaning of all that we've intercepted."

   Whittaker was nodding. "I could see that. Even if they're starting to
think in terms of giving up real estate, the cats aren't likely to just quietly
turn tail and run. That wouldn't fit into their system of honor, would it,
Colonel?" He was looking at Hobbes.

   "Ceasing to struggle for a prize one deems worthwhile is not honorable
at all," Hobbes said slowly. "A tactical retreat, yes, especially if there is
duty to one's followers involved, but the ultimate object is never
abandoned."

   "Well, I say they feel the need for a parting shot," Whittaker insisted.
"Something to salve their pride when they withdraw. Three carriers could
deliver a real punch and flatten the colony facilities before anybody knew
what hit them. Then they sail away toward their real target."

  "Perhaps," Fairfax said. He looked down at his terminal again. "The
only other possibility Intelligence can release to us right now is what
appears to be a code name for the Kilrathi operation here. Krahnakh
Ghayeer…"

   "Unseen Death," Ralgha said.

  Blair exchanged a quick glance with Rollins. Nobody spoke for a many
moments.

   "Unseen Death," Maniac repeated at last. He sounded unusually
thoughtful. "I don't like the sound of that. It reminds me of something I
heard back at Torgo…" He trailed off, frowning. "Yeah, that was it. I
remember a guy telling me about some backwater system the Kilrathi
raided a few months back. Only instead of just dropping in for a quick
loot'n'scoot, they cleaned the place with some kind of new bioweapon.
Pandemic, he called it."

   "I heard about that, too," Pierce said with a nod. "Rumor has it that
Confed HQ slapped a blackout on the whole thing and quarantined the
system."

   Rollins was about to speak until he caught the look in Blair's eye. "The
war's bad enough without listening to all the rumors flying around," Blair
said sharply. "If the cats have a bioweapon, we'll locate it soon enough, you
can count on that. In the meantime, we have to concentrate on what we do
know—and on learning what we don't know. Isn't that right, Commander
Fairfax?"

  The intelligence officer nodded, looking unhappy.

   "Right, then," Blair went on. "For the moment the name of the game is
recon. We know there's a Kilrathi squadron in these parts, and we think
they're planning something nasty. If Major Berterelli is right, we need to
look for signs of a new base. At the very least, we need to pinpoint areas of
enemy activity and try to estimate both their intentions and their exact
strength."

  "So it's back to patrols, then," Amazon Mbuto said.

   "Unless one of you has a crystal ball that can show us where they're
hiding," Blair said. "We're drawing up a full schedule of recon ops. I'm
doubling the shifts by putting more fighters out at any given time, so I'm
afraid we'll all be contracting extra duty for a while. Major Berterelli, I
would like an assessment from you on whether we can adapt Green
Squadron to take over point defense work. That would give us the Hellcats
for other patrol ops."

  "Range would be pretty short on Hellcats," Whittaker said. "They were
never meant for long-duration patrol work."

   "After our little scrap back at Tamayo, I started thinking about in-flight
refueling," Blair told him. "A refueling shuttle with an escort of
Thunderbolts could allow your whole squadron to operate over a normal
patrol route." He shrugged. "We'd better see if the bombers can replace
them before we talk about it further. At any rate, people, we've got to find
out everything we can about the Empire's plans before they spring them.
So make sure your pilots are sharp and ready for anything. When this
thing goes down, whatever it is, we'll need to be ready. Dismissed."

Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Locanda System

   Thrakhath lounged in his chair, his thoughts far away. The war was
entering its final stage now, and soon the Terrans would be brought down
like prey caught in an open field. That would be his doing, Thrakhath,
Crown Prince, victor over the Terran prey, hero of Kilrah…

   And some day soon his grandfather would be dead, and Thrakhath's
claws would grasp the Empire with a grip that would draw blood.

  "Lord Prince…" It was Melek, his closest retainer, bowing as he
approached the throne.

  "Your report, Melek," he said mildly.

  "Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has been identified as the Victory. As
you predicted… the ship that carries the renegade."

   "The ship Sar'hrai failed to neutralize," Thrakhath added, showing his
fangs. "It is of small consequence. The forces we are mustering now will
guarantee the success of Unseen Death, no matter what attempts the apes
make to intervene. But be sure to emphasize that all pilots must avoid
contact with the renegade. I want no repetitions of the incident with
Arrak."

   "Understood, my liege," Melek said with a bow. "Lord Prince… we know
that the new weapon will work. The field tests revealed that. Why do we
not simply mount a raid on Earth now? It need not be a full-scale attack.
All that is necessary is a single ship, a single missile, and the Terran
homeworld is infected and wiped clean. That would shatter the apes,
making them helpless prey under our talons."

   "Not quite, Melek," Thrakhath said quietly. "Do not forget, we have
attacked their homeworld before, to devastating effect, and yet done them
only minor harm in the greater scheme of things. Our agents claim they
have powerful new weapons in preparation now, weapons capable of
destroying entire planets… even golden Kilrah itself. These weapons are
not deployed around Terra, so a strike on their homeworld will only
trigger massive retaliation. We cannot allow that to happen. I will not
trade one homeworld for another, Melek. That would be disaster."

   "But the loss of Terra…"

   "Would mean less to the apes than the loss of Kilrah would to us,"
Thrakhath said, leaning forward. "You have not studied the humans as I
have. You do not grasp their nature. If Kilrah was lost to us, we would
suffer great harm. The Emperor, the heads of the great Clans, the ancient
landholds and monuments of our people… these are what tie our race
together, separate us from the animals. Take those things away and the
Empire withers. But the apes are savages. Terrans would mourn the loss of
their home, but it would not destroy them. They would continue to swarm
in their multitudes, disorganized but still determined."

  "Then can we truly win this war?" Melek asked. "If we are so much
more vulnerable than they, do we have any choice but a glorious death?"

   Thrakhath smiled. "We know only a little of their doomsday weapon,
this… Behemoth, as they call it. Our agents say it is untested, but they
have not been able to penetrate its secrets as of yet. We must draw out the
apes; force them to commit their new weapon before it is fully ready, in a
way we can control and manipulate. Unseen Death will be the first stage.
By demonstrating our bioweapon and proving our willingness to use it, we
will leave the Terrans no choice but to deploy the Behemoth."

  "Against… against Kilrah?" Melek's look was one of horror and fear, but
Thrakhath didn't reprimand him for his shameful display.

   "Not at once," the Prince told him. "They will test it first. We will learn
where the weapon is to be tested, and we will discover its weaknesses. For
this purpose we keep the Heart of the Tiger in readiness. And when we
have destroyed their one hope of retaliation, leaving their Navy
demoralized and confused…"

   "Then Terra dies," Melek said softly.

  "Then Terra dies," Thrakhath agreed. "The first of many human
worlds… until their race is gone forever."


                            CHAPTER X
Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

    It felt strange to be in the cockpit of a fighter and yet drifting free,
without acceleration or preprogrammed destination. Blair had never
thought of flying a Thunderbolt as a claustrophobic experience, not with
all of space in full glory around him… but he was ready to admit that it
could be cramped, constricted, and more than a little bit boring.

   They had been in the Locanda System now for three days, operating
frequent recon flights in search of some sign of the Kilrathi fleet. Today
was the first time they had put up the Hellcats in a recon role, and Blair
had elected to fly escort on the refueling shuttle with Flint rather than
assign the job to one of the other Gold Squadron teams. The entire force,
four Hellcats, the two Thunderbolts, and the shuttle, had flown together to
this prearranged rendezvous point at the edge of the point defense
fighters' maximum range. They topped off their tanks and set out in two
patrols to sweep a wide arc before they returned. Then they would refuel
and make the return trip to the Victory together.

   Everything went like clockwork. Blair hoped their luck would continue
to hold.

  The worst part of being alone in deep space for long amounts of time
was the scope it provided for brooding.

   The lack of specific information on Kilrathi intentions and dispositions
made for a game of hide and seek extending over an entire solar system,
and it was a game where the Kilrathi had all the advantages. The idea that
they might be planning a biological attack on Locanda bothered Blair
more than he cared to admit. It suggested that the Empire was upping the
ante by introducing the prospect of mass slaughter, possibly escalating to
an all-out genocide. Blair had felt that, before, both sides had agreed on
what "winning" meant. And now the Kilrathi might be trying to change
that definition. If the Kilrathi turned to weapons of mass destruction on
any major scale… the Confederation would have no choice but to answer
them in kind.

  But something else troubled Blair; something he hadn't shared with
anyone, not even Hobbes. Given that the Kilrathi had this new weapon,
and given the rumors that it had already been tested elsewhere, why
Locanda? The system was practically worthless in any strategic or
material sense, although its long-time position on the front lines gave it a
certain sentimental and media prominence the place hardly merited. It
was as if the Kilrathi had picked a place to wield their terror weapon
which was most likely to attract Confed attention. It would be much more
difficult for the High Command to seal off the system and black out the
news, because Locanda was so well known to the Confederation at large.

   A bioweapon attack here would be like a gauntlet thrown at the feet of
the High Command; a challenge… but why hadn't the Empire chosen some
system where they would win more than just a propaganda stroke?
Tamayo, with its high population and important shipyard facilities, or the
Sector HQ at Torgo, or any of a dozen other systems nearby would have
made far more logical choices than Locanda. There had to be something
more behind the Kilrathi campaign, but Blair couldn't fathom it.

  He wasn't even sure that he was working from anything more than
rumor, speculation, and fear.

   "Hey, Colonel, tell me again how we're contributing to the success of
the mission" Flint's voice crackled on the radio channel. She sounded
bored.

    "They can't all be free-for-alls, Flint," he told her, glad of the
interruption. He didn't like the depressing turn his thoughts were
following.

   "You really think this latest sighting's going to pan out? I'll lay you ten
to one that freighter captain was drunk when he logged that sensor
echo."

   The current reconnaissance effort had started after a report from a
tramp space freighter of multiple sensor readings at the edge of his scan
range two days back. It wasn't much to go on, but it was the only solid
lead they had just now.

  "No bet, Flint," Blair said, checking his sensor screen as he spoke. "I
know better than to believe in elves, goblins, or reliable tramp skippers."

   "You want to know what I mink, sir?" Flint said. "I think some
Kilrathi cap ships might've shown themselves to that freighter just to get
us away from the colony. Know what I mean?"
   "Any special reason, or are you just getting good at reading Kilrathi
minds? I can get you a cushy job with Intelligence if you can tell what the
cats are thinking." Blair caught a flash on his sensor screen. "Hold on…
I'm reading contacts at two o'clock, low, outer ring. Check me."

   There was a pause before Flint responded. "Yeah, I got 'em. Three… no,
four bogies, inbound. And I don't think they're our buddies from Red
Squadron."

   "Shuttle, power up and get the hell out of here," Blair ordered, "we'll
cover your withdrawal. But keep in mind our guys will need a drink when
they get back here, so don't go too far unless the bad guys break through
us."

   "Roger that," the shuttle pilot replied. Blair saw the twin flares as the
boxy little craft accelerated away, gathering speed. "We'll relay word to
Victory, too."

   "Okay, Flint, let's welcome our guests," Blair said, bringing the fighter
around and firing up the engines. "Keep close formation as long as
possible, but remember the top priority is to screen the shuttle. You see
somebody breaking past and heading his way, you nail the bastard, and
don't stop to ask for permission."

  "Don't worry, Colonel" she replied. "I hardly ever ask permission
anyway."

Bloodhawk Leader
Locanda System

   "I read three targets, two fighters, the other… a utility vessel of some
kind. It is moving off. The other two are turning our way."

   Flight Lieutenant Kavark nodded inside his bulky helmet. The report
matched what his own sensors detected. His patrol, four Darket off the
Imperial carrier Ras Nakhar, was near the end of its scheduled pattern
when the targets suddenly appeared at the edge of their sensor range. He
promptly ordered a course change to investigate.

   "This confirms my readings," he said. "Target computer says the
combatants are Thunderbolt class: heavy fighters. We have the advantage
of numbers even though they are better armored than us."
   "Then the greater glory accrues to us for fighting them!" Flight
Lieutenant Droghar responded eagerly. Kavark felt a surge of pride. The
pilots in his section were warriors, one and all, and it only enhanced his
honor to command them today… even if it was a hopeless fight. "What of
the other vessel?"

   "It is an unarmed shuttle, of no importance. We may safely deal with it
after the escort is defeated… if anyone feels the need for target practice."

    There were harsh laughs from the other three pilots. Kavark showed his
fangs under his flight helmet, wondering briefly if any of them ever
doubted their place in this war. "Ghairahn, you may have the honor of the
first challenge, if you wish."

   "Yes, Leader" Ghairahn replied. He was a young pilot, newly assigned
to the section, but a distant member of Kavarks Clan. This would be his
chance to earn his first blood in combat. "Thank you, Leader."

   "Remember the instructions. If the renegade is detected, we break off
the action. There will be no arguments, no loss of honor." Kavark paused.
He knew they faced almost certain destruction by engaging, but honor
demanded they fight. He would go through the motions, do all that was
expected of him… embrace death with talons unsheathed, if that was what
Sivar, the War God, demanded. "Now… for the glory of the Empire and
the honor of Kilrah… attack!"

  He forced himself to bare his fangs again in a savage smile as
Ghairahn's Darket fighter broke formation and accelerated toward the
enemy.

Thunderbolt 300
Locanda System

  "Here they come!"

   The first Darket was at maximum thrust, bare seconds away from the
Thunderbolt's weapon range. A second fighter supported close behind, but
the other two, true to Kilrathi practice, had not yet broken their formation
to join the battle. This gave the Terran pilots a brief advantage, since a
Darket was no match for a Thunderbolt in a stand-up, one-on-one fight.

  They made use of this advantage quickly. To cripple or destroy the first
two fighters before the other Kilrathi ships joined the fray was the plan. If
the enemy started swarming around either Terran ship with superior
numbers, the odds could quickly turn against Blair and Flint.

   Energy weapons blazing, the lead Darket dived directly toward Blair,
not even trying to use evasive tactics. The pilot was either very confident
or very inexperienced, Blair thought. He held off returning fire. Instead, he
kept a target lock on the Darket while allowing it to approach so he could
achieve the maximum effect from his weaponry.

   "For the honor of my noble race," a computer-generated voice
translated the Kilrathi pilot's radio call. "My claws shall grasp your
throat today, human."

   Blair didn't respond. He watched the Darket streak in, keeping one eye
on the shield readouts. His forward screen took the full brunt of the
Kilrathi attack, and the power level was dropping fast… maybe too fast. He
rolled sideways, killing his forward speed with a hard reverse thrust that
wrenched his gut. As the fighter slowed, he used his maneuvering
thrusters to put the fighter into a fast spin just as the Darket, surprised by
the maneuver, darted past with weapons now probing uselessly into space.

   For a few brief moments, the Kilrathi's vulnerable stern was visible in
Blair's sights. Smiling grimly, he powered up his engines again and
opened fire with full blasters, adding a heat-seeking missile for good
measure. "Curl your claws around this, furball," he said.

   The volley cracked the Imperial fighter's rear shields, and the missile
flew right up the tailpipe. It exploded, and the fighter came apart in a
spectacular ball of raw energy.

  "You really nailed him, Colonel" Flint said. "Now it's my turn …"

   She drove her Thunderbolt right into the guns of the second Darket,
ignoring the withering fire her opponent was laying down. A moment later
she spoke again. "Bye, bye, kitty," she said. Missiles and beams leapt from
her fighter's underbelly, and the Darket went up in a second brilliant
fireball that momentarily dimmed the stars. "Never mess with a gal on
her home turf! That makes nineteen, Davie … and more to follow!"

Bloodhawk Leader
Locanda System

   Kavark watched the destruction of Ghairahn's fighter with a curious
lack of emotion, showing neither anger nor blood lust, nor even pride in
the warrior's sacrifice. The second Darket's loss was the same; just
another statistic in the long fight against the ape-spawn humans.

   Sometimes it seemed that the conflict would go on forever. Once it
seemed a great thing, a glorious thing, to venture forth in battle for the
glory of Empire and Emperor and Clan. But the fighting continued
endlessly, and though the Kilrathi had the advantage of numbers and
sheer combat firepower, somehow the apes always managed to move from
the brink of defeat to rally and overcome the Emperor's forces. The Terran
spirit embodied a refusal to give in despite overwhelming odds. And their
warriors, though outnumbered and outgunned, were superb fighters.

   "We must attack, Leader," urged his surviving pilot, Kurthag. He never
doubted. He saw everything in black and white, honor against dishonor,
victory against death.

  "No, Kurthag," Kavark said. "One of us must report to the Fleet. They
must know where the Terrans are operating."

  "I will fight, Leader, while you withdraw…"

  "Sharvath!" Kavark snarled. "Would you have me abandon honor? I
command here. Mine is the honor of battle!"

  There was a long pause. "Yes… Leader" Kurthag said at last. "I obey…
despite the dishonor."

   " 'The warrior who obeys can never be dishonored,' " Kavark told him,
quoting from the famous words of the Emperor Joor'ath. "Now, go. And…
tell my mate my last battle song will be of her."

  He cut the channel and changed course to place his fighter between the
Terrans and Kurthag's craft.

  Sometimes the only way to deal with doubts was to face them… no
matter what the price.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

   "They're splitting up," Blair said, studying his sensor screen. "One of
them is making a run for it. Why is this other idiot sticking around?
Doesn't he know he's no match for two heavy fighters?"

  "Who knows what a cat's thinking?" Flint said, sounding distracted. "
Let's get him before he changes his mind!"

   "On my wing, Lieutenant. We'll take down this baby by the book…"
Blair continued to study the screen as he spoke. If that Kilrathi fighter was
heading for home, maybe he'd be able to lead the Terrans to the missing
Imperial fleet. Assuming they could track him somehow…

  "I can get the one who's running, Colonel," Flint announced suddenly. "
Going to afterburners. I'll be back before you finish toasting the dumb
one."

   She suited actions to words before he could respond, her fighter
streaking away at maximum thrust. Blair wanted to call her back, but at
that moment the remaining Darket opened fire and accelerated toward
him. There was no time to remonstrate with his headstrong wingman
now.

   He looped into a reciprocal course, trying to keep his sights framed on
the Kilrathi, but this pilot was no hotheaded amateur. His maneuvers
were unpredictable, and he knew just how to get the most out of his
fighter.

   The combination was dangerous, even in an uneven matchup like this
one. Before Blair could line up a shot, the Darket pulled a tight turn and
passed directly under his port wing, blasters firing. None of the hits
pierced the shield, but they weakened it. Then the Darket turned away to
avoid the arc of the Thunderbolts rear turret.

   Blair turned again at maximum thrust, the G-force pressing him firmly
into his seat. The enemy ship appeared on his HUD again, and he tried to
center the targeting reticule on the fighter despite the Kilrathi pilot's
evasive action. But the other pilot seemed to anticipate his every move,
weaving in under him a second time, unloading a full volley of beams and
missiles against the same weakened spot.

  A red light flashed on his console. "Burn-through, port shield. Armor
damage. Structural fatigue at ten percent." The computer's flat,
unemotional report was incongruous, and Blair didn't know if he wanted
to scream or laugh.

   The Kilrathi fighter spun in a tight turn and started another run. "Not
this time, my friend," Blair muttered under his breath.

   The weakness on the port side of the Thunderbolt would be a real
danger now; another good hit in the same area could seriously damage the
fighter. Ironically, it gave Blair an opportunity. There was little doubt as to
what the Kilrathi pilot would do this time. He would be drawn to repeat
that same attack a third time…

   Blair initiated a turn before the attack developed, letting his nose swing
down and left. The enemy pilot opened fire, but the shots caught the
forward shields, not the port side. Simultaneously, Blair triggered his own
weapons, and the Kilrathi ship flew right into the firing arc. A pair of
missile launches exhausted Blair's stocks, but they were sufficient.

  The pilot had time for one last transmission before the end. "There
must be… something more . . . than Death without end…"

   And then the fighter was gone.

Flight Deck. TCS Victory
Locanda System

   Blair scrambled from the cockpit as soon as the environmental systems
in the hangar were restored, brushing past the technicians and ignoring
Rachel's grinning "Looks like you took a real pounding out there"
comment. Seething, he crossed to Flint's fighter and waited for the woman
to come down.

   By the time he'd dealt with the Darket, Flint had already engaged the
fleeing ship. She had dealt with it quickly and competently, taking none of
the damage Blair had suffered in his engagement. Her target had turned
into expanding gases in a matter of seconds.

   Before Blair could read her the riot act, though, the shuttle had
returned, and the sensors registered the approach of the four Hellcats on
the return leg of their patrol. He refused to dress down another pilot over
an open channel. But all the way back, his anger had been building. Flint
had blown their best chance to track the enemy.

  She let go of the ladder halfway down and dropped to the deck beside
him, pulling off her flight helmet to reveal a grin. "Score's twenty now,
Colonel," she said. "Davie'll have his escort soon enough."

   "Only if you're flying, Lieutenant," he said, his voice low but harsh.
"And I'm not sure how long that's going to be, after what I saw out there
today."

   "But—"

    "You talk when I say you can talk, Lieutenant," he cut her off. "First you
listen. I gave you a direct order to stay on my wing when I engaged that
second Darket. Instead, you went charging after the other one. I expect
that kind of attitude from Maniac or even a rookie like Flash but not from
the pilot I pick as my wingman."

   "But, Colonel, you didn't need me to deal with a Darket," she protested,
looking stricken, "and I was able to make it a clean sweep."

    "A clean sweep," he repeated. "That's what it was, all right. Of course, if
there had been one survivor running for cover we might have been able to
lie back at extreme sensor range and track him back to his mother ship.
Maybe we'd find the whole damned Kilrathi fleet. But a clean sweep…
that's certainly worth passing up a result like that for, isn't it?"

   She took a step back. "Oh, God… Colonel, I never thought…"

   "No, you didn't," he said. "You never thought. Well, Lieutenant, think
about this. Intelligence thinks the cats are planning an all-out attack on
Locanda Four, not just a raid but something big and nasty. And if we
don't find their fleet and pinpoint it pretty damned soon they will have a
clear shot. So when your pretty purple skies are filled with Kilrathi
missiles, you think about whether we could have nailed them today if you
had just obeyed orders instead of playing your little revenge game."

   She looked down. "I… I don't know what to say, sir," she said slowly.
"I'm sorry. Were you serious… about yanking my flight status, I mean?"
He didn't answer right away. "I don't want to," Blair finally told her.
"You're a damned good pilot, Flint, and you know how to make that
Thunderbolt dance. But I told you before that I need a wingman I can
trust." He paused. "Consider this a final warning. You screw up again,
Flint, and I'll have your wings. You get me?"

   "Yes, sir." She met his angry eyes. "And… thanks, Colonel, for giving me
a second chance."

   As she turned and walked slowly away, Blair hoped he wouldn't regret
the decision later.


                          CHAPTER XI
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Locanda System

   Blair paused at the entrance to the rec room and glanced around. This
evening the lounge was fairly busy, the Gold Squadron particularly well
represented. Vagabond, Maniac, Beast Jaeger, and Blue Squadron's
Amazon Mbuto were playing cards. Judging from the stack of chips in
front of Lieutenant Chang, he was ahead. Vaquero was alone at another
table with headphones over his ears, his eyes closed, and his hands
tapping out a beat as he blissed out on his rockero music. Hobbes and
Flash were talking earnestly at a table by the viewport, and Sandman was
sharing drinks with a blonde from the carrier's weaponry division.

   Lieutenant Buckley, alone at the bar with a drink in her hand and a
half-empty bottle on the counter in front of her, looked up at Blair. She
stood with exaggerated care and walked over to him.

  "I hear you're down on Flint," she said, the words slurring a little.
"What's the matter, Colonel, you only like pilots who've got fur?"

   He looked at her coldly. "You've had too much to drink, Lieutenant," he
said. "I think you'd better head back to your quarters and get some rest."

   "Or what? You'll ground me? Like you threatened Flint?" She jabbed a
finger at him. "You save your high-and-mighty Colonel act for the flight
deck or the firing line. I'm on down-time now…"

   He grabbed her shoulder as she staggered, steering her back to the bar.
"I don't know what set you off, Lieutenant, but…"
   "What set me off? I'll tell you what set me off, Colonel, sir. Flints one of
the best damned pilots on this tub, and you treat her like dirt. Just like
you treat all the pilots, 'cept your furball buddy over there. After she came
off the flight deck this afternoon, she was ready to find an airlock and
cycle herself into space. I spent the whole damned afternoon trying to
straighten out the damage you created, chewing her out that way."

   "She screwed up," Blair said softly. "And we can't afford any mistakes."

   "Can't you let her be human once in a while? Do you have any idea what
kind of strain Flint's under? This is her home system, you know… and
everybody's talkin' about the cats planning to use bioweapons here."

   "There have been stories about bioweapons," he said guardedly.
Inwardly he wondered who had been talking. Probably not Rollins; he'd
sounded sincere when he promised not to spread the story. But everyone
at the squadron commanders' briefing knew about the rumors now, and
some of them—Maniac, for example— wouldn't think twice before sharing
the stories with the rest of the crew. "Right now they're just that: stories.
Whoever's been circulating them probably wouldn't know a bioweapon
from a biosphere."

    "Oh, come off it, Colonel," Cobra said. "The cats've been working on
these kinds of weapons for years. They use human test subjects from their
slave camps. They've tried their bugs out on other human planets already.
It's only a matter of time before they start using them routinely. If the
grapevine says it'll be here, I wouldn't argue with it."

   "You know a hell of a lot about what the Kilrathi are doing, lieutenant,"
Blair said "Maybe you should spend more of your time talking to Intell,
and a little less on telling me how to run my Wing."

   "Intell! I've had enough of Intell people and their questions!" She shook
her head. "Anyway, you're just trying to change the subject. The simple
fact is, Colonel, that there are some damn fine people on this ship who
deserve better than what you're givin' 'em. Flints jus' the worst case. But if
I was you, I'd start treating people right, or you just might find out what
friendly fire's all about sometime—" She broke off and started to stagger to
another seat but ended up sitting down heavily where she was and putting
her head down on the bar next to her bottle.

   "Should I call Security to give her an escort to her quarters, sir?" Rostov
asked from behind the bar. Blair wasn't sure how long he'd been there.

   He shook his head. "Let's keep this in the family," he said, looking
around. He caught Flash's eye and summoned him with a wave. "Major, I
need a favor. Could you help Lieutenant Buckley back to her quarters,
please? She's had a little too much to drink…"

   "Sure, Colonel," Flash said with a grin. "I was starting to wonder how
much booze she was going to be able to put away before she pulled a
crash-and-burn." He helped Cobra to her feet, wrapped one of her arms
around his shoulders. "Come on, Cobra, let's get you home."

   Blair watched them leave, then let out a sigh. "Give me a drink, Rosty,"
he said, feeling suddenly weary. "A double anything. It's been that kind of
a day."

   He took the glass from the one-armed bartender, but didn't drink it
right away. Insteadhe stared into the amber liquid, his mind a whirl of
conflicting emotions. From the very start he was an outsider here, unable
to pass the barriers his pilots held against him. Sometimes it felt as if he
was flailing the air. Most of these pilots had been through a lot together
and felt the same type of comradeship he had shared with the men and
women of the Concordia. They resented him, resisted him, and everything
Blair did only seemed to make things worse.

    At least there were a few people he could still trust. Blair picked up the
glass and took a sip, then walked to the table where Ralgha was still
sitting, alone now. "Mind if I join you, Hobbes?" he asked.

  "Please, my friend," the Kilrathi said, gesturing courteously toward the
chair Flash had relinquished. "It would be good to spend some time with
someone who… truly understands what this war is about."

   "I take it you and Flash don't see eye to eye?" Blair sat down across
from his old comrade.

   "That cub!" Ralgha was uncharacteristically vehement "He sees
everything through the eyes of youth. No judgment. No experience. No
concept of the truth of war."

   "When he gets to be our age, he'll know better," Blair said. "If he lives
that long. But I know what you mean. Things sure have changed since the
old days."

   Ralgha gave him a very human smile. "Maybe not so much," he said. "I
can recall times when I thought I was immortal… and when you would get
drunk and tell off a superior officer."

   Blair shot him a look. "You heard all that?"

   "My race has better hearing than yours," Hobbes reminded him. "And
the lieutenant was not exactly concerned with keeping her voice low.
Alcohol may cause some people to speak and act in very strange ways, my
friend. I do not think there was any serious intent behind her words."

   "In vino veritas" Blair said.

   "I am not familiar with those words," the Kilrathi said, looking puzzled.

   "It's Latin. A dead Terran language. It means 'there is truth in wine.' "

   "I do not think Cobra would actually fire on you," Ralgha said. "Perhaps
me, given the intensity of her dislike. But despite her anger tonight, I
believe she respects you as a pilot… and even as a leader. Unfortunately,
she also has a high regard for Lieutenant Peters, who saved her life in the
last battle before the ship refitted at Torgo. And you should understand
what it means to defend a friend from what you see as unjustified
persecution."

   "Yeah, I understand. I just wish there was a way to get through to her…
to all of them."

   "Perhaps you should consider unbending somewhat," Hobbes said
slowly. "You have seemed… aloof… on this mission. That contributes to the
trouble."

   "I know that, too," Blair admitted. "But… I don't know, Hobbes. I just
keep thinking about all the other times aboard the Tiger's Claw and the
Concordia. It seems like every time I make friends and start to share
something with good people, they end up dead. When I first arrived, I
thought I would be better off keeping my distance. I thought maybe it
wouldn't hurt as much, if it happened again. But that isn't the answer,
either, because even if I can't call them my friends, I still feel responsible
for these people. I respect them. And I'll still mourn them, if they buy it
out there."

  "I doubt it could be any other way, my friend," Hobbes said gravely.
"Not as long as you are… yourself."

   "Maybe so." Blair drained his glass. "Well, who knows? Maybe we're
into the last game, after all, like all the Confed press releases claim. Maybe
the Kilrathi Empire is about to give up the whole thing as a bad idea, and
we'll have peace and harmony and all that sweetness and light."

   Ralgha shook his head slowly. "It is a time for strange ideas," he said.
"My people have invented a word for surrender, a concept I can still barely
grasp after years among your kind." He gestured toward the viewport. "I
used to raid these worlds with my brethren. Now I defend them… and my
people talk of giving themselves up without further struggle."

   The Kilrathi paused, and for a moment Blair thought he looked lost. "I
cannot guess at what my one-time comrades might do next. But I do not
believe that the Imperial family can change so totally. If there is peace, it
will be because the Emperor and Thrakhath are overthrown, and their
supporters broken. That will not happen without a major change in the
way this war progresses."

Flight Wing Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory
Locanda System

   Angel was with him, looking just as she had the day she left Concordia
with her kit bag slung over one arm and the open ramp to the shuttle
yawning behind her like a black, toothless maw.

  "Farewell, mon ami," she said. "Look after the others for me, all our
comrades. I will come back when Paladin does not need me…"

   "Don't go, Angel," Blair heard himself saying the-words as if from some
great distance. "Stay here. If you go, everything will fall apart…
everything…"

   The words were wrong. He knew it, even as a shrill screech rang in his
ear and brought him out of the dream. The words were all wrong…

  He had let her go that day without a protest. He told Angel that he
understood, told her that he would wait for her. But she hadn't come back
to the Concordia. And he wasn't sure she'd ever come back to him. Angel…

   The noise didn't go away even after he had sat up, his eyes wide open,
staring at the bare walls of his quarters. It took Blair quite a while to
realize the noise was the shrilling sound of the General Quarters alarm. He
started to rise when a computer voice joined the cacophony. "Now,
General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands to Combat Stations. This is
not a drill. General Quarters, General Quarters…"

   A moment later the computer voice was replaced by Rollins, sounding
excited. "Colonel Blair, to the Captain's Ready Room, please. Colonel Blair
to Captain's Ready Room!"

   As he finished tugging on his uniform, Blair glanced at the watch
implanted in his wrist. It read 0135 hours, ship time. With a muttered
curse, he grabbed his boots and started wrestling them onto his feet.

   He wasn't sure which was worse: the dream of his loss or the reality of
the war.

   Dressed and almost awake, Blair forced himself to move through the
corridors at a brisk yet measured pace. Never let your people see you run,
laddie, Paladin had told him once back in the days they served on Tiger's
Claw together. Even when the whole bloody universe is falling around
your ears, walk like you haven't a care in the world, and the other lads'll
take heart and fight the better for it.

   It took all his willpower to remember the old warrior's lesson this time.
The incessant alarm and the crewmen hastening to their combat stations
set every nerve on edge. He knew long before he reached the ready room
that this mission was the one which they had been awaiting—and
dreading—for so long.

  "Blair!" Eisen's voice boomed out as he entered the compartment.
"Thought I was going to have to send somebody to roust you out of bed,
man! We've spotted the bad guys, and we haven't got a second to lose."

   He joined the captain, Rollins, and Hobbes at the big table, watched as
Eisen manipulated a terminal, activating a holographic chart in the air
above the smooth surface.

  "Leyland and Svensson spotted two carriers and five destroyers here
eighteen minutes ago," Eisen said, indicating a set of coordinates
approximately ten million kilometers ahead of the carrier's present
position. "They made a positive ID on both of the carriers. One is the
Sar'hrai, our friend from Tamayo. The other is definitely the Hvar'kann."

   "So Thrakhath is here, just like the reports indicated." Blair fought
himself to suppress a betraying tremor in his voice. "I wonder how much
of the rest of it's true?"

   "Most of it, Colonel," Eisen said levelly, meeting his eyes with a bland
stare. "Intell sent us an update last night. The Kilrathi are carrying
missiles armed with biological warheads, and they are going to attempt to
use them against Locanda IV. The missiles are a new type, designated
Skipper. They're too big to carry aboard fighters, so they'll be launched
from capital ships."

  "They had to wait until now to confirm it?" Blair asked bitterly. "They
couldn't give us time to get ready?"

   "The confirmation only came in from outsystem yesterday. One of
General Taggart's resources finally gave us the full specs on the weapon…
for what it's worth."

   "You haven't heard the really bad news, either," Rollins put in. "These
Skipper missiles carry cloaking devices, so they'll be damned hard to
track. And as for the warheads… well, we might as well not have the specs
at all. There's no counter for those bugs. Nothing."

   Eisen gave Rollins a quick, angry look. "Once the pandemic is
introduced into a Terrestroid ecosystem, it'll spread very quickly," he said.
"And Mr. Rollins is correct. Even the Kilrathi don't have a cure for it."

   Blair's nod was sober. "So we can't let them get any missiles through to
the planet," he said. He looked from Eisen to Rollins. "But how do we stop
cloaked missiles?"

   "Hell, I didn't think the targeting system on a missile could handle
cloaked flight. Everything I ever saw said you need a pilot to handle a bird
when it's under cloak."

   "According to the specs, the Skipper doesn't stay under cloak all the
time," Eisen said. "It drops out of cloak every few seconds to update its
flight profile. So they can be tracked… but only intermittently."

   "Lovely. Any more good news?"

   "Leyland was able to get an accurate scan of the Kilrathi. From the
looks of things, both carriers had an absolute minimum of fighters
deployed." Eisen's eyes studied him through the hologram. "They have the
escorts doing most of their recon and CAP work. You know what that
means as well as I do."

  "Yeah." Blair nodded again. "They're prepping the fighters for a
magnum launch. Right, Hobbes?"

  The Kilrathi renegade sounded grave. "I fear that is the only likely
explanation, my friend," he agreed.

   "They're still pretty far out for a strike," Blair said. "Range is extreme
for a run against Four."

   "I agree," Eisen said. "But if I was about to make an all-out strike on a
well-defended target, I'd prep early and keep my people ready. That way I
could launch the moment I knew the enemy had discovered my ships.
They may not be planning the strike right away, but they'll be good to go
at any time."

   "Where does that leave us?" Blair asked. "No criticism intended for the
Victory and her crew, sir, but I'm not wild about the idea of us tackling
the whole Kilrathi force alone. We might get in some hits, but some of the
bastards will escape… and then where would we be?"

   "Agreed," Eisen said. He looked at Blair. "Even I'm not so proud of the
old girl that I think she'd survive a stand-up fight with seven cap ships.
And our battle group isn't strong enough to even up the odds, either."

   That prompted nods around the table. Three destroyers,

   Coventry, Sheffield, and Ajax, had joined the carrier at Tamayo as
escorts, but two of them were as old and outdated as Victory herself. Only
Coventry carried her own half-wing of fighters. All in all, they weren't
much when set against the Kilrathi force.

   "Do you have any recommendations, Colonel?" Eisen went on.
  Blair studied the chart. "Yeah," he said slowly. He allowed himself a
wolfish grin. "Hit 'em now… and hit them hard."

  Eisen looked doubtful. "It'll be a mismatch," he said. "Can you do
anything against those odds?"

   "Yes, sir, I can," Blair said, although a part of him didn't share the
confidence he tried to project. "We won't be going in to take on the whole
Kilrathi fleet. My notion is to threaten them with an attack and make
them launch their missiles early. That's what I'd do, if I wasn't sure what
was hitting me. So we stir them up, make 'em commit. And then we go
after those missiles with everything we've got. Victory won't be in any
danger, because I don't see how they could mount a counterstrike in the
middle of their attack op. The risk falls entirely to the Wing."

   "I was hoping you'd come up with something better, Colonel," Eisen
said, sounding weary, "because that was the only plan I was able to rough
out, too. And I'm afraid your pilots are going to be in for one hell of a
fight."

   "Yeah," Blair said. "I know. But I don't see anything else we can do
without throwing away the one advantage we have right now."

   "Advantage? We have an advantage?" Rollins looked and sounded
incredulous.

  "Surprise, Mr. Rollins," Blair told him with a slow smile. "Fact is,
nobody would be crazy enough to do what we're talking about doing."


                         CHAPTER XII
Flight Control, TCS Victory
Locanda System

   "Battle Alert! Battle Alert!" the computer announced. "Now, scramble!
Scramble! Scramble! All Flight Wing personnel to magnum launch
stations. Scramble!"

   A monitor showed the view as the ready rooms erupted in a sudden
outburst of activity. For a few seconds it was a scene of utter chaos, with
pilots running for the Hangar Deck. Some were still zipping up flight suits
or dogging down helmets as they moved, but there was an underlying
sense of order beneath all the confusion. These people were professionals
who knew their jobs.

   Blair glanced around Flight Control Center, nodding in satisfaction.
The room was fully crewed, with Captain Ted "Marker" Markham,
Victory's Flight Boss, presiding over the technicians with his usual
autocratic flair. Ignoring the others, Blair focused his attention on Maniac
Marshall, who was with Rachel Coriolis near the door. The major seemed
to be debating his fighter's combat loadout with the technician, waving
his hands in the air and talking with an excited intensity.

   He waited until the discussion was over before crossing to Maniac. "We
don't have any room for grandstanding today, Major," he said quietly.
"This mission has to be flown perfectly. Otherwise… scratch a whole
colony world and everyone on it. You read me, mister?"

  Marshall met his eyes defiantly. "I know my duty, damn it. And I've
never let my end down."

  "Just remember what's at stake. You don't have to like me, major, any
more than I have to like you. But today you'll follow my orders, or I'll have
your head."

  "I'll do my job," Maniac told him. "You just do yours."

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

   Blair and Flint launched last, joining the other fighters already on
station around the carrier. All four squadrons were up, thirty-three
fighters in all. Leyland and Svensson had two of Blue Squadron's
interceptors in position closer to the enemy flight, and the techs had
down-checked five fighters—two Arrows, two Hellcats, and a Longbow—as
unable to fly the mission.

    He was glad Gold Squadron hadn't suffered any down-checks. At least
all ten Thunderbolts would be going in today.

   "All squadrons, this is Wing Commander," he announced as he settled
his fighter into formation between Flint and Hobbes. "We've gone over the
drill often enough, so I expect you all know your jobs by now. Warlock, I
wish you were with us on this one, but in-flight refueling would complicate
things too much. Keep your guard up, and make sure the old rust-bucket's
still here for us when we get home."

  "Godspeed, Colonel" Whittaker replied.

   "The rest of us have a fleet to catch," Blair continued. "Amazon, take
the lead. Green Squadron to follow, Gold in the rear. Let's punch it, boys
and girls!" He rammed his throttles forward as if to punctuate the order,
felt the engines surging to full power and the G-force pressing him down.
"Engage autopilots," he said. "Anybody who thinks he can sleep, this is
your last chance for a catnap before things start getting hot!"

   He doubted if anyone actually slept, though with the autopilots set it
would have been possible—assuming adrenaline and anticipation left any
room for any of them to relax. It was a forty-five minute flight at
maximum thrust, and Blair spent the time reviewing his plans and trying
to spot ways to improve their chances of success. He saw precious little
hope of shortening the daunting odds against them. Everything depended
on luck, now.

   Blair was surprised when the computer alarm sounded the warning.
They were close to their navigation checkpoint now, and the autopilots
were disengaging automatically. He checked his scanners, saw the blips
representing the two watchdog interceptors trailing the Kilrathi fleet
ahead. The enemy showed up on long-range sensors, which showed the
presence of large vessels, but so far his monitor showed nothing in range
of the more accurate but less powerful short-range scan.

  That was exactly as it should be. So far, so good…

  "Shepherd to flock," he said, breaking radio silence. "Commence your
run… NOW!"

Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann
Locanda System

  "Lord Prince!"

   Thrakhath looked up from his computer display. The Tactical Officer
sounded frightened, but whether it was due to something on his scanners
or the danger of bothering Thrakhath was difficult to tell. "Lord Prince, I
have multiple targets on close-range sensors. Small… a cluster of
fighter-class targets. At least four eights of them!"

  "Position?" Thrakhath rasped.

  "Bearing to port and low, range five thousand octomak and closing."
The officer paused. "They are Terran by their signatures, Lord Prince…"

   "Of course they are Terran, fool!" Thrakhath raged. "Who else would
send fighters against us? But how…?"

  "The Terran carrier," Melek said. "Victory."

   "Victory," Thrakhath repeated, his claws twitching in and out of their
sheaths with the violence of his emotion. "The Terrans must not be
allowed to stop Unseen Death. Order all Vrag'chath missiles fired
immediately, and launch fighters. Do it now!"

   "We could deploy the Red Fang squadron to engage them, Lord
Prince—"

   "No! Red Fang has its own role to play. They will adhere to the battle
plan!"

   "As you wish, Lord Prince. But I am afraid that the Terrans might have
more surprises planned for us." Melek's words were grim as he turned to
carry out Thrakhath's orders.

   The Prince summoned up a holographic tactical chart in the air in
front of his command seat. He glared into it as if the very anger in his eyes
was a weapon to destroy the Terran with. "It is they who will be surprised,
I think," he said quietly.

   Melek glanced up from his console. "The renegade will be among these
pilots, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Do the orders regarding him stand?"

   Thrakhath didn't answer right away. If only Sar'hrai had carried out
the job of crippling the Terran carrier at Tamayo, none of these
complications would be around to plague him now. Carrier and renegade
would be safely ensconced in some Confederation shipyard, waiting for the
moment when they would join in tne intricate dance of Thrakhath's grand
design. He hoped Sar'hrai s late captain was suffering on the unending
barren plains of the Kilrathi netherworld for his failure. "If detected, the
renegade must be avoided," the Prince said at last. "It is not yet time for
Ralgha to realize his destiny…"

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

  "The big boys are launching missiles, skipper." The voice in Blairs
headphones had been scrambled, decoded, and computer-reconstructed,
but he recognized Vagabond's smooth, laid-back tones. "Big suckers…
must be those Skippers you warned us about."

  "Time to give them something else to think about," Blair said. "Green
Squadron, execute Plan Hammer. Amazon, give 'em cover…"

  "Acknowledged," Major Berterelli said, his tone bland and professional.

  "On it, Colonel," Mbuto chimed in a moment later. "Come on, Blue
Squadron, let's give the cats something they can really chew on!"

  The Longbows and Arrows peeled away, headed toward Thrakhath's
command carrier. Blair had been forced to improvise an attack plan
quickly once the Kilrathi fleet had been spotted, and Plan Hammer was a
modification of a standing tactical operation he hoped would do the job.

   The main vulnerability of the Kilrathi was their reliance on a highly
organized leader cult at all levels of their society. From the Emperor down
to the most ordinary noncom, leaders were looked to for virtually all
decisions, even minor tactical choices a human would automatically make
on his own initiative. The chain of command in the Empire allowed for a
certain amount of flexibility, but an Imperial force without a leader grew
rapidly unstable.

   And Kilrathi leaders were well aware of this. They fought honorably in
battle, like any of their race, but they were also all too conscious of the
need for protection.

   A threat to Thrakhath's flagship, then, might just get the full attention
of the Kilrathi prince, at least for a time. He would almost certainly
concentrate his capital ships to meet the danger, and that might just give
Blair and Gold Squadron the time they needed to do something about the
Kilrathi missiles that were already accelerating away from the enemy fleet.
If the Kilrathi concentrated on defending themselves, their missiles might
just be vulnerable.

  "Gold Squadron, stay with me," he went on. "Let's give the heavy stuff a
wide berth if we can."

  "I'm for that!" Vaquero said. "The wider, the better."

    Still at full thrust, the Thunderbolts raced in pursuit of the Kilrathi
fighters, but despite Blair's preference their course led them directly past
one of the enemy destroyers. For a moment he debated steering clear of
the ship, but that would give the Kilrathi strike force too much lead time.
Blair decided their only choice was to risk the capital ship's defensive
fire…

   "Check your shields, people," he ordered. "And hold your fire. Our
targets are the fighters."

  "Goddamn," Maniac said, almost too soft to hear. "We could nail this
bastard if we wanted to. …"

  "Stick to the program, Maniac," Blair warned.

  "I know, I know," Marshall said. "But you can't blame a guy for
dreaming, can you?"

   The destroyer opened fire, massive energy discharges crackling from
each of her turret batteries. One shot grazed Blair's starboard shields, and
his status board lit up red as the computer assessed the power loss. It
wouldn't take too many such hits to overwhelm the shielding and start
sloughing off armor.

   The biggest problem, though, was just gripping the steering yoke and
trying to stay on course. Every nerve and muscle within him wanted to
take action, any kind of action, but Blair forced himself to maintain his
course and press on. He hoped the others would follow his lead.

  "I'm hit! I'm hit!" That was Beast Jaeger. "Direct hit on bow shielding.
The generator's overloaded—"

   "Hold on, partner," Cobra said. She was flying as his wingman again
today. "Ease off a bit. I'll slide in ahead of you." Blair glanced at his
tactical display and saw that the lieutenant was suiting actions to words,
bringing her Thunderbolt in directly ahead of Jaeger's. She could soak up
at least some of the energy that came his way now… but it was a
dangerous move, keeping such a tight formation.

  "What's your status, Beast?" he asked.

   "Bow shield generator's off-line, Colonel," Jaeger reported, calmer now.
"But I'm re-routing the system now. It'll be makeshift, but I'll get the
shields back up."

  "You could abort…"

  "No way, Colonel. I'm in it for the long haul."

  "Bastard's still firing," Maniac commented. "Damn near singed my
wings. I still wish I could take him down."

  "Maniac, if we take out those missiles, I personally guarantee you we'll
come back and toast this cat's whiskers," Blair told him. "Any other
damage?"

  There was none. They had cleared the destroyer's primary fire zone
now, though a few stray shots might still find them even here. But the
worst was over…

  Except, of course, for stopping those missiles.

Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann
Locanda System

   "The stalker is loose among the meat-herd, Lord Prince. Their bombers
have damaged the forward shields and knocked out our primary missile
launcher."

   "The Terrans are prey, not predators," Thrakhath snarled. He didn't
like the way Melek was beginning to regard the enemy. Respect or
admiration was an accolade to be accorded only to predators, and the
Terrans certainly didn't qualify for that status no matter how hard they
fought to stay clear of the Imperial claws and fangs.

  "Perhaps not," Melek said, almost mildly. "But at the moment that prey
is dangerous. The threat to the flagship cannot be ignored, Lord Prince.
And it is not the only problem—"

   "The Terran success will not last," Thrakhath told him. "They are too
badly outnumbered to deal with all our ships. Particularly once the
fighters are fully deployed."

   "The attacks on the flagship may be no more than a diversion, Lord
Prince. The Terrans feint and threaten, but do not press home their
thrusts. Nor are they eager to engage our fighters. We have destroyed two
medium interceptors and a bomber, and others are damaged. But one of
their squadrons is pursuing the missile flight. If they can intercept the
missiles, the whole plan will be lost. We should consider diverting
additional fighters to cover the missile strike."

   "No, Melek," he said at last. "No, the Red Fangs will be sufficient for
that task. The other fighters will remain here, to support the fleet. And to
threaten the Terran carrier, once they break off their attacks here."

   "As you command, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. But Thrakhath
thought he could detect an undercurrent of dispute in his retainer's tone.
That would have to be dealt with, at some point, lest it grow into open
rebellion.

  A pity, really, if Thrakhath ultimately was forced to do away with him.
Melek was too useful a subordinate to dispose of casually.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

  "Stay on 'em," Blair said through tight-clenched teeth. "Stay on them…"

   A cluster of Kilrathi missiles glowed bright on his short-range scanner,
almost within weapons range now as the Terrans continued their pursuit.
Then they were gone again, cloaked, equally invisible to electronic
scanning and the naked eye. It made the chase a frustrating one, never
knowing just when the targets might be visible or where their essentially
random course changes might put them next. But patience and a little bit
of luck would still be enough to stop the Kilrathi warheads… provided the
Terrans kept on top of the Skippers. If any of them got past the
Confederation fighters, picking up their trail again later would be
well-nigh impossible.

   "Hobbes, you and Flash get to play tag with these boys," Blair
announced on the tactical channel. "Stick with it until you clean them up,
and try to let us know if any of them get past you. Save your missiles if you
can… there might be some tougher opponents for you to go after later on."
He paused. "The rest of you stay with me. We'll track down that next
batch while Hobbes has his fun here. Fire at any target of opportunity,
beams only… and don't deviate from your flight paths. Let's do it!"

Red Fang Leader
Locanda System

   Flight Captain Graldak nor Sutaghi accelerated his Strakha fighter to
full power and studied the tell-tales flickering on his sensor screen. The
Terrans were among the missiles now, beginning to fire as the Vrag'chath
popped in and out of view to allow their computers to make course
corrections in flight. It was time for Graldak's warriors to make their
presence known.

   He outnumbered the Terrans, with two eights of fighters in his
command against eight-and-two of the Terran Thunderbolts. But it wasn't
much of a margin of superiority. If only Prince Thrakhath had provided
additional fighter support for the missiles! But instead he had chosen to
hold back the bulk of the Imperial fighters to defend his flagship, even
though a half-blind ckurnah could see that the Terran attack had been a
mere feint to hold Imperial assets in place around the fleet while they tried
to stop the missiles.

   It would be fitting if Thrakhath's flagship was blown away, Graldak
thought. The Prince and his half-senile grandfather had done nothing
right since the war with the Terrans had first begun. There was a stirring
throughout the Empire these days, the first scent of change on the wind. If
only the Imperial family's iron talons could be pried loose for a time, the
Clans would rise and sweep them aside. Then the Empire could end this
fruitless war with the humans, come to terms with them as predators
rather than continuing to view them, as Thraknath did, as prey.

  But meantime the War went on, and Graldak had duty and honor to
maintain.
  "Red Fang Leader to Gleaming Talon Squadron," Graldak said aloud.
"Drop out of cloak and engage the Terrans. The honor of battle is yours."

  Gleaming Talon's fighters were a good match for the Terran
Thunderbolts, especially with the element of surprise on their side. They
would tie the Terrans up for a few critical minutes, at least, and that
would give the other flights of missiles time to get further away. Once they
were more than a few thousand octomaks from the Terran fighters, they
would be even harder to detect.

   And, meanwhile, Red Fang squadron would remain clear of the
fighting, until Graldak could decide how best to intervene. After all, it
wasn't just missiles that could hide behind a cloak.


                         CHAPTER XIII
Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

  "We got us some company, Colonel. I count eight on an intercept
course, bearing zero-one-six by three-five-eight"

   The target reticule flashed on his HUD, and Blair glanced down at the
targeting data display to his right even as Flint's words were registering.
Targets… ? Where had they come from?

   The answer made a cold lump in his stomach as the computer
displayed a diagram of the nearest target, asymmetrical, with projecting
horns that gave it a menacing, alien shape. Even before he saw the name
Blair recognized the design and cursed under his breath. He should have
realized what he was up against immediately.

  Strakha fighters.

   They were comparatively rare in the Kilrathi arsenal as yet, an
advanced-technology space fighter on the cutting edge of Kilrathi science.
Intelligence had nicknamed them "Stealth Cats" before they'd ever actually
been encountered in combat, and they lived up to the name. They were
designed for sneaking, pure and simple, with sensor-distorting materials
incorporated into the hull and a shape that tended to confuse most
scanning systems. Worst of all, though, they mounted a cloaking device
that could actually obscure the craft from any detection whatsoever, at
least for short periods of time. But unlike the Skipper missiles, they could
stay hidden, without having to drop the cloak to make navigation checks.

   The new Excaliburs Rachel Coriolis had been drooling over a few weeks
back had been designed to incorporate a Terran knock-off of a captured
Kilrathi cloak, but the Excaliburs weren't in production yet. Strakha were.
And they were here, in the Locanda system, right now.

   "I see them, Flint," Blair acknowledged his wingman's call. "Escorts, to
take our minds off the missiles."

  "Hard to ignore 'em," Flint said. "When they want to meet us so bad
and all…"

  He didn't answer her. "Maniac, Cobra, engage the escort fighters.
Wingmen, stay with your leaders. The rest of you, stay on course and only
engage if you have to."

   "Ready to rock'n'roll!" Marshall responded. "C'mon, Sandy, let's teach
these kitties a few new flying tricks!"

  "We're on it," Cobra added a moment later.

   Four Thunderbolts broke formation, Maniac and Sandman rolling left,
Cobra and Beast to the right as they spread out to meet the oncoming
Kilrathi craft. He hoped his people could deal with two-to-one odds.

   That left four Terran fighters to pursue the Imperial missiles. And if
even one of them got through…

  Blair forced the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford doubts now.

  "Here, kitty, kitty" Maniac was taunting. "Get ready to become cat
chow!"

   The Thunderbolts maintained formation as they drove through the
enemy squadron. Blair's target computer selected the closest fighter and
locked on, and as the crosshairs glowed on his HUD Blair triggered his
blasters. Energy beams raked the Kilrathi ship, not quite enough to
penetrate the shields. But a moment later Flint was firing. The target ship
tried to dodge out of range, but too late. Flint's blaster tore through
shields, armor, and hull, and the Strakha blew.

   "Twenty-one!" Flint called. She sounded excited, eager. "Thanks for
laying him open for me, Colonel!"

  "Any time, lieutenant," Blair told her. "Just remember to keep your wits
about you. Keep it frosty."

   Another explosion flared to port, where Vagabond had scored a hit.
Hobbes and Flash, meantime, had broken formation to pursue the flight of
missiles. The four remaining Thunderbolts in Blair's dwindling force raced
on, past another Skipper that Vaquero and Blair each managed to tag. It
didn't blow, but Blair's targeting computer reported extensive damage to
the guidance systems and steering jets. That made it virtually certain to
miss its target.

  They didn't have to destroy their targets, just disable them. Another
advantage, however slight…

  They still needed every advantage they could muster.

Thunderbolt 308
Locanda System

   "Look out, Beast, you've got one on your tail!" Lieutenant Laurel
Buckley bit off a curse as she brought her fighter around to support
Jaeger. Almost from the moment they'd come into weapons range the
Kilrathi had been pressing their attack hard, their fighters swarming like
angry hornets around the outnumbered Terrans. Strakha were dangerous
foes when the odds were even. When they had numbers on their side as
well they were deadly.

   But the four Thunderbolts could keep them busy for a while, and that
might give Blair the time he needed. Cobra found herself wondering,
briefly, if the colonel's decision to order her and Maniac to deal with the
escorts was Blairs way of getting rid of the pilots he trusted least. Everyone
in the Wing knew how he felt about Marshall… and she suspected he had
the same opinion of her, after their clashes over Ralgha and Flint.

   And Jaeger had the only fighter damaged by the destroyer's fire. Was
he being left as a diversion because he, too, was considered expendable?
   On the other hand, he'd kept Dillon paired with his precious Kilrathi
friend, and nobody figured Flash as anything but deadwood.

   No, Blair didn't strike her as the kind to let personal feelings dictate his
tactical choices. He probably figured that she and Maniac would be better
at this kind of free-for-all dogfighting than they were likely to be pursuing
and attacking the strike craft. Four Thunderbolts against eight
Strakha—no, six, now, after Flint and Maniac had each managed to take
one out—called for aggressive flying, and that was one thing Cobra Buckley
was good at.

   "Hold her steady, Beast," she said, lining up on the fighter behind
Jaeger. "Steady… turn port! Port!" She squeezed the trigger on her
blasters as she shouted.

   Jaeger cut sharply to the left, then broke right again as he applied
braking thrust. The Strakha, pounded by Cobra's beams, shot past Beast's
Thunderbolt, and Jaeger opened fire on the exposed tail where the shields
were still shimmering from the fury of Buckley's attack.

   For a moment nothing happened. Then the shields collapsed and
Jaeger's blasters tore through armor. A shot penetrated to the power
plant, and the Strakha exploded.

   "Nice shooting, partner!" Cobra called, grinning.

   "You set it up," Jaeger said. "Only five more to go!"

  "Four!" Maniac cut in. "I've already nailed two of the bastards. Come
on, you two, join the party! Plenty of little kitty asses for everybody!"

   "Two more coming in, Cobra," Jaeger reported. "Up ahead… shit! My
shield generator's fritzing on me again!"

   "Back off, Beast, let me handle—"

  The two Strakha dived straight in, concentrating their fire on Jaeger's
Thunderbolt. Shot after shot raked the fighter. He was trying to turn
away, but Buckley could see he was too late. The bow shield was failing…

  Then it was over. The fireball consumed Jaeger's fighter, so bright her
computer cut in the polarizers for an instant to protect her eyes. When she
could see again, nothing remained of Helmut Jaegers craft but a
rapidly-expanding cloud of twisted, scorched metal fragments.

   She could hardly believe it had happened so suddenly. One instant
Jaeger had been out there… now, nothing. It took her back to the horrors
of the Kilrathi labor camp, to guards who would strike down a slave
without warning and to people she knew who vanished in the night. The
cats were always the same, always killing without warning and without
mercy, taking joy from death and fear and pain…

  "Bastards!" she screamed, hitting her afterburners to dive toward the
nearest Strakha as she opened fire with all her energy weapons at once. "
Damn cat bastards! I'll see you all in hell!"

Strike Leader
Locanda System

   Graldak nar Sutaghi bared his fangs as four Terran fighters accelerated
away from the developing battle. So, the Terran strike leader knows how
to hunt, he thought grimly. Prince Thrakhath had bestowed a name upon
their Flight Wing commander: The Heart of the Tiger. Today the human
was living up to the honor of that name, clinging to his mission despite all
the barriers the Empire raised in his path.

   Did Thrakhath realize what kind of warrior this ape was? The Prince
wasn't known for esteeming his Terran foes, even those who received a
Kilrathi vendetta-name.

   No matter, now. The only thing that counted at the moment was
victory, and that was very nearly under Graldak's claws. The Terrans had
managed to destroy two of the four flights of missiles, and they had almost
reached the third. But they would get no further.

   "Red Fang squadron," he said aloud, feeling the battle-lust surging
through his veins. "Decloak and engage at will!"

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

   "Keep them off me! Keep them off me!" Vaquero's voice was urgent in
Blairs headphones. "Where the hell are you, Vagabond?"
  "Just hang in there a little longer," the Chinese pilot responded. "The
cavalry's coming."

   Blair wrenched his attention back to his HUD as a Strakha dived
toward him, guns blazing. This last batch of enemy fighters had come at
them out of nowhere, eight against his four, and the Terrans were fighting
for their lives. Even as he flipped the Thunderbolt into a tight, high-G
evasive turn a part of his mind was on another part of the battle entirely…
and on the clock. Each second ticking away took the final flight of Kilrathi
missiles further from the Terran fighters, letting them spread out. Soon it
would be all but impossible to detect them even when they weren't
cloaked.

   He tracked the Strakha in, holding his fire and waiting for an opening.
Then Flint swept past, her blasters searing, battering at the other ship's
shields. Blair joined the barrage, and the Strakha came apart.

  "Twenty-two, Lieutenant," he remarked dryly.

   "No, sir, that one was yours. I just softened him up." Flint sounded as
tired as he felt.

   "We'll debate it when we get back to Old Vic," he said, trying to sound
encouraging. Flint had done yeoman duty on his wing today, keeping
formation, supporting him constantly, never forgetting herself or yielding
to temptation. Since that first hit she hadn't scored a clean kill, but she
didn't seem to be concerned at missing her chance to rack up more points
in her quest for revenge. After this, he wouldn't doubt her again, he told
himself as he turned his attention back to his sensor readouts. "Scanning
for new targets."

  There were four more Strakha ahead.

   "Everybody up to another dogfight?" he asked. "Targets at eleven
o'clock, low. Let's nail them!"

   The four Thunderbolts closed up into tight formation and drove for the
newest targets. The Strakha broke formation promptly, not waiting for the
usual round of individual sorties that usually marked a fight with the
Kilrathi. Their CO must be one hell of a leader, Blair thought.

  "Vaquero, Vagabond, you guys dance with these four," Blair called. "I
want to try for the rest of the missiles. You with me, Flint?"

  "On your wing, Colonel," she told him.

   He broke to port and increased thrust, with Flints fighter sticking close
by. The other two Thunderbolts drove straight toward the Strakha, but
these Kilrathi pilots didn't rise to the bait of close combat. Blair saw the
images on his scanner flicker and go out as the Strakha engaged their
cloaks again. He muttered a curse under his breath.

   "Keep a sharp eye out, people," he said over the comm channel. "They'll
be back. Bet on it."

   And suddenly they were back, two of them, at least. The pair of Kilrathi
fighters materialized right on his tail, releasing missiles and then fading
out of sight once again. Blair dumped a decoy missile and banked sharply,
feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline in his blood. One of the enemy
missiles picked up the decoy and homed in on it, but the second wasn't
fooled by the electronic signature and continued to hurtle after the
Thunderbolt. Blair altered course sharply again, veering back toward the
decoy's flight path. The timing would have to be damned tight…

   His fighter flashed past the two missiles just seconds before the Kilrathi
warhead detonated. The blast that erupted behind him was like a false
dawn. His shield indicators registered a noticeable power loss, but nothing
close to what he would have suffered if the full force of the blast had been
absorbed by the shields themselves. After a moment he checked his
screens, a let out a sigh. The explosion had caught the second enemy
missile.

   Then another Strakha was in sight, firing on him with beams and
missiles from dead ahead. Blair returned fire, and seconds later Flint
joined the fray with all her guns blazing. Just as Blair's forward shield was
registering zero, the Strakha went up in a magnificent fireball. Blair heard
Flint cheering. A moment later Vaquero and Vagabond were joining in,
proclaiming another kill.

   "The other two boys are running!" Vaquero shouted, all trace of the
peaceful musician submerged now. "Looks like we've taught 'em a real
lesson this time!"

  "Permission to pursue, sir?" Flint added a moment later.
  "Negative," he snapped. "Negative! We've still got missiles to track
down! Get on your scanners, people. Now!"

    But it was too late. His sensors turned up nothing but debris and open
space, out to their maximum limit. The remaining Skipper missiles, five
at least, were gone.

   Blair stared at the empty screens, unable to accept what they were
telling him. They'd come so damned close.

Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann
Locanda System

  "A report, Lord Prince."

   "What have you got, Melek?" Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to
study the bulky figure of the retainer.

   "The Strakha have eluded the Terran Thunderbolts, Lord Prince."
Melek paused. "The surviving missiles are well on their way, and
interception by the Terrans now is most unlikely. The colony will not
survive."

   Thrakhath bared his fangs. "Good. Then we have done what we came
here to do. This will surely spur the Terrans into a rash attempt at
retaliation." He could barely contain the pleasure that burned inside him.
This was the first step to ending the long war. "The fleet will disengage
and set course to the jump point to the Ariel system. Let us leave the
Terrans to their… possession. Let them decide if they are pleased at the
price they have paid to drive us away from their colony."

   "Lord Prince… many of the fighters are damaged and low on fuel. The
Strakha are at the very limit of their range. Should we not move to pick
them up first?" Melek's look was almost challenging.

   "The Terran reaction will be unpredictable, Melek. They could decide to
launch a retaliatory strike, once they realize that all they have left is
vengeance. We must not delay too long. Any fighters that can rendezvous
with us may do so, but we will not wait for stragglers." Thrakhath paused.
"You may order tankers to refuel them, if you wish. Carry out my orders…
now."
Thunderbolt 300
Locanda System

     "Good God, Colonel, what do we do now?" Flint's voice was ragged,
with fatigue or shock or disappointment. Blair wasn't sure which. "They're
. . . gone."

   "We do whatever we still can," he said, hard-pressed to keep the
despair out of his own voice. "And we pray the in-system defenses spot
those bastards before they do any damage to the colony…"

   "I counted five of them all told, Colonel" Vaquero said. "Can't we
blanket the approaches and pick them up before they reach the planet?"

  "We can try," Blair said.

  "So… we head for home, skipper?" Vaquero asked.

   "But… the colony" Flint said. "We can't just turn back now. We have to
try to stop those missiles!"

   "We'll do what we can, Lieutenant," Blair told her. "Spread out and
keep hunting, and call for refueling from Victory. The Home Guard and
whatever other ships are closer in to Four can search, too. But we can't
track what we can't see. And I don't hold out much hope at this point."


                        CHAPTER XIV
Thunderbolt 3O0
Locanda System

   "The last word we received put the Kilrathi concentrating around the
jump point to Ariel, looks like they're pulling out. Not even bothering to
gather in all their fighters, either. Could be we can round up a few more
of the bastards before the whole thing's over."

  Blair wasn't particularly interested in the Kilrathi, not any more. He
had other concerns. "Any word on the situation on Four, Lieutenant?"

   "It doesn't look good, sir," Rollins said heavily. "The reports from the
colony indicate at least five missiles got through. They were set for high
airbursts, so the ground defenses never had a chance to fire at them. We
won't know for a while if the pandemic is as bad as everybody claims,
but… well, like I said, it doesn't look good."

   "Acknowledged, Victory. Leader clear." Blair nodded slowly. The report
was about what he expected, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow.
Five Kilrathi biowarheads exploding high above the surface of the colony
world… that would ensure a fast spread of the tailored disease they
carried. It would not be long before the effects of the attack became
visible.

   Locanda IV was as good as dead already, and Maverick Blair, the great
pilot and war hero, was the man to blame for it all. The man who failed…

   He forced the thought aside and concentrated on his fighter's controls.
Blair's Thunderbolt came through the long fight with only light damage,
but he had trouble with the port-side maneuvering thrusters, and the
computer was unable to reroute the circuits through a more dependable
network.

   They were near the original coordinates of the Kilrathi fleet, which
thankfully was moving away at full speed toward a nearby jump point.
Blue and Green Squadrons, after maintaining a prolonged diversionary
action against Thrakhath's flagship, had returned to Victory. Gold
Squadron remained out, however, searching for a lost sheep.

    Incredibly, only Beast Jaeger's fighter was confirmed as destroyed in
battle, though several of the others were in terrible shape. How Hobbes
still flew at all was a mystery, and Vaquero's weapons systems finally
overloaded in the last fight against the Strakha. But one of the
Thunderbolts remained missing, and Blair ordered Gold Squadron to
spread out and search for the missing man… or some sign of his fate.

   Lieutenant Alexander Sanders, callsign Sandman… Blair never really
knew him. He had served as Maniac's wingman throughout the current
deployment and spent most of his off-duty hours hanging with Marshall.
Although he always struck Blair as a complete opposite to Maniac—steady,
dependable, loyal, reliable—Sanders and Marshall were good friends as
well as wingmates. Neither Blair nor the lieutenant were very comfortable
with each other as a result of the ongoing feud dividing the colonel from
the major.

  Now it looked as if Blair would never get a chance to know the man.
Maniac had allowed himself to be separated from his wingman in the
battle with the Kilrathi escort squadron while Cobra covered herself after
Jaeger's death, so no one saw Sandman fighting. He might have been
destroyed, or simply damaged and left adrift… or he might have ejected
from his fighter. Until they were sure, they had to look.

   A refueling shuttle arrived from Victory to rendezvous with the
squadron and top off their tanks, and now the eight remaining fighters
were to form a broad search pattern, hunting for some signs of the lost
pilot. They were barely within sensor range of each other, and the comm
channels were mostly quiet. Everyone knew the mission had failed.
Everyone was exhausted by hours of continuous stress and tension
punctuated by more fighting than any of them had seen in a long, long
time.

   "Bad news, Colonel" Cobra broke into his reverie. "I've got a debris
field here. Material analysis reads consistent with a Thunderbolt's hull
armor… It's gotta be Sandy's."

   "You're sure it isn't part of Jaeger's ship?"

   "No way, sir. Too far from where Beast caught it."

    "Start a close scan, Cobra. If there's an escape pod around there, find
it."

   "I'll try, sir, but you know the cats. If they spot a pilot after he ejects,
they'll either blast him where they find him or tractor him in for
interrogation and a sporting death entertaining a ship's nobles."

   "Check it out, anyway, Lieutenant. If there's any chance Sandman's still
alive, I want to find him." Blair paused. "All fighters, from Leader.
Converge on Cobra's beacon and concentrate your search there."

   Bringing the fighter around, he increased his thrust. Cobra was right,
of course. The odds against finding Sanders alive were too high a bet for
anyone but a blind optimist, but he had to try.

   It was a pitiful gesture set against his failure defending the colony, but
it was all he could do right now.

Bridge, TCS Victory
Locanda System

  "Approaching Gold Squadrons search grid now, sir."

   "Very good, Mr. DuBois," Eisen acknowledged the helmsman's report.
"Go to station-keeping. Sensors to full sweep. Let's help the Colonel look
for his man. Any word, Lieutenant Rollins?"

   "Nothing from Gold Squadron, sir." Rollins turned in his chair to face
the captain. "Coventry's broadcasting updates on the Kilrathi fleet.
Several of their ships have jumped, but it looks like Sar'hrai is delaying.
Probably to pick up stragglers from the cat fighter strike. If we teamed up
with the cruiser, sir, we might get a few licks in…"

   "This is a carrier, not a dreadnought, Lieutenant," Eisen told him. "A
carrier with a fighter wing that isn't likely to be able to pull a strike
mission for quite a while. And that close to a jump point you always run
the risk of something popping in when you least expect it."

  "Yes, sir," Rollins said. He sounded disappointed.

   "Look, I know how everybody feels. The cats broke through, and the
colony's probably… in trouble. You want to hit back. So do I, believe me.
But there's no sense in compounding one tragedy with another. ConFleet
can't afford to throw away ships on meaningless gestures, and that's what
it would be if we tried to take Sar'hrai."

   They were the right words, Eisen told himself. But he didn't like them
at all.

   "Captain?" That was Tanaka, the Sensor Officer. "Sir, I'm only reading
seven fighters in the search grid. There ought to be eight…"

  "What the devil?" Eisen demanded. "Find that other fighter. And
Rollins… get on the line and tell Blair it's time he took roll call!"

Thunderbolt 300
Locanda System

  "Sensors confirm it, Colonel. Lieutenant Peters didn't respond to your
orders to tighten the search grid. Instead she's vectored off toward the
Ariel jump point."
   "Goddamn…" Blair didn't finish the curse. "She must've been listening
on the comm channel when you filled me in on enemy movements.
Decided to even some scores with the Kilrathi fighters you said were likely
to get left behind."

   He should have watched Flint more closely, he told himself, angry and
bitter. She had been a model wingman throughout the battle, but it must
have been dreadful for her to see those last few fighters escape to launch
their deadly missiles at the colony.

  At her homeworld…

   All she needed was one more kill to fill the score to avenge her brother,
with nearly sixty more for her father. But now many more Kilrathi would
Flint have to kill to avenge the population of an entire world?

   "Colonel," Eisen broke onto the channel. "There's still a Kilrathi carrier
near the jump point. Possibly some undamaged fighters as well. Your
Lieutenant Peters is heading right into a slaughterhouse, and she's not
acknowledging our return-to-ship orders. Can you do anything to stop
her?" The captain paused for several seconds. "It's your call, Blair."

    He stared at Eisen's image on his comm screen, his mind racing. Flint
had a huge head start, and by the time he mounted any sort of rescue
mission she might be dead. Gold Squadron was battered, exhausted, with
missile stocks low and battle damage plaguing every one of the
Thunderbolts. Common sense dictated that they cut their losses now and
let Flint have her final, suicidal gesture. No matter how upset she might
be, Robin Peters was no fool. She just wanted to go down fighting.

   But there was another part of Blair that couldn't just give up on her.
The same part that prolonged the search for Sandman. Good pilots don't
give up on their own, especially not on their wingmen.

  "I'll go after her, sir," he said at last. "See if there's anything I can do."

  Eisen didn't respond right away. "Understood, Colonel," he said at last.
"And… Godspeed."

  "This is Leader," Blair said, more crisp than before. "If Sanders had
managed to eject, we would have found him by now. Pack it in, people.
Hobbes, get 'em down to the deck. I'm going after Flint."
     "My friend, you cannot go alone—" Hobbes protested.

     "I'm with you, Colonel," Cobra overrode Ralgha's soft voice. "Let's move
!"

   "I'm alone on this one," Blair said firmly. "That's a direct order. All
fighters return to Victory. One rogue pilot in a day is enough."

     "But—" Cobra sounded ready to start another war.

   "A direct order, I said." Blair paused. "But… Cobra, you and Vagabond
have the least damage, after me. Get down on the deck, let the techs patch
anything essential that's damaged, and then rearm and refuel. Prep
another fuel shuttle and escort it toward the Ariel jump point. Flint and I
will be needing fuel before we get back."

  "If you get back," Ralgha said. "I do not understand why you are
doing this, my friend. You are putting yourself in danger for no good
purpose . . ."

   "She's my wingman, Hobbes. I have to go. Now carry out your orders."
He cut the channel with a savage stab at the comm button, then switched
on the navigation computer to plot a course after Flint.

   Blair's only hope was that he wasn't making the same empty gesture as
she was.

Thunderbolt 3O5
Locanda System

   Flint glanced mechanically from her sensor board to the weapon status
display, hardly aware of what she was doing any more. Somehow the
shock of what had happened was dull and distant, as though she was
watching someone else react in her place. The emotion that nearly
overpowered her as she had realized her planet was under a slow, savage
death sentence faded away now, replaced by grim determination.

   It felt the same way when Davie died… and when the news came in to
the Academy about her father. The grief and pain were there, but they
were suppressed by the overwhelming need to act, to do something.

     She must do something, even though she knew it was hopeless. If she
didn't die on the firing line, her career would probably be over anyway by
the time Blair got through with her. She had disobeyed orders and let her
vengeance get in the way of the mission once again, even after the Colonel
gave her a second chance. This was the last time she would be in the
cockpit, facing the Kilrathi, one way or another.

  Robin Peters intended to make this last time count.

   Her navigational computer signaled that she was fast approaching the
Ariel jump point. Her autopilot cut out instantaneously, and Flint forced
herself to relax and let her combat training take over.

  The sensor board came alive with targets.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Locanda System

   "Blair to Peters. Blair to Peters. Respond, please." Blair closed his eyes
for a moment, caught somewhere between anger and concern and fear.
"For God's sake, Flint, answer me. Break off and head for home before it's
too late."

   But his autopilot told him it probably was too late already. With her
head start, she would have reached the jump point zone eight minutes
ago, and eight minutes could be an eternity in a dogfight. By his best
estimate, Blair's Thunderbolt was still two minutes from contact.

    He ran a quick inventory of his weaponry. There was still one
fire-and-forget missile slung under his wing, and both his gun turrets were
fully charged. If there was any real opposition waiting ahead, it would be
all too inadequate, but he didn't plan to remain for a long dogfight. Blair
wanted to find Flint in one piece, then persuade her to withdraw in a
hurry. Hopefully, the Kilrathi would be too concerned with getting their
fighters back to Sar'hrai so she could jump to worry about chasing two
foolhardy Terrans…

  If not… well, it wasn't likely to be a long battle in any event.

   The computer beeped a warning and cut the autopilot, and Blair
focused on the sensor board as it began to register targets. The view
before him wasn't encouraging.
   The Kilrathi carrier dominated the scene, huge and menacing, hovering
near the jump point. There was a great deal of activity around the big
ship, and for a moment, Blair feared that Flint had driven straight in to
attack the capital ship, a brave but utterly futile gesture indeed. But the
blips he was registering were all Kilrathi, and after a moment, he realized
that the bulk of the targets were keeping close to the carrier to protect
incoming fighters attempting to land on Sar'hrai's flight deck.

   Then he picked up Flint. She had not pursued the carrier after all, but
she was heavily involved with a trio of Vaktoth fighters which locked her
in a classic wheel attack: circling her fighter and pounding at her shields
without mercy. Flint handled her Thunderbolt impressively, managing
somehow to dodge and turn out of the line of fire again and again, but
inevitably some of those enemy beams penetrated her defenses. It was only
a matter of time before her shields finally failed, leaving her fighter
exposed to the full fury of the Kilrathi attack.

   Blair took in the scene in an instant and cut in his afterburners. The
Thunderbolt surged forward as if eager for battle, and in mere seconds his
targeting computer locked on to one of the heavy fighters ahead. He would
have to make this fast before any of the other Imperial fighters decided to
intervene.

   His blasters caught the Vaktoth at its weakest point, in the rear section
just above the engines. There was a flaw in the shield pattern there,
making the fighter vulnerable to a concentrated attack, but even the weak
spot on a Vaktoth was formidable by anyone's standards. Blasters could
punch through the shields, perhaps even damage armor underneath, but
they didn't cycle fast enough to allow the Thunderbolt to exploit a
successful hit. The usual tactic was to add a missile to the mix, preferably
a heat-seeker that could fly right up the enemy's main thruster outlet
while the shields were off-line… or, lacking missiles, to rely on a wingman
to finish the attack.

   Blair couldn't count on his wingman, not until she snapped out of her
crazy urge for vengeance. He must use his last missile.

   It was over in an instant. The Vaktoth came apart in a blinding fireball.
The other two Kilrathi pilots broke the wheel and turned away, but Blair
knew they weren't ready to run yet. They just wanted to regroup, assess
the new threat.
  And perhaps call in reinforcements.

  "Flint!" he called. "This is the only chance we're going to get. Break off
now!"

   "Break off… Colonel? What are you doing? You're supposed to be back
at the ship …"

   "So are you," he snapped. "I decided you needed a personal invitation."
On his screen he saw the two Vaktoth making slow, wide, outer loops to
launch a converging attack from two directions. There was no sign that
others planned to join them, but it would only be a matter of time. Sooner
or later more fighters would reinforce these two, unless the two Terrans
abandoned the battle.

  "Leave me here, Colonel. I'll cover your retreat."

   "Forget it, lieutenant," he told her. "I don't abandon my wingmen… not
even when they abandon me. Either we both go back to the ship or neither
one of us does."

  "I… yes, sir" Her voice was like lead.

  "Those two are coming in fast," he said, still studying the sensor board.
"We'll have to fight our way out. Follow my lead, Flint. I'm counting on
you."

   He banked left, accelerating, driving toward one of the two
widely-separated Vaktoth. Flint stuck close to his wing, trailing a little but
evidently obeying him.

   Blair locked on his targeting computer, but held his fire. The Vaktoth
grew in his crosshairs, looming closer. It opened fire, and blaster shots
slammed into the Thunderbolt's shields where the earlier fighting had
already weakened his defenses. There was precious little armor left under
those intangible barriers of energy, and if they failed now it would be the
end.

  He pulled his steering yoke up hard at the last possible second, sliding
over the top of the Kilrathi ship with only meters to spare. Blair spun the
Thunderbolt around using maneuvering jets, praying the damaged one
wouldn't let him down this time. Then, applying full thrust, he tried to kill
his velocity while opening fire with his blasters at point-blank range. Shot
after shot pounded the rear shields of the Vaktoth until the blasters
exhausted their energy banks.

    Blair spun the fighter around again and accelerated before the Kilrathi
pilot reacted. Moments later Flint was there, unleashing her own beams in
a furious attack on the weakened Vaktoth. The enemy ship began bringing
its weapons to bear, but too late. Flint's blaster fire penetrated the hull
and set off a chain reaction of explosions in the fighter's fuel and ammo
stores.

  For the first time since he'd flown with her, Blair didn't hear Flint
counting her score.

  "Let's get going, Lieutenant. Before the rest of the welcoming
committee catches us."

   The last Vaktoth came into weapon range, firing a few random shots
just to measure the distance. On his screen, Blair could see four more
ships detaching themselves from the force watching over the carrier.

   If they got too involved with this one, they'd soon be facing those
reinforcements, and Blair doubted he could manage another stand-up
fight.

    "Your hull looks pretty bad, Colonel" Flint said, echoing his thoughts. "
I'll drop back and hold them."

    "You'll follow my lead, like I said before." More shots probed after them,
and Blair could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead under the
flight helmet despite the carefully-maintained environment of the cockpit.
He wasn't sure he could pull another rabbit out of his hat this time.

   "Colonel! Targets! Targets ahead!" Flint's voice was more alive as she
called the warning.

  Four blips appeared ahead, blocking their escape route back to Victory.
With pursuers behind and this new force ahead, they couldn't evade
another battle for long. Blair knew they couldn't last once engaged.

  Suddenly the four new blips changed from amber, the color-code for an
unidentified bogie, to green. Friendlies… Confed fighters. Blair could
hardly keep himself from whooping in sheer joy at the sight.

  "This is Flight Captain Piet DeWitt of the destroyer Coventry," a
cheerful Terran voice announced. "Captain Bondarevsky tells me you
carrier hot-shots need a little assist. We're here to escort you home,
Colonel. Fall in ahead of our formation, and leave the bad guys to us."

   "We're in your hands, Captain," Blair said, breathing out a long, soft
sigh. Already the nearest Vaktoth broke off at the sight of the four Arrow
interceptors, and the rest of the Kilrathi pursuit was slowing noticeably as
they studied the newcomers and tried to assess what the Terrans would do
next. "We thank you all."

   "Compliments of Captain Bondarevsky, Colonel. He told me to tell you
this makes up for that time off New Sydney."

   Blair felt the relief flowing through him, and with it another sensation…
fatigue. Now that the pressure was gone, it took the full force of his will to
program the autopilot to take the Thunderbolt home.

   Then, at last, he slumped in his acceleration couch, exhausted. He
didn't win any victories today, but he survived, and Flint with him. And
maybe that was enough.


                          CHAPTER XV
Flight Deck. TCS Victory
Locanda System

   Blair stepped to the makeshift podium reluctantly, and bowed his head
for a moment before speaking. There were many aspects of a wing
commander's duties he didn't like, but this morning's duty was the worst
of them all.

   He raised his head and studied the ranks of officers and crewmen
gathered on the flight deck, assembled in orderly rows, and wearing their
dress uniforms to mark the solemn occasion. Pilots from the four combat
squadrons were prominent in the front of the formation. Even Maniac
Marshall looked solemn today as he mourned the loss of his best friend on
board.
  Commander Thomas White, Victory's chaplain, gave Blair an almost
imperceptible nod.

   "We're here to say good-bye to the men and women of the flight wing
who gave their lives in battle yesterday," Blair began slowly. "Nine pilots
were killed fighting the Kilrathi, dedicated warriors whose places will be
as difficult to fill in our hearts as they will be to replace on our roster. I
haven't served on this ship very long, and I didn't know any of them all
that well, but I know they died heroes."

   He paused for a long time before continuing, fighting back a wave of
emotion. These nine officers would hardly be noticed in comparison to the
population of the colony on Locanda IV, but their deaths were much more
immediate and vivid to Blair. They died trying to carry out his orders in a
failed mission, and as wing commander he carried the full burden of
responsibility for their deaths—and for the colonists they were unable to
protect—squarely on his own inadequate shoulders.

   "I wish I knew the right words to say about each and every one of these
lost comrades," he went on at last. "But the only accolade I can give them
now is this: each of them died serving in the best traditions of the Service,
and they will be sorely missed."

    He stepped back from the podium and gave a signal. Behind him, the
first of nine sealed coffins rolled forward. Only one of them actually held a
body, since Captain Marina Ulyanova was the only pilot who managed to
eject before her ship was destroyed during the fighting around the Kilrathi
flagship. She died from her wounds a few hours later. The other coffins
were empty except for plaques identifying the pilots they commemorated.

   "Present… ARMS!" the Confed Marine commanding the seven-man
honor guard barked. The first coffin stopped moving for a moment, ready
for launch.

   From his place in line, Hobbes looked up and spoke in slow, measured
tones. "Lieutenant Helmut Jaeger," he said.

   Up in Flight Control a technician activated the launch sequence. The
coffin hurtled into space on fiery boosters, and the second one rolled in to
replace it.

   "Lieutenant Alexander Sanders," Hobbes went on. Beside him Maniac
bowed his head, his lips moving silently. In prayer? Or just saying
good-bye? Blair didn't know.

   When the third coffin was in place Amazon Mbuto took over the roll
call. "Captain Marina Ulyanova," she said. Then, "Lieutenant Gustav
Svensson."

   The grim muster went on until all nine coffins were ejected. When the
task was completed, the honor guard raised their weapons and fired three
low-power laser pulses through the force field at the end of the hangar
deck, then stepped back, standing at attention. Chaplain White stepped
forward. "We commit these men and women to the empty depths of
interstellar space," he said slowly. "Watch over them, Lord, that they may
find peace who died in the fires of war. In the name of Jesus… Amen."

Wing Commander's Office. TCS Victory
Locanda System

  "You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

  Blair was hard-pressed to speak. Instead he nodded and gestured
toward the chair near his desk. This was one interview he didn't want to
conduct.

   Lieutenant Robin Peters sat down. "I guess I know what this is about,"
she said, almost too softly to be heard "You might have died out there,
chasing after me."

  He found his voice. "I might have."

  "The captain ordered you…-?"

  "No." Blair shook his head. "It was my call to make."

   "Well… I suppose you had your reasons. In your shoes, I would have
stayed put. Let the stupid bitch get what she deserved." She looked away.
"Sorry, Colonel. I've never been very good at saying thanks."

  "You're welcome," he told her dryly.

  "I want you to understand, sir—"
   "Understand? There's nothing to understand, Flint. You lost it out
there. Maybe you had good reason. Lord knows what it's like to have your
homeworld… infected, like that. All at once, and despite everything we
could do." Blair paused. He didn't want to go on, but he knew he must.
Even though he understood Flint's feelings, he couldn't simply ignore her
actions. "We don't just decide to fly off on a suicide mission because we're
hurting. You have to fly with your head, Flint, not with your heart."

   "You've never done that, sir? Flown with your heart?"

   He fixed her with a steady stare. "The day you see me do that,
Lieutenant, you can shoot me out of space yourself." A part of him,
though, was well aware that he might have done the same thing himself.
No pilot was an automaton, able to ignore his feelings at will. "We already
talked once about this, Flint. And I told you what would happen if you let
your heart get in the way of your duty. You haven't left me a hell of a lot of
choices."

  "I know, sir," she said, dropping her gaze. "I guess I was kind of hoping
you'd let me off easy, let me keep flying. But you can't."

   "No, I can't," Blair said, voice level and cold. "We can't afford to let
every pilot pursue some private little war. That's a sure way to let the
Kilrathi win. Until further notice, Lieutenant, your flight status is
suspended. You're grounded."

  Now it was Blair who couldn't meet her eyes. Something left them both,
and only the expression of hopelessness and death remained.

   "Dismissed," he added, and turned back to his computer terminal. He
waited until she left the office before sagging into his chair, feeling as
though he had just taken on an entire Kilrathi squadron on his own.

Captain's Ready Room. TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Sit down, Colonel. I'll only be a minute."

   "Take your time, sir," Blair said, settling wearily into a chair while
Eisen turned his attention back to a computer terminal.

   Victory's captain looked even more tired than Blair felt, with the
haggard expression of a man who had gone too many nights without
enough sleep. Everyone had been working overtime in the five days since
the battle off Locanda IV. Yesterday they had jumped from Locanda to the
Blackmane System, leaving behind a world already in the grip of
spreading panic and plague.

   Eisen finished whatever he was working on and turned his chair to face
Blair. "Well, Colonel. How's the work going with the flight wing?"

   "About what you'd expect, sir. The techs have most of the fighters up
and running again. There was some battle damage we couldn't fully
repair, but we're getting back on track. I hope we can get some
replacement birds from Blackmane Base… and some pilots to fill the roster
out, while we're at it."

   Eisen frowned. "That won't be so easy, but I'll see what I can do."

   "Sir?"

   "Word just came in. With Locanda Four gone and the whole system
quarantined, HQ's decided to consolidate our resources in this sector.
That means Blackmane Base is being shut down. Everything's shifting to
Vespus and Torgo. Anybody who can herd a boat will be needed to fly
ships for the evacuation. I might be able to snag some fighters. They'll
probably be glad to unload a few from their reserve stocks and save space
for other outgoing cargo."

   Blair felt a sinking sensation in his gut. "Evacuate the base? Isn't that a
pretty extreme move? What about the colonists in this system?"

   The captain shook his head, frowning. "Doesn't look good. Confed's just
getting stretched too damn thin. If the Kilrathi are going to start using
these bioweapons routinely, we can't mount an effective defense in every
system. So the orders are to concentrate on defending the ones that are
really vital. For the rest… I guess they get to rely on the good old-fashioned
cross-your-fingers defense initiative."

   "If the Confederation can't protect its own civilian population anymore,
we're in worse shape than I thought," Blair said quietly. "Things can't go
on like this."

   Eisen nodded agreement. "According to our resident rumor mill,
Rollins, they won't. There's supposed to be some kind of big plan
circulating back at Torgo to end the war once and for all. Tolwyn and
Taggart are both supposed to be involved somehow, and if you believe
Rollins and his sources it will be something pretty damned spectacular."

  "Great," Blair said without enthusiasm. "We're stretched to the limit,
and HQ is going to unveil another one of their master plans."

  "All we can do is hope it works," Eisen said. He studied Blair from dark,
narrowed eyes. "Have you had a medical evaluation lately, Colonel?"

   "No, sir." Blair frowned, uncertain at the sudden change in the
direction of the conversation. "Why?"

  "You look like hell, for one thing."

  "Right back at you, Captain. I don't think there's a man on this boat
who looks too good now… except maybe Flash. I've never seen him looking
anything but perfect."

   "I'm serious, Blair. We've all been working hard, but I've had reports on
you. You're pulling double shifts every day. You're not eating enough, and
you're certainly not getting enough sleep. You haven't been, since before
the fight at Locanda." Eisen hesitated. "And, frankly, I have to wonder if it
hasn't been screwing up your judgment."

  "My combat judgment, you mean," Blair amplified the thought for him.

   The captain met his look. "You came on board with a hot reputation,
Colonel. And I'd stack your wing up against any in the Fleet. But it wasn't
enough to turn the cats back at Locanda Four. There are some people who
claim you had just… come back from your medical leave a little too early,
that your judgment was impaired and the mission suffered as a
consequence."

   "Captain, I never claimed the reputation everyone insists hanging on
me," Blair said slowly. He was angry, not just at Eisen's words, but at the
fact that deep down he had been trying not to think the same things
himself. "Fact is, we were just plain outmatched. There were too damn
many of them, and yet we still came within a few minutes of nailing the
bastards. If it hadn't been for those damned Strakha…" He took a breath.
"My people did everything humanly possible, and I think I did as well. But
if you want me to apply for a transfer, let someone better qualified take
over—"

   Eisen held up a hand. "I wasn't suggesting any such thing, Colonel. All
I'm saying is that you're human, too, just like the rest of us. Ana if you
drive yourself too hard, something's going to give eventually. Find some
balance, man… before you really do screw up a mission."

  "It's easier said than done, sir," Blair said. "You should know it, if
anyone does. You have to hold this old rustbucket together, come what
may."

   "Oh, I understand what you're going through, all right," the captain
told him. "More than you might imagine. There've been a few ops I've
been on where I didn't live up to the reputation I'd racked up, and then I'd
worl: twice as hard trying to recapture what I thought I'd lost. Usually I
only got half as much done in the process. Take my advice, Blair. Don't
dwell on the past too much. Even if you've made mistakes, don't let them
become more important than the here and now. And don't take out your
frustrations on other people. like Lieutenant Peters, for instance."

  Blair looked at him. "Are you overriding me on Flint, sir? Putting her
back on flight status?"

   The captain shook his head. "I don't get involved in flight wing
assignments unless I have to. You grounded her. You'll have to be the one
to decide to reinstate her." He paused. "But I should tell you. She applied
this morning for a transfer to Blackmane Base. She needs to fly again, one
way or another. I turned her down. With the base shutting down, nobody
needs the complications a transfer would involve. But something'll have to
be done on that front sooner or later, Colonel. She's a pilot, and a damn
good one… when her head is screwed on straight. Weren't you the one
griping about wasting good pilots, back when you found Hobbes off the
roster?"

   "Hobbes never pulled a stunt like Flints, sir," Blair shot back. "And he's
from a race that raised the vendetta to an art form."

   Eisen nodded reluctantly. "As long as you're aware, Colonel. I agree she
needs to get her act together. But too much time on the sidelines could
ruin her."
  "I know, Captain. I know."

  Blair left the ready room more uncertain than ever.

Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   Vespus… he was back on Vespus again, and Angel was with him. They
walked hand in hand along the top of a bluff overlooking the glittering sea,
with a light breeze blowing off the water to stir her auburn hair.

   Blair knew it was a dream, but the knowledge didn't change the
intensity of the illusion. He was really with her, on Vespus, the week they'd
taken leave together. It was a time when neither of them had imagined
ever being apart again.

   The view from the clifftop was beautiful: the setting sun, one of the
three great moons hanging low above the horizon, sea and sky red with the
gathering twilight. But Blair turned away from the spectacular vista to
look into Angel's eyes, to drink in her beauty. They kissed, and in the
dream that lass seemed to last for an eternity.

   Now they were sitting side by side, lost in each other, oblivious to their
surroundings. Another kiss, and a long, lingering embrace. Their hands
explored each others bodies eagerly as passion stirred.

   "Is this forever, mon ami?" Angel asked, looking deep into his eyes,
almost into his soul.

  "Forever's not long enough," he told her. They came together…

   The dream changed. Vespus again, where sea and shore came together,
but stark, bleak, with storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Blair stood
with General Taggart, this time, looking down at the broken spine of the
hulk that been Concordia. He stirred, but he couldn't awaken, couldn't
recapture the other dream…

   Now he stood on the flight deck, near the podium, as a line of coffins
rolled past. The general was with him again, reading out the names of the
dead in deep, sonorous tones. "Colonel Jeannette Devereaux…"

  Blair snapped awake, stifling a cry. His hands groped on his bedside
table until they wrapped around the holocube she had sent him. For a
moment he fumbled with it, and then her image appeared, lips moving
soundlessly with the volume turned down.

   He stared at the ghostly figure and tried to control his breathing. Blair
was never a superstitious man, but the nightmare was like an omen, a
vision. Angel was gone, and he was afraid that he would never get her
back.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   Another evening, another day of seemingly endless work. Blair was
looking forward to a tall glass and a chance to unwind, and although he
wasn't eager for company, the rec room was preferable to his quarters. He
spent too many nights lately staring at those four walls, awakened from
sleep by the recurring nightmare. At least Angel couldn't haunt him here.

   There was a cluster of officers at the bar, Lieutenant Rollins right in the
middle. They were grouped around a newspad, watching the latest Terran
News Channel update just beamed in from Blackmane. Barbara Miles,
perfect as ever, looked out of the screen with an expression of mingled
concern and reassurance as she spoke.

   "Despite denials from official Confederation channels, TNC now has
independent confirmation that the Locanda star system has been placed
under absolute quarantine in the wake of an outbreak of a virulent plague
said to be the result of a Kilrathi biological weapons attack. There are
unconfirmed rumors that this is not the first time such weapons have
been used against human colonies. It is now generally believed that the
colony on Locanda Four has already suffered heavy losses, and may be all
but wiped out as the disease runs its course."

   She paused significantly. "In other news from the front, TNC has
learned that a strategic withdrawal of Confed forces is underway in several
outlying sectors. While government and military spokesmen officially deny
any such actions, unofficially several sources have suggested that these
withdrawals have been ordered as a means of consolidating the front lines
by surrendering unimportant territory in the hope that the Kilrathi will
spread themselves too thin and thus be exposed to a significant
counterstroke."
  But independent military analysts retained by TNC have labeled this
suggestion as spurious, and believe the 'consolidation' is merely an
improvised response to the advances of the enemy.

  "This is Barbara Miles reporting, with another TNC Infoburst…"

  "Shut it off, Radio," a lieutenant Blair recognized as one of the carrier's
shuttle pilots growled. "Always the same old line from those cat symps."

   Rollins blanked the screen. "Hey, Trent, where've you been? We were at
Locanda… and they're breaking down Blackmane Base right now. I hear
tell there's been talk of sending a peace envoy to Kilrah… that we're as
good as ready to surrender. So how can you keep buying the fantasy that
we're actually winning this war?"

   "What I want to know, Rollins," Blair said, placing a hand on the
lieutenant's shoulder, "is why you're so all-fired eager to tell us how bad
everything's going?"

   "Ah, c'mon, Colonel," Rollins said. "You'd have to be blind to miss the
facts. Things are bad… and they're getting worse. Fact: we haven't had a
real shore leave in months. Fact: they keep shuttling this old bucket
around from one trouble spot to another, as if one battered carrier and
one fighter wing was all they could spare to cover half the sector. Fact:
we've been on one defensive op after another, and we always seem to end
up pulling back when it's over. Seems pretty damned clear to me, Colonel.
This war's winding down, all right. But we're not on the winning side."

   Blair looked from Rollins to the others grouped around him. Most of
them were nodding their heads in agreement, though a few, like
Lieutenant Trent, were frowning at his words. "You want facts,
Lieutenant? I'll give you a few to chew on. Fact: the grunts on the front
lines, even the ones with lots of well-placed sources, never see the whole
picture in a war. Fact: the fastest way to lose a war is to allow morale to be
sapped by half-assed young officers with big ears, bigger mouths, and no
common sense at all. And fact: I know a communications officer with too
much time on his hands who is letting his love for gossip jeopardize the
morale of this ship."

   "With all due respect, sir, I'm entitled to my opinion," Rollins said
stubbornly.
   "Indeed you are. But if I hear any more of this defeatist talk, you'll be
reassigned to Waste Recycling, where your crap belongs. Get my drift?"

   "Telling him to shut up won't make the truth go away, sir," one of the
others spoke up.

    "If it is the truth, wailing about it isn't going to change a damned
thing," Blair said. "We'll just have to play the cards we're dealt. But like I
said, the grunts at the front hardly ever know what's really happening.
Hell, maybe it's worse than old Gloom and Doom here thinks. But maybe
it's a lot better. Point is, if we decide everything's lost anyway, and give up,
we might end up letting down some folks who need us to turn things
around." He paused. "I'm not telling anyone what to think. Or even saying
you can't shoot the bull over a few drinks. But spreading the worst possible
rumors—that's crossing the line. I've heard my share of rumors that were a
lot less nasty, and I'm sure Rollins here has heard them too… but those
don't get much play, because they're not spicy enough."

   Rollins gave him a long look, then shrugged. "Maybe you're right, sir,"
he said. "Maybe I do like to shoot my mouth off."

   "Well, as of now, consider the safety on." Blair forced a smile. "Anyway,
aren't there better things to talk about than this damned war? The girl
you left behind… or the shore leave you'll never live down?" He turned to
the bartender. "Rosty… a round on my account. But only to the ones who
have something pleasant to talk about, okay?"

   That boosted some spirits, and the others were laughing and chattering
happily as Blair moved to an empty table by the viewport. He sat there
staring into the darkness.

   He could have been quoting from a manual on keeping up morale when
he'd spoken to them. The trouble was, he didn't believe a word of it
himself.


                          CHAPTER XVI
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   Blair paused at the entrance to the captain's ready room, reluctant to
touch the buzzer. Victory was astir with fresh rumors today, speculations
rising from the arrival of a courier ship from Sector HQ at Torgo. No one
knew what word the ship brought to Eisen, but everyone was sure it
heralded a change of orders, perhaps fresh action. Blair wasn't looking
forward to learning what was in store for them now. He didn't feel ready
to go back into action again so soon, not with the failure at Locanda still
hanging over him. It wasn't something he could admit to anyone, either,
not without requesting a transfer to some rear-echelon outfit, off the firing
line.

   As tempting as that idea might be, Christopher Blair refused to give in
to it. There was no way he could let others fight the war while he sought
safety. He owed it to all his comrades who had stayed and fought.

   With an effort of will, he forced himself to compose his features and hit
the buzzer.

  "Enter," Eisen's voice came, and the door slid open.

  "Reporting as ordered, sir," Blair said.

  "Ah, Colonel, good." Eisen stood up, and the officer in crisp whites
opposite him did likewise. "This is Major Kevin Tolwyn, from sector HQ."

   "Hey, Lone Wolf," Blair said, genuinely pleased to see the younger man.
He advanced to clasp Tolwyn's hand, smiling broadly. "It's been a long
time, kid."

  "Another old acquaintance, Colonel?" Eisen asked.

   "Yes, sir," Blair responded. "We served together on the Tarawa a few
years back." He looked Tolwyn over. Short, baby-faced, the nephew of
Admiral Geoff Tolwyn didn't look old enough to shave, much less to be a
Confed officer. "Major, now, is it? That's a pretty good bump. You were
only Lieutenant Tolwyn last time I heard…"

   Tolwyn blushed. "Brevet rank, Colonel. I made Flight Captain after the
Battle of Terra, the brevet came through after I got wounded during the
mop-up after Vespus." He hesitated. "I guess one fighter too many cooked
off underneath me and my uncle pulled me into a staff job for awhile, he
said I'd already cashed all my lucky chips in and he wasn't going to take a
chance on next time."
   "Staff slot, huh. I'm sorry to hear it. You should be on the flight line,
kid, where you belong."

  "Don't I know it," Tolwyn said. "But… I didn't have any say in the
matter. The admiral wouldn't take no for an answer, and here I am."

   Blair nodded in understanding. He'd heard stories of Admiral Tolwyn's
open displays of emotion, first when he had feared Kevin missing or dead,
then later when the younger man was recovered and returned to the fleet.
Maybe the staff job was a real effort to keep Kevin Tolwyn out of harm's
way. He was, after all, the admiral's closest surviving kin and had done
more than his share of fighting while serving on the Tarawa. The Medal
of Honor on his chest was more than enough proof of that.

  "If I can interrupt the reunion, Colonel, I think we'd better get down to
business." Eisen gestured to the chairs by his desk. As they sat down, he
continued. "Major Tolwyn brings us fresh orders from HQ. It looks like the
war's heating up, at least as far as we're concerned. Major?"

   "The attack on Locanda Four was a real wake-up call," Tolwyn said.
"We knew the cats were working on a number of strategic weapons
projects, but we didn't expect them to bring them into play as long as
their fleet was still able to hold its own. It's against everything in the
Kilrathi philosophy to resort to this kind of blatant genocide. They're
supposed to like their fights up close and personal, and this is a complete
departure from everything we thought we knew about them."

   "Do we have any evidence they're going to use bioweapons elsewhere?"
Blair asked. "Or was this some kind of… special case?"

   "We don't know," Tolwyn said. "And that has the High Command doing
some serious nail-biting, let me tell you. All we know is that the cats have
escalated the war, and if we don't match the ante we might as well just
fold now."

   "Match the ante… how?" Blair asked.

   "The Confederation's been working on its share of doomsday weapons,
too," Tolwyn told them. "The Battle of Terra scared the hell out of all of us.
The big Kilrathi offensive caught everyone off guard. I don't think I need
to tell you that we're on the ropes. One more attack like that and the
game's over. Remember, they managed to drop over twenty standard
warheads on Earth in the last attack. If only one of them had been a bio
the home-world would be a lifeless desert today. There's no way around it,
this one's to the death and we have a couple of counter punches almost
ready to go."

   Blair said nothing. The idea of matching the Kilrathi atrocity at
Locanda with a Terran retaliation against civilians appalled him, but he
tried to keep his reaction from showing in his voice or expression.

   Tolwyn fixed Blair with his gaze. "One of the projects is being pushed
by General Taggart and the folks at Covert Ops, and the other's my uncle's
pet project. That's why he got pulled from Concordia just before it went
down."

  Eisen cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Major, I'd appreciate it if
you'd stick to the briefing."

   "Sorry, sir," Tolwyn said. "Both projects actually stem from the same
basic research. It seems some of our survey work off Kilrah during
Tarawa's little end run raid there a few years back has yielded some
unexpected results. Kilrah is much less stable, in planetological terms,
than Terra. Subject to seismic problems, quakes, volcanoes, the whole bit.
Apparently there are some severe tidal stresses at work on Kilrah that
render the planet extremely vulnerable to widescale seismic activity." He
paused. "Given a big enough shaking, Kilrah would literally come apart."

  "And HQ has a weapon that could do it?"

   "More than one, Colonel. I've not been briefed on the Covert Ops
project, except for generalities. But Project Behemoth, my uncle's
preference, uses high-intensity energy beams on a massive scale to trigger
seismic shocks. Aimed and fired properly, the Behemoth weapon could
trigger the destruction of Kilrah."

   "And the loss of the homeworld would cut the foundation from under
the whole Empire," Eisen said slowly, with a slight smile. "It certainly is
ambitious, I'll say that."

    "It's genocide," Blair said quietly. "How many civilians would we be
killing?"

  "How many died on Locanda Four?" Tolwyn demanded. "How many
more will die if they unleash their pandemic again? Look Blair, our intel
people are telling us the Empire is tottering on the edge of civil war. The
various clans are fed up, especially after the failure of the attack on Earth.
That's why they didn't immediately launch a second attack when we had
nothing left to stop them. The Emperor had to regroup—build back his
fleet and keep enough forces close at home to counteract any threatened
coups. It's given us the breathing room to get our new weapons on-line. If
we wait any longer, though, the Kilrathi might be the ones to strike first
and then its us that are finished."

   Blair shook his head. "The end justifies the means? That wasn't what
they taught back at the Academy. I thought the Confederation stood for
something better than that."

   Tolwyn looked away. "Yeah… yeah, you're right. It does." He paused.
"Well, anyway, we're hoping we don't have to actually attack Kilrah. That
was the deciding factor when it came down to choosing Behemoth over
the Covert Ops concept. Apparently whatever they've hatched is a one-shot
deal. But Behemoth is a weapon that can be used several times, and the
idea is to try a few very public tests on Kilrathi military bases. Let the cats
draw their own conclusions about what we could do to Kilrah with the
same weaponry. That's the operational plan, at least. Our hope is a good
demonstration might actually push the clans into a palace coup. The
Emperor and his grandson are overthrown and the other clans sue for
peace."

   "I guess that's better than blasting Kilrah out of existence," Blair said.
"I mean, the Empire's the enemy and we have to do whatever it takes to
win. But there are a lot of innocent Kilrathi out there who have nothing to
do with the Emperor or Thrakhath or the whole damned war effort. Some
of them are dissidents, like Hobbes was before he defected. I wouldn't
want to be party to killing them all."

   "Well, we'll hope it doesn't come to that," Eisen said. "I agree, it would
be a nasty choice to have to make. But if we can convince them we mean
business…"

   "So what's our part in all of this?" Blair asked.

  "Right now, we're still putting the finishing touches on the weapon,"
Tolwyn said. "It won't be ready to deploy for a few more weeks. But in the
meantime, we're starting to prospect the sector for a likely-looking first
target. We need to conduct some extensive recon work, checking defenses,
and surveying possible target planets to make sure the Behemoth will be
effective against them. It wouldn't do to cruise in, open fire, and then find
out the place was so tectonically dead we couldn't even cause a good
earthquake."

  "Recon work," Blair repeated. "That'll be quite a change, after what
we've been doing."

   "It'll be difficult and dangerous," Tolwyn said. "We can't afford to send
large forces in anywhere, for fear of putting the cats on guard. We've got a
handful of carriers going out individually into the selected target systems.
Victory's drawn Ariel, where we're fairly certain we've got a very suitable
Kilrathi base to test."

  "Ariel's a pretty tough nut," Blair commented. "I hope you're not
expecting us to take them on single-handed."

   "The system is inside the Caliban Nebula," Eisen said. "Dust and gas
and energy discharges will play hell with shipboard sensors… on both
sides. We can sneak in, gather as much information as possible, and sneak
out again and probably never tip the cats off that we were there. Maybe
even pull off a few ambushes along the way."

   Tolwyn nodded. "You'll actually have it better than some of the other
carriers on this duty," he said. "And when you get back, the admiral's
already decided that Victory will get the real plum job. Flagship for the
Behemoth Squadron… so you'll be in on the kill, as it were."

   "Flagship? Us?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "Your uncle must have
developed a sudden taste for slumming, if he's not going to go out in one
of the big boys."

   "Victory has its… compensations, Colonel," Tolwyn told him. "like a
genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology, your buddy Hobbes. You also have
a one-time Intelligence source with specialized knowledge of cat behavior,
too. I think the name is Lieutenant Buckley. In fact, the admiral had this
in mind when he assigned you here as wing commander."

   "That was before Locanda," Blair said, "before things escalated. You
mean Tolwyn planned to use this Behemoth thing even before the cats
started with the bioweaponry?"
  "Some of the data we later decoded from that deep intel probe Tarawa
had on board, leading into the discovery of the Kilrathi super-carriers,
contained information about the bio program. That's why we've been
running the race to get the new weapons on line, and why Behemoth sails
now, ready or not. Locanda was a horrible tragedy, but thank God it
wasn't one of the inner worlds or Earth—and believe me, that will be their
next target."

  Blair held up his hand. "Never mind, Kevin," he said. "Don't try to
explain. I know your uncle well enough to know what he had in mind. And
why."

  "Just what are you getting at, Blair?" Eisen asked.

   He shrugged. "It's just that the admiral has always been… zealous, sir.
I've served with him a few times, and he's always been the same. He wants
to win the war… Admiral Geoff Tolwyn, himself. He'd love it if he could
lead the ConFleet to victory, sign the papers that ended the war in orbit
over Kilrah… whatever. And if Behemoth can make it possible, he'll use it…
and the devil take moral questions and anything else that stands in the
way."

  Eisen's frown deepened. "I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this,
Colonel," he said slowly. "It's coming dangerously close to libeling a
superior officer."

  "Maybe so, Captain," Blair said, shrugging again. "But it isn't libel
when you're telling the truth." He shot the younger Tolwyn a look. "Sorry,
Kevin. I know he's family, but… well, you know how I've always felt."

   "You haven't said anything I haven't thought a dozen times over,
Colonel," Tolwyn said. "But, like the Captain says, we'd better stick to the
briefing."

  "Agreed. What else do we need to know about?"

   "Captain Eisen's been bruising a lot of ears back at HQ about the flight
wing's shortages. I've brought out authorization for you to requisition
fighters, munitions, parts, and stores from Blackmane Base before the last
load goes out next week. They've got all types of fighters in mothballs there
already, so that won't be a problem."
    "The real shortage is in pilots," Blair said. "We have nine empty slots to
fill."

   "You won't get all of them, I'll tell you that much up front," Tolwyn said.
"I've already spoken to the base commandant. You'll get four or five, no
more. Sorry I couldn't do better." Tolwyn looked wistful. "I'd volunteer for
a slot myself, but the admiral would never approve it."

   "I wish you could," Blair told him. "Well, four or five is better than none
at all. Major Mbuto lost five ships at Locanda Four, so she'll get first call
on any pilots we do get. I just hope to God it's enough."

  "It has to be, Colonel," Eisen said. "Now that we finally have a ray of
hope that we might see the end of this damned war, it has to be enough."

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Okay, skipper, this one checks out too. Looks like those no-talent bums
at Blackmane Base actually sent us some real fighters, and not just junk
off the scrap line."

  Blair checked off the last of the new fighters on his portable computer
pad and nodded. "I'll breathe a little easier now, Chief," he told Rachel
Coriolis. "I was starting to think we'd never get the replacement fighters
aboard."

    Four days had passed since Kevin Tolwyn was whisked aboard his
courier ship to report to his uncle, and in that time, Blair's life became
nothing but a string of petty frustrations. The worst problem was
expediting the requisitions Tolwyn issued to Blackmane Base in the midst
of the chaos and confusion which reigned during the last days of the base's
closing process. But after many shouting matches over the comm channel,
Blair finally got results. Now he possessed a full contingent of fighters in
Victory's hangar deck, storerooms bulging with spare parts and stores of
all kinds, and three new pilots to assign to Mbuto's interceptor squadron.
It was progress, of a sort. But it had been slow going for a time, and Blair
was worn out with the constant strain of it all.

   A tractor towed the fighter, a Longbow looking as if it had never been
flown, toward a storage bay. The flight deck was bustling with activity, but
for the moment Blair and Rachel were out of problems. It was a rare yet
pleasant feeling.

  "Uh… skipper?" Rachel spoke with none of her accustomed brashness.
"Can we chat? Off the record…?"

  "Isn't that the way we usually do it?" Blair asked her.

  "Yeah," the chief admitted. "That's one of the things I like about you."
She hesitated. "And the fact that I do like you is why I want to say this…"

  "Spit it out, Chief," he said as she paused again.

   "You've got this… look in your eyes that I've seen before," she said
slowly. "I had this guy, see? A pilot. One day he saw his wingman get fried,
and he came in blaming himself for it. Didn't matter what I said, what
anybody said, he was convinced he let old Shooter down."

  "And?" Blair prompted.

    "A few days later… he took an Arrow out and just kept on going. Hit a
jump point just as the Kilrathi were coming through. There were a lot of
fireworks…" She trailed off, her eyes focused on someplace far away. "They
never found him… not even a debris field. He might still be out there, for
all I know."

  "I'm… sorry," Blair said quietly. "But… why tell me about it?"

   "That look in your eye, it's like the one he had before he cracked,
skipper." She paused again. "You want to talk? I may be a lowly techie, but
I've got a sympathetic ear."

   Blair didn't answer for a long time. "I had… have… someone, too. I don't
know which it is, any more. She got caught up in some hush-hush mission,
and nobody's heard from her for months. Maybe she's managed to
sidestep the whole war—ditched in neutral territory somewhere. But I
keep having these nightmares about her…" He looked away. "I keep
thinking, one way or the other, I would hear… only I haven't heard, and
I'm afraid… you know."

  Rachel nodded. "I know. Maybe your gal and my guy found each other
out there."
   He forced a smile. "Yeah… maybe so. At least they'd both be alive,
then…"

  "Yeah, but on the other hand if I found out he'd been making time with
some hot-shot lady pilot, I'd have to kill him myself when he finally got
back." She managed a laugh.

   After a moment, Blair joined in. It felt good to laugh.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

  "Scotch," Blair said, perching on a stool at the bar. "Preferably
something that's at least been in the same sector as Scotland, this time."

  Rostov grinned at him. "There's a war on, Colonel. You gotta take
whatever they hand you, da?"

   Maniac Marshall was sitting further down the bar, studying a
holomagazine and sipping at a tall glass of beer. He looked up as if only
just noticing Blairs arrival. "Well, well, honoring the peasants with
another visit, eh, Colonel? Shall I kiss your ring, or will a reverential bow
be enough?" He mimicked tie slight bow Hobbes often made.

   "Can't we have a truce, at least for tonight, Maniac?" Blair said wearily.
"I'm not in the mood for sniping."

   "Hah! You looked like you were in a pretty good mood down there in
the hangar deck today," Marshall said. "What's the matter, loverboy? You
put the moves on everybody's favorite grease monkey and get yourself shot
down?"

   Blair frowned. "I didn't 'put the moves' on her…"

   "Hey, man, it's all right, really it is," Maniac told him with a grin. "I
mean, even a high flyer like you has to have an off day now and then. Of
course, I doubt it'd take a whole hell of a lot of high-risk maneuvering to
get into her pants, but maybe you're just out of practice…"

   "So what's your excuse, then, Maniac?" Blair asked. "You must have
tried out your usual wit and charm on the lady. Did you crash and burn?"
   "Yeah, right," Marshall said, looking away. "As if I'd waste my time on
some punked-out little techie. Of course, you never did have any taste.
First that snotty French bitch… now… Wise up, Blaze-Away. There's a lot
better to choose from on this tub than that cheap slut…"

   Blair was out of his seat and beside Marshall in a single quick move. He
grabbed the front of Maniac's uniform and hauled him to his feet. "Get
this, Marshall, and get it good," he hissed. "You can talk about me any way
you want to. But I won't tolerate you running down anyone in this wing,
man, woman… or cat. And if you want to keep using that nose to breathe
through, you won't ever insult Angel again… or Rachel Coriolis either, for
that matter. You getting any of this, mister?"

   Maniac pulled back, freeing himself from Blair's grip and holding up
both hands. "Whoa! Back off, man." He studied Blair for a moment.
"Looks like you've got a real case, after all. Question is, which one's the
lucky girl?"

   Blair took another step forward. "I told you to lay off, Major," he said
slowly.

   "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke, man. I'm sorry."
Maniac turned to leave, then faced Blair one more time. "But listen to me,
Colonel, sir. If you don't start loosening up pretty damn quick, you're
cruising for a psych hearing. You're tighter than a vacuum seal, and I
wouldn't like to be around when everything blows out."

   "Mind your own business, Maniac, and let me worry about mine," Blair
told him. "And in the meantime, just stay out of my way."


                        CHAPTER XVII
TCS Victory
Ariel System

   In due course, Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling byway of a
jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of the Caliban Nebula, the
system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many
other smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk in the system as well.
Ariel I was never judged worthwhile as a potential colony, but
Confederation Intelligence sources had long identified it as a major
headquarters for Kilrathi raiders. Previous Terran attempts to deal with
the base met with little success, thanks to the strength of the
ground-based defenses on the planet and the difficulties of mounting
operations within the nebula. Long-range sensors were virtually useless,
and even short-range scans required more time, more power, and more
computer interpolation than usual, which made for many extra problems.

   But the conditions also helped hide Victory from detection, as Eisen
had explained during the original briefing. The Kilrathi maintained a
network of detection buoys around the planet and near most of the jump
points, but away from those the Terran carrier was able to avoid contact
from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was
almost as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard
the ship.

   On the other hand, the sensor limitations cut both ways. Blair was
forced to double patrols again just to sweep nearby space for Kilrathi
shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection
buoys to put fighters close enough to Ariel I to conduct the surveys
Headquarters needed. Over the course of nearly two weeks, the flight wing
operated at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably
took its toll on people and equipment alike.

  Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Ariel System

   Blair came out of the elevator next to Flight Control and nearly ran into
Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in one hand and a
half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air
of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.

   "Can't talk now, skipper," she said, hardly slowing her pace at all. "All
you fighter jocks were so damned eager to draw recon work. Well, now you
got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep
you flying."

   "Okay, okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On behalf of the
entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell 'em
to clear it with you first."
   She grinned as she dodged past him and into the lift. "Maybe if us techs
had a say in things you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in so much
trouble."

  The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight
Control.

   There were only routine patrols out now, no survey missions, so the
chamber was manned at minimal levels. The relative calm in the room
was a stark contrast to the scene visible through the windows overlooking
the hangar deck, where technicians and fighter crews were hard at work
on maintenance, repairs, and mission prep for the next batch of launches,
scheduled to begin shortly. The bustle of activity would have been a scene
of utter confusion to the uninitiated, but Blair recognized the order and
purpose underlying the chaos. It was the dance of the deck, the almost
rhythmic cycle that made any pilots heart beat just a little bit faster.

   He became aware of another figure standing by the windows, intently
watching. It was Cobra, wearing her flight suit and carrying a helmet
under one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her
entirely, changing her customary bitter moodiness into a genuine look of
enthusiasm and anticipation.

  "About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we
showed 'em."

  "Lieutenant," he said quietly.

  She looked at him. "Sir?"

  "I don't recall ever seeing that before," he said. When she looked
confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It looks good.
Suits you."

   The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a
change. I can almost smell 'em, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get
a couple of them in my sights sometime soon…"

   He raised an eyebrow. "Well, being on the offensive seems to have
helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."

  "Scuttlebutt says we're here to scout the cats out for a real attack. That
HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they belong. I want to be
here for the kill. I didn't become a pilot just to baby-sit bases and such."

   Blair frowned. He supposed the spread of rumors about the Behemoth
project was almost inevitable. Nothing stayed secret on a ship in space for
very long it seemed, despite the best efforts of Confed security. He
wondered if Rollins had been leaking information, or if this story started
somewhere else.

  At any rate, at least this rumor was having a more positive effect on
morale than some of the earlier ones.

  "Look, Cobra, I'm glad to see that smile, I really am," Blair told her.
"But you've got to be pumped on every mission, not just the ones you like."

   "Point taken, Colonel," she said slowly. The smile had faded now. "Well,
I guess I'd better get down to the launch bay. I'm up in fifteen…"

   After she left, Blair frowned at his own reflection in the window. For
some reason he could never find the right things to say when talking to
Lieutenant Buckley. Why couldn't he have allowed her to enjoy her
newfound enthusiasm for Victory's current operation? Instead, he'd
managed to deflate her just when it seemed she was ready to start letting
down the barriers which kept her apart from the rest of the wing.

  Sometimes he wondered if he would ever really get a handle on his job.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Ariel System

  "Pull up a chair, Colonel, and join me. I'll stand you to the first round."

   Acknowledging Vagabond's greeting with a nod and a smile, Blair took
the chair opposite him. Lieutenant Chang played with the inevitable deck
of cards in front of him, and if the continual cycle of missions was getting
to him it didn't show in his grinning face. The pilot might have been fresh
from leave instead of unwinding after flying a survey sweep with Hobbes
only a few hours earlier.

   "You must be getting pretty lonely if you want to buy your CO a drink,"
Blair commented. "What's the matter? You already clean everybody else
out?"
   "Unfortunately, it doesn't take too long to get a reputation, if you know
what I mean. And even the new chums from Blackmane caught on to me
after a few days. Gets pretty tough to get up a game when everyone's
afraid to take you on. Know what I mean?" Chang held up the deck.
"C'mon, Colonel. Why don't you try your luck?" Without waiting for an
answer, he started dealing.

   "Whoa, there, sharpie," Blair said, holding up a hand. "Don't I at least
get to cut the deck?"

   Vagabond laughed and gathered in the cards again. "You'd be
surprised how many rookies just ante up and look surprised when they
lose the first pot."

   "Well, they deserve what they get, then." He took the cards from
Vagabond and shuffled the deck with practiced ease, getting a reluctant
nod of admiration from the Chinese pilot. "Me, I've been around. And
early on I discovered the two things you never leave to somebody else:
shuffling the cards and checking your ordinance."

   Chang accepted the deck from Blair and started to deal again. Though
he was still smiling, there was a troubled look in his eyes. "This mission…
you know there are stories going around about some superweapon. That's
why we're supposed to be running recon."

   "You know, Lieutenant, that if the info wasn't officially released then I
can't comment on it one way or the other," Blair said quietly. "Rumors are
just that—rumors. Even if I knew anything, I couldn't talk about it."

   "Yeah, I know." Vagabond looked at his hand for a moment, then laid it
on the table. "Look, Colonel, I know you can't spill any secrets, but the stuff
I've been hearing… it really bugs me."

   "How so?" Blair asked. He laid his own cards aside and met Changs
level gaze.

   "Word is this weapon, whatever it is, will scorch a whole damned
planet. A strategic weapon, I guess the brass would call it. And I'm not
sure I want to be part of something like that."

   "Conscience bothering you, Lieutenant?"
   "Yeah, it is, Colonel. I didn't sign on to be part of something that kills
civilians, whether they're people or cats or something slimy living under
the rocks on Alphacent." Vagabond looked down at the table. "Some folks
take the war real personal, like Cobra and Flint. But that's not me. When I
wax somebody out on the firing line, I like to think it's a fair fight. That
he's got an equal chance to nail me. Pretty stupid, I guess, but that's the
way it is."

   Blair nodded, understanding. He shared Vagabond's doubts. "Fact is, I
understand you a lot better than I'll ever understand Cobra or Flint. The
last thing you need in the cockpit with you is hate. And I think you really
have to hate before you could go along with something as horrible as
wasting an entire planet, civilians and all." He hesitated. "Look, secrets
aside… if you've heard the rumors right, we're scouting for this new
weapon, right?"

  Vagabond nodded.

   "All right, then, we're surveying a planet we know has nothing but a
military installation on it. No colony. No civilians, or at least none who
aren't involved in base operations somehow. Seems to me if there is a
superweapon, HQ must figure on aiming at a military target."

   "Maybe so," Chang said, nodding but still looking uncharacteristically
serious. "Maybe so." He paused "Still, it bothers me a little. I mean, maybe
they'd start with a base like this. But where does it end? HQ's got a real
bad habit of labeling every target a military installation, even when they're
not. So, what if we cross the line later?"

   Blair looked away, uncomfortable. He was thinking of Kevin Tolwyn's
comments about Kilrah, and about the Covert Ops plan that apparently
could only be used against the enemy homeworld. If the Kilrathi didn't
comply with the threat posed by the Behemoth, where would HQ draw the
line?

   And, more importantly, where would he stand if the next target did
include large numbers of civilians? Just how badly did he want this war to
end?

   He looked back at Vagabond. "Hey, we're the good guys, remember?"
he said, forcing a smile. "We don't kill the innocents. That's supposed to
be the difference between us and them, you know?" Inwardly he felt like a
hypocrite, but he couldn't admit his own doubts to Chang without
confirming the stories about the mission.

   The Chinese pilot touched the deck with one slender finger. "Well,
Colonel, the way I figure it, it's a lot like cards. A lot of people never think
to cut the deck before they see what they're getting dealt."

Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory
Ariel System

  "Colonel Blair to Flight Control! Colonel Blair to Flight Control!
Urgent!"

   Blair flung down the PDP he was studying and swung his feet out of the
bunk. This was not a General Quarters alarm, but the voice on the
intercom—Flint's voice— sounded worried. A sinking feeling gripped his
stomach. Vaquero and Flash were on survey duty tonight.

   With the Wing already short-handed and Flint still grounded, Blair had
been forced to rotate wingman assignments frequently since the Ariel
operation began. That meant he couldn't always keep Flash under the
watchful eyes of Hobbes or himself any more. And Vaquero, experienced
as he might have been, was what pilots referred to as an "RV," a Recon
Virgin, someone who had never conducted behind-the-lines
reconnaissance missions. The combination was potentially explosive, but
Blair had simply run out of options.

   He forgot his usual rule about not running and raced down the corridor
to the lift, hoping he was wrong. If Flash and Vaquero had run into trouble
out there, it would be his fault for letting the two of them team up…

   Flight Control was fully manned, and the tense atmosphere that met
Blair as the doors slid open for him did nothing to calm his fears. Flint
had the duty as Officer of the Watch, her suspended flight status leaving
her plenty of time to serve in such shipboard wing duties.

  "What have you got?" he asked crisply, joining her at the Duty Officers
command console.

  "Trouble, sir," Flint said. "Flash and Vaquero were on their way back in
when they read a bogie on their short-range scanners, and Major Dillon
decided they should check it out He ordered Vaquero to back him up
before we could countermand the orders from here, and since they were
already right on top of the Kilrathi…"

  "Any idea what they're up against?"

   "At least six Dralthi, Colonel," Flint told him. "But Vaquero reported he
was getting some other readings that might have been something bigger,
a whole lot bigger."

   "Christ," Blair muttered. "Probably a transport… but it might be a cap
ship under fighter escort. How're they doing so far?"

   "Holding their own, but they haven't been able to obey recall and break
away. The Dralthi keep swarming them." Flint looked apologetic. "We
didn't want to commit the ready alert birds without your say-so, Colonel.
The standing orders are to avoid a fight."

  "Yeah, I know. I helped draft 'em, remember?" Blair realized his tone
had been sharper than he'd intended. "You did well, Lieutenant. Okay,
who's on ready alert?"

   "Maniac and Vagabond," Flint said. "They're in their fighters and ready
to launch."

  "Good. Launch immediately, then. But tell the flight crew to get two
more Thunderbolts ready for launch."

  "Who's on deck, Colonel?" There was a faint light of hope in her eyes.

   "I'll take one. Call Hobbes to fly wingman with me." He saw her face
fall, disappointed. "I know you want back on the roster, Flint, but I don't
have time to discuss it tonight. Call out Hobbes. I'll be in the ready room
suiting up. Put through a call to the captain and route it to me there. He'll
have to know what we're getting into."

  "Aye, aye, sir," she said, voice flat.

   He had his flight suit on and was wrestling with his boots when a vid
screen came to life on one wall of the Gold Squadron ready room. Eisen
looked like he'd been asleep. "They tell me you have a situation, Colonel,"
he said.
   "We certainly do, sir," Blair told him. "Two of my pilots ran into a
Kilrathi flight and have become heavily engaged. I've got two more on the
way to back them up, and Hobbes and I are joining the party as soon as
our fighters are prepped." Hobbes came into the ready room as he spoke
and crossed to his locker.

  "That's a pretty strong response, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "Just how
many Kilrathi did your people run into out there, anyway?"

   "That's not clear yet, sir," Blair said. "That's why I'm flying the extra
cover. There could be a cap ship involved, too. We're not sure yet."

   "Damned sensor clutter," Eisen said, nodding. "Well, I guess all good
things must come to an end. After all this, the furballs won't be letting us
sneak around any more. We'll have to hope we've got all the data HQ
wants, because I'm ordering a withdrawal to the jump point ASAP."

  "Agreed, sir," Blair said, "though I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off until
we're back. I wouldn't want to misplace the Victory in the middle of this
mess."

   Eisen chuckled. "Oh, I think we can wait for you, Colonel. Just don't
keep us waiting too long, okay?" He cut the intercom without waiting for
an answer.

  "Another flight together, my friend," Hobbes commented. "I am glad. It
has been too long since you were on my wing."

   "Yeah, I'll say." Blair picked up his helmet and looked at the renegade
Kilrathi pilot for a long moment. "Do you ever find yourself wishing for the
old days, Hobbes? Back when we were junior pilots, flying for the sheer
hell of it all? Sometimes I'd give everything I've got to be back on the old
Tiger's Claw with you, and Angel, and Paladin, and the rest of the old
gang. No decisions to make, nothing to worry about but flying…"

   Hobbes shook his head. "I do not think about that time often, I fear," he
said. "It was a period of great stress for me, as you may remember. Trying
to prove myself to you all." Ralgha's expression became bleak. "But
sometimes, in my dreams, I find myself yearning for the days before I left
the Empire. Once, long ago, I did not have doubts about my own kind. I
knew my place in the universe, and I was proud of it. Those are the days I
find myself remembering." He picked up his helmet and fell in beside
Blair. "But the past is gone, my friend. All we have now is the present."

   "And the future?" Blair asked.

   Hobbes shook his head. "For many years I have known that I have no
real future. In peace or in war, my own kind reject me and your kind, with
only a few exceptions, shun me. What future do I have, save to fight and
die in the cockpit of my fighter? Sometimes I feel that I am somehow
bound up in the whole outcome of this war, that I might play a key part in
victory or defeat before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate,
hovering over me…" He looked at Blair. "It is not a concept easily grasped
by non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand."

   "Come on, Hobbes," Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had
given into his alien soul. "Let's get down to the flight line. That's all the
future either of us can afford to worry about for now."

Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Ariel System

  "Lord Prince, we have a report of enemy activity in the system. A
convoy is under attack by Terran fighters."

   Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study Melek in the dull red
light of the audience chamber. "They dare attack us here, in our space?
Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda."

   Melek bowed acknowledgement. "You did say you expected them to
respond, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Intercepted radio traffic indicates
that the Terran ships may be from the Victory."

   "So…" Thrakhath turned the report over in his mind. "This…
complicates our response. I had not looked for them to be ready for
further operations for some time to come. We must drive them out… and
we must discourage them from looking toward this system any further. It
would be an embarrassment if they were to plan to demonstrate their new
weapon here before the fleet was fully assembled."

   "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said, "though it would be a worthy irony if
they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap."

   Thrakhath gestured negation. "No. No, I do not want to stage a major
battle here. Not when the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When
the Terrans reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I want
no chance of mistakes when it comes time to destroy it. We must… urge
them to take an interest in some other system, not this one." He paused.
"So we must threaten their ship, but ultimately allow it to escape with
sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to
cover the jump points to Locanda, Delius, and Caliban. And have all
squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect."

   Melek bowed again. "As you direct, Lord Prince." Thrakhath watched
him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to show for an instant.
It was unfortunate that the Terrans must be allowed to win free in the
end. He would have relished the destruction of that carrier… but it carried
the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing could be allowed to
interfere with that now.


                        CHAPTER XVIII
Thunderbolt 3OO
Ariel System

  "Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader," Blair said, hoping he didn't
sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. "Requesting landing clearance.
Over."

  "Roger that. Leader," Rollins replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job
out there, Colonel. You really showed those cats a thing or two."

   Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging
back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero.
By the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already
joined up with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the
fight with the Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't
really need support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger
contact at the edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap
ship kill. Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with
the idea. Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed
particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones
associated with reining in the two majors.
   Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting, and the pilot
himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times
before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown.
This worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez
always struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than
just a physical pounding on the line this time.

   Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate
on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he
clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for
Hobbes, were heading for the ready room to give their after-action
reports.

   The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of
concern on his alien visage. "Are you well, my friend? You seemed…
distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more
spirited comrades."

   "Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks
who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of…
everything."

   He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had
accounted, among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in
the long run it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It
wouldn't matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were
always more Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting
sick of having to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing
might stop.

   "It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again," Ralgha said,
clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blairs bitter words and tone.
"To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to
test my skills, since we started this mission."

    "Yeah," Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he
understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but
his emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. "Yeah, I
suppose all this skulking and hidings been pretty rough on you. Maybe a
little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."

  Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his
head to one side as he regarded Blair. "It is strange," he said. "We are very
different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all the
humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have
proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit… despite the skill and
courage demanded in flying, is never entirely satisfied by combat in
space."

   "You like it up close and personal," Blair said, mustering a faint smile.

   The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to
extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can
speak or walk. To your species this seems… what is the word? Savage?
Primitive? But it is fundamental to who and what we are."

   Blair's eyes narrowed. "Then how can Thrakhath order the death of
millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you
can use."

   "Thrakhath… That one defines honor in his own way, I fear," Ralgha
said slowly. "When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor
or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my kind,
but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile
Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar…
conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"

   Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "I guess we do. But… killing is
killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because you have
to… to defend yourself, your people, your civilization. Whether it's
hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole damned planet
out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we each have to
decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're being asked
to deal out."

   "This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my
friend," Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look.
"And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to
ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."

Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Ariel System
   Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready room
before even exchanging their flight suits for more comfortable clothing.
Eisen looked worried as he sat opposite them. He energized the
holographic chart display on his desk top.

   "I know you just got back from a tough one, but I doubt you'll have
much chance to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're
on course for the jump point to the Caliban System. It has the closest
Confed military facility, although it's a small one, just an outpost. The
main advantage as I see it is that it's like this system, inside the nebula,
which means we can hope to elude a Kilrathi pursuit quickly even if they
should chase us through the jump point. That could be important, if they
have any kind of fleet following us at all."

  "You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.

   "As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went
out that there were Terrans in the neighborhood," Eisen said grimly. "If I
was the cat CO in these parts, I'd do my best to block as many jump points
as possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from Hobbes to
Blair. "That's another reason to go for Caliban, though. They might not be
expecting a withdrawal to such a minor system. Maybe that jump point
will have fewer defenders… maybe none at all, if their fleet isn't very strong
in these parts."

   "Don't count on it, sir," Blair said. "I've been going over the incoming
survey reports. While we haven't seen much in open space, there were
indications of tremendous shuttle traffic over the base on One, and a fair
number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they would
leave all that unprotected, do you?"

   Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't. A big fleet here… that
sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He glanced at Ralgha and changed
the subject. "All the more reason, though, to hope we can get the hell out
of here without running into too much opposition. And if we do… we try to
shake them as best we can and still make jump."

  "Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you
have any special orders for us, sir?"

  "I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead of us when we
approach the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited,
I want an idea of what's waiting for us before we blunder into the middle
of it. The timing will be tricky. You'll have to stay out long enough to give
us our sneak peek at the situation, and maybe to discourage the bad guys
from interfering with our approach. But then you'll have to get your
fighters aboard fast, before we jump… and possibly under fire. Anybody
who misses the boat is stuck." His eyes narrowed. "We can't afford
another incident like Locanda, for instance. I don't think we'll be in any
position to loiter around waiting for stragglers. Can your people do this?"

   Blair nodded slowly, but inside his mind was racing to consider all the
problems against them. "It'll be tricky, Captain, but I'll see what we can
put together to eliminate the problems as much as possible."

  "Good. Navigation tells me it'll be eighteen hours before we hit the
jump point. So your people will have a little sack time, at least, before they
have to launch."

  Eisen gave him a look. "Try to get some yourself, too, Colonel. We need
you out there fresh and at your best."

    "Yes, sir," Blair said, but he knew the planning and preparation time
would make things tight. Sleep was a luxury he had to postpone until he
knew the wing was ready. He stood up slowly, and Ralgha did the same.
"I'll keep you posted on our plans, Captain. Come on, Hobbes. Looks like
we burn the midnight electrons again."

Thunderbolt 3OO
Ariel System

    "All right, people, you know the drill," Blair said over the general comm
channel. "Do this thing by the numbers, and we'll be past the cats before
they know we're even in the neighborhood. But don't get distracted. You
stop to look at the scenery and you'll be stuck seeing it for the rest of your
life… which won't be long if Thrakhath's little playmates have their way.
So… let's do it!"

   It was another magnum launch, with a full contingent of fighters
deployed in space around the Victory as she cruised slowly through the
colorful, swirling gases of the nebula toward the jump point to Caliban. As
before, the point defense squadron would be held back to defend the ship
against Kilrathi fighters while the rest of the wing mounted Eisen's recon
in force ahead of the carrier.

   Blair hoped he'd covered all the likely contingencies in formulating his
plans for the mission. If he'd left something out, it was too late now to deal
with it. They were committed, for good or ill.

   "Major Mbuto, you're up," he said. "Good luck… but I hope you won't
be mad if I don't wish you good hunting!"

  Amazon Mbuto chuckled. "This is one time when we'd all be glad for
an empty scanner screen, Colonel," she said.

   Mbuto's interceptors were on point, as usual, scouting ahead of the
others in hopes of locating any enemy ships around the jump point before
they realized the Terrans were on their way. She had six Arrows in all,
with orders to locate the Kilrathi but, if possible, to avoid engaging.
Victory would keep a secure laser channel open with her fighter
throughout the op so that Rollins could pick up her sensor feed and
analyze the tactical situation ahead of time, despite the sensor
interference from the nebula.

   If she did spot enemy ships blocking Victory's chosen escape route, the
other squadrons would be called: Berterelli's Longbows to launch bombing
strikes on capital ships and Gold Squadron to provide cover for them or to
engage Kilrathi fighters. Meanwhile, once the initial scouting was
finished, Mbuto would withdraw and land on Victory, followed by the
bombers as soon as they dumped their loads and, hopefully, disrupted any
enemy capital ships in the neighborhood. The Thunderbolts would be the
last to return to the carrier, thus reducing the amount of traffic Flight
Control would deal with in the critical minutes before the ship attempted
to jump.

   That was the plan, at least. But Blair couldn't help remembering an
ancient military maxim… No battle plan survives contact with the enemy
. Any number of things could go wrong, and there was precious little room
for error.

   At least a mistake today wouldn't end in the devastation of an entire
colony world. But that was cold comfort as far as Blair was concerned.
Victory's fate was on the line, and despite his early reaction to the
battered little escort carrier, Blair had learned to think of the ship as
home and her crew as comrades, even friends. Losing her wouldn't be like
losing the Concordia, but…

   He shook himself out of his reverie. If Victory didn't make it, neither
would Colonel Christopher Blair. This time he wasn't likely to outlive his
carrier by more than a matter of minutes, hours at most.

   The time passed slowly as they waited for a report from the scouts.
Comm line chatter was subdued and-sporadic, and Blair had plenty of
time for second and even third thoughts. Periodically he cursed the
prolonged inactivity, knowing it would be demoralizing the others as
much as himself, but there was nothing to be done. Until the interceptors
reported, the other pilots could do nothing more than keep formation,
watch their screens, and wait.

  "Victory to Recon Leader" Rollins said at last. "We're getting sensor
imagery from Amazon. Captain was right, Colonel. There's a welcoming
committee out there. Stand by for coordinate feed."

   In seconds, his scanner began displaying targets around the Caliban
jump point, and Blair studied them intently. There were half a dozen large
targets there, probably destroyers escorting a cruiser or a small Kilrathi
carrier. A handful of smaller contacts were fighters, probably Darket on
escort duty. The enemy force wasn't overwhelming, but it would present a
significant challenge nonetheless.

   "Okay," he said at length, using a low-power general broadcast channel
that would keep his transmission localized and, hopefully, secret from any
Kilrathi who might be trying to monitor Terran comm frequencies. As he
spoke, his computer relayed additional data as he entered it, projecting
courses, targets, and other information. "We've got 'em spotted now.
Major Berterelli, you're going to circle the jump point outside their likely
sensor range and attack the targets designated Four and Five on the
sensor feed. Gold Squadron will cover for you. When you withdraw, go to
ecliptic heading one-eight-one by zero-six-four."

   "That's away from Victory," Berterelli pointed out.

   "Got it in one, Major," Blair told him. "I want to hit the cats fast, rile
them up, and then draw them away from the jump point. If they think
Victory's coming from the far side of the point, they'll deploy in that
direction and throw out a wide cordon to try and spot her."
  "Leaving the route in wide open," Maniac said. "You know, Maverick,
sometimes you're almost as smart as everybody says you think you are!"

   "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Blair said. "Once you break contact
with the bad guys, Green Squadron should circle around to rendezvous
with the carrier. Gold Squadron will continue to withdraw on the original
heading until I give the word. Then I want you to separate into wing teams
and head for home. Don't leave your wingman unless absolutely necessary,
and remember the timetable. Victory will be at the jump point in…
seventy minutes from now. If you're not back on board by then, you've lost
your ride out of here. Any questions?"

   There were none. "Good," Blair continued. "Now… Hobbes, you and
Vagabond are on point. Then the Longbows. The rest of us bring up the
rear. You have your orders. Make sure you all come back in one piece. You
know how I hate filling out casualty reports."

   Hobbes and Vagabond were already accelerating, steering the course
Blair indicated. As he waited for the Green Squadron bombers to move
out, Blair switched to the tactical channel for his wingman. "This is it,
Cobra. Hope there's enough cats out here for you."

  "It'll do," she said. "But I'm still kind of wondering how I ended up on
your wing, Colonel."

   "Not a whole lot of options, Lieutenant," he told her. "With Flint off the
roster and Vaquero banged up from that fight yesterday, I'm juggling.
Sorry if the arrangements don't suit you."

  "I guess I figured you'd team with Hobbes, is all."

  "Not this time," Blair told her. "I figured it was about time I let you
show me some of those moves of yours."

   Actually, it had been a difficult decision to make, pairing up the pilots
in Gold Squadron for this mission. He had wanted Hobbes on point, no
question; the Kilrathi's instincts and discipline made him the ideal choice
to lead them in. But much as he would have relished flying with Ralgha,
Blair's place wasn't on the very front line. As wing commander he had to
stay out of the action until he was sure of the tactical situation.

  But there were sharp limits in how he could deploy the rest of the
squadron. He still couldn't trust Buckley to cooperate with Ralgha, and
neither Flash nor Maniac was his idea of a good point man to team with
the Kilrathi. So Vagabond was with Hobbes. With great reluctance, Blair
teamed the two majors together, even though he knew he was asking for
trouble. Neither one was very reliable anyway, so it seemed better to have
them let each other down instead of breaking up two different teams if
and when they let themselves run wild.

   So he'd crossed his fingers and put them together, and ordered Cobra
to fly on his wing. He hoped neither choice would turn out to be
disastrous. But Vaquero, though physically fit after the battle with the
Dralthi, was a bundle of nerves and not really ready for duty so soon. And
as for Flint…

  He almost put her back on the roster, but with so much at stake, he
wasn't willing to risk a repeat performance. She was on duty in Flight
Control again.

  Cobra stuck close by him as they trailed the rest of the Terran flight,
keeping strict radio silence now. They wouldn't use their comm channels
until they engaged the enemy. Blair hoped Amazon Mbuto had followed
her orders and headed back for the carrier. He wouldn't know for sure
until the operation was nearly over…

   On his sensor screen, images began to appear, seemingly out of
nowhere, as he came into range of the enemy force. The blips that
represented the Confed fighters and bombers seemed pitifully inadequate
to take on the Kilrathi ships, but they were already starting their runs.

   Hobbes and Vagabond opened the fight by engaging a trio of Darket
close to the nearest of the two targeted capital ships. Berterelli's bombers
ignored them and plunged past, hurtling at top speed toward the Kilrathi
destroyer. There were more fighters registering beyond that large ship,
and they could pose trouble for the Longbows.

   "Maniac! Flash!" Blair said sharply. "You see that formation on the
other side of the destroyer? Get in there and have some fun with them."

   "Yes, sir, Colonel, sir," Maniac said. "Come on, rookie, last one firing is
kitty litter!"

   "What about us, sir?" Cobra asked.
  "We stick with Berterelli, Lieutenant," Blair told her, "in case
something crops up he can't handle."

   For several minutes they maintained their position behind the
bombers, spectators as Berterelli's pilots unleashed a heavy attack against
the first destroyer and then broke off to climb away from the deadly
warship, dodging defensive fire all the way. One of the Longbows didn't
make it out, but the other five did. The attack didn't destroy the Kilrathi
ship, but Blair's sensors registered serious damage to shields, armor, and
propulsion systems. The cats knew they'd been hit, that much was sure.

   The second destroyer was a tougher nut to crack. Forewarned, it laid
down a devastating pattern of fire against the incoming Longbows. A
series of shots raked across Major Berterelli's bomber, and the Longbow
came apart under the force of the barrage… but not before the Italian pilot
released a full spread of ship-killer missiles. And the other bombers
dropped their remaining loads simultaneously. As if avenging the
squadron leader, they received the satisfaction of seeing those shots hit
home. Explosions rippled down the spine of the destroyer. A few seconds
later, a massive fireball consumed it. Some of the chunks were bigger than
the Terran Thunderbolts, adding to the confusion that reigned on the
Kilrathi perimeter.

   "Retreat! Retreat! All fighters retreat!" Blair called. The Terran ships
began to disengage, even Maniac and Flash. They turned away now, on
their false escape heading, but Blair and Cobra hung back to cover the
retreat.

  So far, neither had fired a shot.

   A pair of Darket gave chase, but Cobra took out one with a well-placed
barrage from her tail gun, and Blair used a hard braking maneuver to
change vector and let the second one shoot past him. Then he took it out
with sustained blaster fire, saving his missiles in case a real threat
developed. No other fighters approached them as they continued their
retreat.

   Just before losing sensor contact with the Kilrathi ships, Blair saw that
the destroyers were in motion. He allowed himself a grim smile. As he
hoped, they were spreading out to throw up a detection net… but they
were on the wrong side of the jump point to block Victory now.
Bridge, TCS Victory
Ariel System

   "Last of the Hellcats is aboard now, sir," Rollins reported from his post
at Communications. "And the first Longbows just checked in, looking for
clearance. Looks like it's going down smooth."

   "Lets hope it stays that way," Eisen growled. "Helm? What's our
status?"

  "ETA is fifteen minutes, sir," the helmsman reported.

   "Blair's cutting it fine," Rollins muttered. "Hope he knows what he's
doing out there."

    "A little less chatter, Lieutenant, if you please," the captain said.
"Navigation, begin plotting for jump. Mr. Rollins, make it 'Jump Stations,'
if you—"

   "Sir!" The Sensor Officer broke in. "Captain, the jump point… it's not
there!"

 "What?" Rollins spoke before he could stop himself. "It ain't there?
What do you mean, it ain't there?"

  "Lieutenant!" Eisen snapped. "Explanations, people. I need
explanations…"

  "It's like the cats just managed to… to close off the jump point, sir," the
Sensor Officer said. "I don't know how. But it isn't out there any more."

  "And without it, we're stuck," someone else said aloud.

  Rollins looked at Eisen. The man's face was darkly impassive, but he
could see the expression in the captain's eyes. However the Kilrathi had
done it, there was one thing certain. Victory was trapped.


                         CHAPTER XIX
Thunderbolt 3OO
Ariel System
  "We haven't been able to determine exactly what's going on, Colonel,
but it appears that the Kilrathi have somehow managed to close off the
jump point to Caliban"

  "How the hell can they do that? It ain't poss—"

  "Clear the channel, Maniac!" Blair snapped. He understood how
Marshall felt, but they couldn't afford to waste precious time in useless
hysterics. "Sorry, Captain. Continue the message."

   "We're going to have to try for another jump point instead," Eisen
went on as if there hadn't been an interruption. "The Deliusjump point
isn't far… if it's still out there. We're downloading the coordinates to you
now. Reform your squadron and keep their light stuff off our backs until
we get there. And keep your fingers crossed that this door isn't closed,
too."

   "Understood, Captain," Blair said. He paused. "And if there's a picket at
the other jump point, sir? I doubt we can outfox them a second time
around…"

  "Just pray we get lucky, Colonel," Eisen said grimly. "Because luck's
about the only thing that'll bail us out at this point."

   "Roger that," Blair responded. "Okay, Gold Squadron, you heard the
man. Form on me and keep a sharp eye on your sensors. By this time
they've probably got more than Darket out there, so be ready."

   "If they can close down one jump point, they can close 'em all," Maniac
said, still sounding ragged. "How the hell are we supposed to fight them if
they can do that?"

   "Stay frosty, Maniac," Blair told him. "Same for the rest of you.
Whatever the cats are doing, we can't let it put us off our stride now. The
ship's counting on us."

    He adjusted his course to match the vectors Victory's computers fed to
the fighters and adjusted the sensitivity on his scanners. If the Kilrathi
really could shut down a jump point at will, the war was as good as over…
but Blair refused to allow himself to dwell on the bitter thought. For now,
all that mattered was survival.
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Ariel System

   "They are moving again, Lord Prince." Melek gave a deep, formal bow
as he approached the throne on its raised dais. "The destroyer Irrkhom
has them at the very sdge of his sensor range. Their vector indicates they
are probably trying for the Delius jump point. It is the closest to their
present location."

  Thrakhath studied Melek without speaking, and the retainer grew
uncomfortable under his lingering stare. Finally the Prince spoke. "The
Mask has performed its function, then?" he asked.

   "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek replied. "The Caliban jump point does not
register on any sensors. The Terrans must have believed we simply cut it
down, like helpless prey."

  "The apes should have remained in the trees of their homework!, and
never challenged warriors of the stars," Thrakhath said, showing his fangs.
"They are fools."

   "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed quietly. Inwardly he wasn't so sure. It
was true that the Terrans still lagged behind the Empire in cloaking
technology, but they were catching up fast. They would realize, soon
enough, that the Kilrathi couldn't actually close down a jump point, but
only obscure it with a particularly powerful cloaking field—and even then
only where the dust and gas of a nebula made it possible for the cloak to
operate effectively over the large distances needed to cover the jump point.

   But Thrakhath remained utterly contemptuous of the Terrans. It was
an attitude that worried Melek more and more as the climax of the
campaign approached. So far events had unfolded much as the Prince
planned, excluding the continued interference of the Victory after several
attempts to cripple the carrier had failed. No doubt the unexpected
Kilrathi ability to make jump points seem to vanish would, as Thrakhath
intended, cause the humans to choose a different target system when they
deployed their new weapon, regardless of the knowledge concerning their
adversaries. But, sooner or later, Thrakhath's disdain for the Terrans
might well lead him to underestimate them at a critical moment, and that
could have disastrous consequences.

  Melek began to wish he had never accepted the post as Thrakhath's
chee'dyachee. As senior vassal and retainer to the Crown Prince, he
wielded great power and commanded much influence… and was perfectly
placed to watch the Imperial family in the interests of his own Clan. But it
was a precarious perch at best, given the Prince's temper, ana sometimes
it was difficult to restrain himself from voicing the doubts he could not
put aside.

   He became aware that the Crown Prince was still eyeing him with an
almost predatory look.

   "You seem… distracted, Melek," Thrakhath said. "Is there some
problem?"

  "No, Lord Prince," he replied. "No problem. I was merely… awaiting
your instructions now that the Terrans have set their new course."

   "The plan remains as I outlined it earlier. Now that they have been
frightened by our power over the jump points, we will allow them to
escape through the Debus point. Order the ships there to drop the Mask
and proceed toward the Caliban jump point, as if to reinforce our
squadron there after the Terran attack. If they can punish the carrier
along the way, they may do so, but remember that the vessel must escape,
both to carry word of our new weapon to their leaders and to preserve…
our other asset. Understood?"

  "Yes, Lord Prince." Melek bowed again and withdrew, thankful the
audience was over.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Ariel System

   "We've got company, Colonel. Looks like a destroyer, with at least two
fighters on escort. Feeding you the coordinates now…"

   The information scrolled across Blairs monitor before Rollins finished
speaking. The Kilrathi ship was ahead and to port of Victory, and from its
heading was returning from the Delius jump point. The cats were either
reinforcing their first squadron or throwing out a net to intercept the
Terrans.

    In either case, the destroyer could be trouble. There were two fighters
flying close by, Vaktoth by the look of their sensor signatures. They could
complicate any attempt to deal with the bigger ship.

  Blair wished he still had some of the Longbows available, but Gold
Squadron was the only fighter force that had not landed on the flight deck
and started securing for jump. It was up to the six Thunderbolts to do
what they could to protect the carrier.

   "Gold Squadron, this is Leader," Blair said. "Tally-ho!" It was the
age-old pilot's cry that the enemy was in sight, dating back to the days
before spaceflight. "Follow me in, people!"

   He kicked in his afterburners and steered the fighter toward the
Kilrathi targets, the rest of the squadron trailing him. Blair checked his
weapons status and armed blasters and heat-seeking missiles. He and
Cobra had engaged in the least amount of fighting at the first jump point,
their ships with the least damage and the most reloads available. That
made them the best candidates for taking on the destroyer. But it was
essential that they get some reliable protection from the enemy fighters.

   "Hobbes, Vagabond, you two keep those Vaktoth off our backs," he
ordered. "The rest of us are hunting the big cat this time. Understood?"

  "We are complying," Hobbes said calmly.

   "Just let me at 'em," Maniac said. He sounded a little less nervous now,
as if the prospect of a stand-up fight helped steady him after the shock of
having the jump point vanish. Blair hoped he would keep his head.

   "Lead the way, Colonel" Cobra added a moment later. She sounded
professional, but a little grim.

   He reduced his speed and allowed Hobbes and Vagabond to accelerate
past the rest of the squadron, diving in toward the enemy formation.
Hobbes screamed a Kilrathi challenge as the two fighters closed with their
opposite numbers, and that seemed to unnerve the Vaktoth pilots. Both
enemy fighters circled away, evading rather than offering battle—unusual
for the Kilrathi. Perhaps these were inexperienced flyers, Blair told
himself. But was it significant that they were running from Hobbes
again… ?

  He forced the thought from his mind and concentrated instead on the
destroyer. It loomed ahead, all menacing points and angles, an
asymmetrical, four-pronged dagger aimed at Victory.

   "Let's rock!" Maniac called, accelerating suddenly to full speed and
diving toward the destroyer, all guns firing wildly. Flash was right behind
him. The destroyer's main batteries opened up, driving bolt after bolt of
raw energy at the fast-moving Terran ships. Somehow neither Terran
fighter was hit, but their blasters battered the destroyer's shields. There
was a ripple of explosions as Flash dumped three missiles in quick
succession. None penetrated the shields, but Blair's scanners showed the
enemy defenses weakening.

   Blair killed his momentum, bringing the fighter practically to a dead
stop. It was a risky move so close to a capital ship, but with Maniac and
Flash doing such a good job of drawing the enemy's attention it was too
good a chance to miss. Now the destroyer was lumbering toward him, a
nice, steady target. If he could just get in enough good shots at the
weakened section of the shielding…

   He opened fire with his blasters, squeezing off shot after shot until his
power reserves were exhausted and the guns shut down until their
generators could recycle and bring them back up to full power. The
Kilrathi shields still held It was only then that he realized that Cobra had
emulated his move. Her ship was a bare thirty meters off his wing, and
now her blasters focused on the same narrow target area as Blair.

   The enemy ship's shields failed, and Blair gave a wolfish grin. His
blasters came back on-line, and he started firing again. This time the
shots were taking off armor, chipping away ever closer to the vulnerable
hull of the destroyer. The enemy captain must have recognized his danger
by this time, but Maniac and Flash were still closer, still weaving in and
out and raking the big ship with sustained if less concentrated fire.
Automatic shipboard defense systems would naturally try to track and
destroy the nearer threats first, and crewed guns took time to realign on
new targets…

   Blair's blasters ran down a second time, and he switched to a salvo of
missiles. Cobra launched at almost the same moment. "Let's get moving,
Lieutenant," Blair said, starting up his engines again. He was just
beginning to accelerate to full speed when a blast from one of the
destroyer's main guns caught his port-side shield, knocking it down and
ripping into the wing armor in one blow. Then he was clear of the danger
and turned quickly to place some distance between his Thunderbolt and
the Kilrathi ship.

   The missiles began to detonate, tearing through the last of the armor
and deep into the bowels of the capital ship. It almost seemed to shudder
before it finally tore itself apart.

   "Ye-es!" That was Maniac, exultant. "Scratch one great big kitty!"

   "Good shooting, Colonel" Cobra added.

    "Good shooting, all," Blair corrected. "That one was a team effort. Now
let's see if Hobbes and Vagabond need any help cleaning up their little
mess."

   One of the Vaktoth was running, the other was heavily engaged with
Vagabond's Thunderbolt. By the time the rest of Gold Squadron was in
range, Hobbes had already come to the aid of his wingman and sent the
heavy fighter off to join the shattered destroyer.

   "What's your status, people?" Blair asked, calling up his own combat
data. He couldn't afford to take another hit on his port side, and he was
down to only a single missile. Another serious fight would probably be too
much for his battered Thunderbolt to handle.

  "Damage is minimal, Colonel," Cobra reported. "But I'm out of
missiles, and my fuel reserves aren't looking good."

  "I, too, am out of missiles," Hobbes said. "And my forward armor is
badly damaged."

   The others made similar reports, with damage ranging from Cobra's
very minor hits up to Flash, who had suffered serious damage in the fight
with the destroyer and was now running with damaged engines and an
intermittent fault in his sensors. Blair frowned as he considered the
situation. The squadron couldn't do a whole lot more at this point. But
they had no idea what else the Kilrathi might throw at them.

  "Jump point is on our screens," Rollins reported suddenly. "Looks like
we got lucky this time!"

  "What about enemy activity?" Blair asked, still frowning. "Anything on
your sensors?"
   "Looks like another cat destroyer out there, Colonel, but at extreme
sensor range," Rollins reported after a moment's pause. "From his
current vector, it doesn't look like he'll be in any position to interfere
with us. Captain says to bring your birds back to the nest, sir. You're
clear to land … and… you guys sure did a good job holding off those
sons-of-bitches."

  "Thank God for small favors," Blair muttered. "All right, Gold
Squadron. Let's pack it in. And pray we don't get any new surprises before
we hit the jump point."

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Ariel System

   Blair climbed slowly from his cockpit, tired and stiff after the long
strain of flying. He hadn't realized his personal toll from the operation
until now. With the mission over, all he wanted to do was take a long
shower, then catch a few hundred hours of sack time.

   Unfortunately, that wasn't how it worked. Before seeing his bunk again,
Blair knew there was a load of work to finish first.

   "ALL HANDS, ALL HANDS, JUMP STATIONS, REPEAT, JUMP
STATIONS. INTERSTELLAR TRANSIT IN THREE MINUTES." the
computer announcement blared over the ship's tannoy, and all around
Blair techs hastened to get ready for the jump, like so many ants stirred
up by a threat to their hill.

   "You sure did bang the old girl up this time, skipper," Rachel Coriolis
said from behind him. He turned to see her pointing at the twisted armor
and scorched hull plating where the destroyer's gun had pierced his
shields. "Better get clear, sir, before the jump."

   He nodded, then turned toward the far end of the hangar. Safety
precautions called for the hangar deck to be cleared prior to any jump,
and already the huge chamber was nearly empty of crewmen. Blair strode
rapidly across the deck with Rachel, a few stragglers close behind.

   The doors snapped open to reveal a tense scene in the corridor beside
the elevator. A number of pilots and technicians were present, but the
main focus was on Cobra and Hobbes, standing face to face in the middle
of the passageway. Lieutenant Buckley had an angry expression on her
face, and her hands were flexing as if she, like the Kilrathi, had claws that
could tear at her enemies' throats. In contrast, Ralgha nar Hhallas was
calm, impassive, a stoic figure facing Cobra's venom.

  "Why didn't you warn us that your kind could close jump points?" she
demanded, her voice low and menacing.

   "I was not aware that they could," Ralgha told her. "This is obviously a
recently developed advancement to Kilrathi technology. And a very serious
threat. The ability to close down a jump point will give the Empire a great
advantage, I fear."

   "Come off it, you fur-faced son-of-a-bitch," Cobra snarled. "You mean
to tell us you didn't know anything about this? I don't believe you!"

   "I have been in Confederation service for over a decade, Lieutenant,"
the Kilrathi told her, drawing himself up with an air of quiet dignity.
"Much has changed during that time, on both sides of the border. Perhaps
this represents a breakthrough in jump theory."

    "More likely in cloaking technology," Rachel said, stepping between
them. "I don't think the Kilrathi can actually shut down a jump point at
all."

   "Hey, I wasn't hallucinating out there," Cobra said, turning her angry
glare on the technician. "We all saw the first jump point drop right off our
screens."

   "Look, I've been studying cloaks," Rachel said. "The new Excaliburs are
supposed to mount them. In theory, a big enough generator could project
a cloak that could mask out something as large as a jump point. But it
would only work in a nebula, and it would be damned hard to maintain
even then. That's what we were facing. I'd bet hard credits on it."

   "Well, whether they can kill it or just hide it, the cats can mess up our
jump points," Cobra said, a little less wild but still clearly angry. She
stepped past Rachel and jabbed a finger at Hobbes. "And you claim you
had no clue they could pull that?"

  "No more than you, Lieutenant," Ralgha told her.
  "You're a liar."

   Blair stepped forward, thrusting himself between the two pilots. "That
will be enough, Lieutenant," he said harshly. "Colonel Ralgha's loyalty is
not to be questioned in this way again. Is that understood?"

  "But…"

  "I will not have a junior officer making wild accusations about one of
her seniors. If you gather concrete evidence to back up your claims, then
you see me, in private, through proper channels. Otherwise, you keep your
mouth shut!"

  "Yes, sir," she said at last.

   "JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED, ONE MINUTE TO JUMP," the
loudspeaker announced.

   The elevator doors opened, and Cobra pushed through the semi-circle
of onlookers into the car. Neither Blair nor Hobbes chose to follow her.

Bridge, TCS Victory
Ariel System

  "And ten seconds… nine… eight…"

   Eisen was determined not to betray his mounting tension as the
computer ticked off the final seconds of the countdown to jump. What if
the Kilrathi really could shut down a jump point? If they cut this one now,
Victory would be trapped and totally vulnerable to the destroyers that
were beginning to close in.

  Or… what would happen to a ship initiating a jump sequence if the
jump point failed? Would it remain in place… or end up trapped in
hyperspace, unable to complete the transition to its destination?

  "Three… two… and one… initiating transit… now."

   He felt the familiar gut-twisting sensation of transit, and despite the
nausea, muscle spasms, and the wrenching disorientation of the jump,
Eisen was relieved. At least Victory had escaped the cats, whatever
happened next…
   The jump was over in an instant. Eisen had to blink and shake his head
a time or two to clear the fog in his brain, but it didn't take long to regain
control over his body, though every nerve was still protesting over the
unnatural act of being flung across an unimaginable distance through a
realm no human was ever supposed to enter.

  "Report," he croaked.

   Lieutenant Commander Lisa Morgan, Victory's Navigator, managed to
sound alert. "Aye, aye, sir," she said, her fingers moving over her controls
to call up a computer program that would analyze their surroundings and
confirm that they had emerged on target. After a moment she went on.
"Stellar type and data match within 99.4 percent. No planets registering.
Asteroid belts… it checks, Captain. Delius System… or its twin."

   Eisen nodded slowly. "Very good Commander Morgan, set course to
Delius Station. Mr. Rollins, raise the local defense forces and let them
know we're here. Secure from Jump Stations and resume in-system
operations." He paused. "I want the ship combat-ready as soon as
possible. After that, I want a full after-action analysis by all combat
departments. We have to determine what the hell went on back there,
before the cats pull it on us again."

  His officers responded promptly, and Eisen felt a glow of pride. They'd
been close to the breaking point, but somehow they'd kept on going.

  In the end, that was the only thing that counted.


                          CHAPTER XX
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Ariel System

   "The Terrans have withdrawn, then, Melek?" Thrakhath was lounging
on his throne, feeling satisfied. A pair of destroyers had been lost along
with a few fighters, and he intended to see to it that whoever was
responsible for the losses paid the supreme penalty. But overall, everything
went exactly as planned. The apes had been given a warning they would
not soon forget. It would make them cautious for a time, and even if they
realized that the Empire's ability to mask jump points was limited to
nebulas they would surely shun this system, so the base where the
Imperial Fleet would gather for Thrakhath's grand stroke would remain
secure.

  Now it was time to think of the next stage in the plan.

  "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said. "They have withdrawn into the Delius
System. Of course, there is no way of telling how long they will remain…"

   "Then we must act quickly, before they move on," Thrakhath told him,
pounding the arm of his throne to emphasize the point. "Is it certain that
the one called Blair is still assigned to the carrier?"

   "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. "We monitored his voice on
the comm channels during the fight, a perfect match to our files. He is the
wing commander. According to recent intelligence, the renegade serves as
his deputy."

    "Excellent," Thrakhath said, showing his fangs for an instant. "Perhaps
it is best that the human escaped our earlier attacks. We have the perfect
weapon to use against him, and the results will leave these apes
demoralized just when our blow is about to fall."

   "You think, then, that the challenge will work, on a human? Their sense
of honor is not the same as ours, Lord Prince." Melek bowed low, to show
that he did not mean to doubt his Lord's judgment.

   "Oh, this challenge will work, I Slink," Thrakhath said quietly. "They do
not have honor, Melek, but they do have pride… and anger. We will goad
this ape into a foolish gesture, and at the same time…"

  "The Trigger," Melek said.

    "The Trigger. And we will have our claws at their throats once and for
all." Thrakhath straightened. "Pass the orders, Melek. Assemble the
designated task force and be ready to jump within a cycle."

  "Yes, Lord Prince." Melek withdrew, bowing again.

   Crown Prince Thrakhath contemplated the stars that blazed through
the dome above his dais. The stars that would soon belong entirely to the
Empire.
Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory
Delius System

   "Reporting as ordered, sir."

  "Come in, Lieutenant," Blair said, gesturing to the chair in front of his
desk. "Sit down."

   Flint settled into the seat, her eyes holding a look somewhere between
hope and wariness. "Thank you, sir," she said. "Ah… those were some good
moves you guys put on yesterday, Colonel. Although I couldn't really tell
everything that was going on… from Flight Control."

   He smiled. "You don't need to drop hints, Lieutenant. I know it's been
difficult for you, sitting on the sidelines."

   "It's just… Look, sir, it just isn't the same, flying a console aboard ship.
I belong in the cockpit. That's all there is to it. If you can't put me there,
then transfer me to a unit where I can get a fresh start."

   "You're pretty blunt, Lieutenant," he said. "Let me be the same. If I
don't put you back on the flight roster here, it'll be because I have a
problem with you flying. So you can be damned sure my report in your file
would reflect my doubts. Don't think a transfer is going to get you back in
the cockpit just because I'm not your CO any longer."

   Her look was bleak, bitter. "I lost it, back at Locanda. I admit it. But I
don't think that mistake should hang over me forever, Colonel. Watching
those bastards slip past us, knowing they were going to spread their
plague on my home—that was more than I could handle. But it isn't likely
to come up again." She managed a crooked smile.

   "The stakes are less… personal, now. Is that it?" He kept his own tone
serious.

   "I guess so, sir," she said. "I hate to admit it. I mean, when I took my
oath it was to the Confederation, not to any one planet. But Locanda was
so much more real to me, when it went down. I could see it, in my mind:
the places, the people. It made a difference."

   "If it didn't, you wouldn't be human," he said. Blair studied her for a
moment. She seemed too small, too fragile to be a combat pilot. "The
problem is, you made me a promise once before, and you didn't keep it.
Do you want to get back in that cockpit bad enough to follow through this
time?"

   "I can't prove that unless you give me the chance, Colonel," she said.
"When I'm out there, with that bird strapped around me and a cat in my
sights… that's the only time I really feel alive."

  Blair nodded sadly. He remembered Angel saying something like that
once, back on the Tiger's Claw. "I knew… I know someone who felt the
same way. She lived to fight 'the good fight,' as she called it."

  "For me, it's the flying," Flint told him. "I love the purity… nothing
holding me back. Knowing I'm in complete control, for better or worse."

   "Yeah," Blair said, nodding again. "Yeah, only a pilot knows that
feeling."

   "Well, Colonel, if you understand how I feel, then you have to know
what I'm going through now. I wasn't designed for cheerleading from the
sidelines, or playing traffic director in Flight Control. I'm requesting
reassignment to flight status." She paused. "Please…"

  "I don't usually give third chances, Lieutenant," he said slowly. "But we
could have used you out there yesterday. Next time we'll need you even
more. You're back on the roster, effective immediately, Flint."

  "Thank you, sir…"

  He held up a hand. "But if you screw up again… heaven help you.
Because I won't."

  "Understood, Colonel." She stood up. "This time you won't regret it."

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Delius System

   A jagged, irregular chunk of rock eighteen kilometers across aominated
the view from the rec room. A few moving lights marked the passage of
shuttles and service pods back and forth between carrier and asteroid. In
the three hours since Victory matched orbits with Delius Station, a
thorough inspection of the ship's hull and external fittings had already
been completed, and the captain had authorized liberty for the off-duty
watch. There weren't as many takers as might be expected—

   Delius Station was reputed to be one of the most boring stopovers in
the sector—but there was a definite easing of tensions on board at the
realization that they really were back in friendly territory at last.

   Blair sat alone at a table, sipping his scotch and gazing at the planetoid
and the star field beyond. In one corner of the room, Vaquero was softly
strumming his old guitar, a quiet, mournful sound. Lieutenant Lopez had
been certified fit for flight duty by the ship's Medical Officer the day
before, and Blair restored him to the roster. But he still wondered if Lopez
was fully recovered from the battering he had taken in the first clash in
the nebula.

   He heard Maniac Marshall call a greeting as he entered the rec room,
and half-turned in his chair to watch the major at the bar. Marshall was
his usual self, boisterous, self-assured, wearing a broad smile as he took
his drink from Rostov and waved an airy greeting to Flint and Cobra, who
were sitting together at a nearby table.

   To Blair's surprise, Maniac ambled to his table. "Colonel," he said,
giving him a nod.

   "Major," Blair replied. He waited a moment before going on.
"Something I can do for you?"

   Maniac grew visibly uncomfortable, all his cockiness disappearing as he
stammered a response. "Er… fact is, I wanted to tell you… I wanted to
say… Maverick, that was a damned impressive show back at Ariel. The
way you faked that first bunch out of position… and the way you kept your
cool after the cats pulled their little magic trick." He looked embarrassed.
"I know we don't always operate on the same frequency… but I thought I
should give credit where it's due."

   Blair raised an eyebrow. "Well…" He wasn't sure how to respond.
Maniac Marshall had never before made such an overture. "Thanks for the
vote of confidence. It was touch and go there for a while, though."

  "Yeah," Marshall agreed. "Tell me about it. When they made that jump
point disappear… God, I almost lost it. I never thought I'd feel that way,
Maverick. Never."
  "You kept your head pretty well, all things considered," Blair told him.
"We couldn't have nailed that destroyer without you and Flash."

    "We could have taken her out by ourselves, if you and Cobra had let us,"
Maniac said with a trace of his old spirit. "But… yeah, it was a good score
all the way around." He looked out the viewport and continued with a sour
note in his voice. "You think Chief Coriolis was right about the Kilrathi
using a cloak on the jump points, Maverick?"

   "That's the official verdict," Blair said. "The analysis the captain
ordered turned up sensor traces consistent with the use of cloaking
generators. That's the report he ordered dispatched to Sector HQ."

  "So we only have to worry about them pulling something like that in a
nebula, huh?" Marshall looked solemn. "I guess that's good news, at least."

   "It also means we won't be stuck, next time out," Blair said. "It might
take longer, but we could use a cloaked jump point providing we already
had it thoroughly plotted on our charts."

  "Does that mean we're going back? To finish the mission? Or with this
weapon everybody's talking about?"

   "That'll be up to the brass," Blair told him. "But I doubt it. If we're
going to use an experimental weapon under difficult conditions, why
borrow even more trouble? Of course, I'm not an admiral. Maybe they
could find a good reason, but it seems like a silly risk to me."

   "Hope you're right," Maniac said. He studied the view outside in silence
for a long moment. "Nebulas and asteroid belts… I'll be glad to see the last
of them. Give me a stand-up fight, not all this dodging and ducking and
worrying about what your sensors aren't showing you."

   "Look at the bright side, Maniac," Blair told him.

   "There's a bright side?"

  "Sure. The bad guys don't like flying through all this space junk any
more than we do."

  "Maybe not," Maniac said. "But they can take more risks out there than
we can. After all, they've got nine lives."
Flight Control, TCS Victory
Delius System

  "NOW, GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, ALL HANDS
TO BATTLE STATIONS! REPEAT, ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS!"

   Blair turned in his chair to face a monitor and punched up an intercom
link to the bridge. "This is Blair. What's going down?"

   The screen showed Rollins in the foreground, with the running figures
of bridge crewmen hurrying to their posts visible behind him. From
somewhere out of the picture the sensor officer was talking. "I'm reading
multiple contacts, Captain. Eight… no, ten capital ships. Four of them are
carriers. Configuration… they're Kilrathi, sir. No doubt about it."

   Rollins turned to look into the camera. "We've got a mountain of
trouble out there, Colonel," he said. "A whole damned cat task force just
popped onto our scopes."

   The image in the monitor broke up, replaced by Eisen's heavy, scowling
features. "I'll take it, Lieutenant," he said crisply. "Colonel Blair, we have
four carriers plus escorts incoming. No fighters yet, but you can bet they'll
launch a flock of 'em when they've closed the range."

  "That's pretty long odds," Blair said slowly. "Delius Station doesn't have
much firepower."

   "Not enough to make a difference," Eisen agreed. "We're breaking orbit
and heading for the nearest jump point. There's no sense in buying it
here."

  "And our orders? The flight wing?"

   "Get ready for a magnum launch, Colonel. Get your birds ready. We
may need them to buy the ship enough time to reach the jump point."
Eisen's look was grim. "Another bug-out, Colonel. I'm sorry, but it looks
like you'll be covering our tails one more time."

  "Understood, sir," Blair said.

   Eisen had already turned away from the intercom, issuing orders to his
bridge crew. "Navigation! Plot course to the nearest jump point. Helm,
break orbit. Proceed at full thrust. Gunnery… be ready to clear a path if
the debris field gets too thick…" The intercom went dead.

  Blair slapped the red switch that issued the magnum launch alert. A
new alarm shrilled, followed by the computer's public address
announcement, "LAUNCH STATIONS! LAUNCH STATIONS! ALL
FLIGHT WING PERSONNEL TO LAUNCH STATIONS. MAGNUM
LAUNCH!"

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Delius System

   Blair checked his instruments for what seemed like the hundredth time,
knowing that nothing had changed yet feeling compelled to do something.
Every one of Victory's fighters was crewed and ready, even a pair that the
technical staff had downchecked as unreliable. Now they were waiting,
and that was an agony worse than any combat situation.

   The carrier had opened up a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling
her way through the asteroid field with weapons blazing to clear away any
chunk of rock big enough to pose a threat to the ship. The Imperial vessels
were more cautious, keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly
after Victory as if reluctant to commit themselves to an attack. Perhaps
they had learned to respect the Terrans in earlier clashes… or perhaps they
simply regarded it as triumph enough to drive the ship away from Delius
Station, leaving the Terrans there— including a small contingent of the
carrier's crew still on liberty—completely at the mercy of the Kilrathi task
force.

   Blair was starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine
attack, but the threat remained. They wouldn't be able to relax their guard
until they made the jump to Tamayo, if then.

   "Colonel, sensors are reporting a launch in progress from the lead
Kilrathi carrier." Rollins gave him a welcome distraction, however grim
his news might be. "It's the flagship… Hvar'kann. Looks like you'll be
having a party after all."

   "Acknowledged," Blair said. "Flight wing, from Blair. Begin launch
sequence on my mark…"
   At that moment his comm panel went crazy. The visual display broke
up in a kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, and the speakers in his helmet
squealed and whined. It took several seconds for the noise to fade and the
screen to come back on-line. Blair stared at the monitor, as if it might give
him some clue to what had just happened.

   A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many
times before.

  Thrakhath.

   The image jumped and jittered again, then returned. Blair studied it
thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to ship
video transmissions used computers to encode and decode messages, and
to provide automatic translations of foreign languages. For the computer
to have this much trouble reconstructing whatever message Thrakhath
was broadcasting meant the signal content must be massive. Evidently,
the Kilrathi were trying to overload Victory's whole comm system and jam
every frequency the Terrans might be using.

   Thrakhath's image began to speak as the computers processed their
translation of the Kilrathi language. "I have heard of your Terran Bible
with its predictions that there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth.
These the Imperial Race will soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we
will scoop out your brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death."

   Blair tried to switch to a different comm channel, but Thrakhath's
hissing, taunting image remained on the screen. "You will be prime
examples to the other races in the galaxy, you clownish baboons. Your
race will suffer a thousand torments and more. And do not think that the
presence of the Heart of the Tiger among you can make a difference.
Colonel Blair will be reduced to a pile of entrails, his bones will be gnawed
by our young."

   Hearing himself referred to directly made Blair stiffen. It wasn't often
that the Kilrathi chose to grant a name to one of their human
adversaries… and it inevitably meant that the individual they chose to
"honor" had become the prime target of a Kilrathi challenge.

   "Heart of the Tiger, you shall pay for the blood of every Kilrathi noble
you have dispatched in battle. They shall make songs of your death, of the
failure and disgrace you shall know even before your death. Already you
have failed, Heart of the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel…
failed your lair-mate, the one known as Devereaux, the Angel."

  Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out,
only to be replaced by a new scene…

  A scene from hell.

   It was a large room, red-lit, dark, with ornate fittings and decorations
more suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi in
garb Blair recognized as that of the high nobility were gathered in the
middle of the open chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and an aged
Kilrathi, the Emperor himself, entered. As the Emperor sat on the
imposing throne, Blair became aware of movement in the shadows on
either side of the two figures. It was difficult to judge exactly what was
happening, but when he finally realized what he was witnessing, he wished
he had not.

   There were Terrans along the wall behind the throne, men and women
hanging in chains, their Confed-issue flight suits in rags. Bulky Kilrathi
guards carrying nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at
random, eliciting cries and moans from their victims.

   "Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has been
thwarted," the Emperor intoned solemnly. "This puny contingent of their
soldiers was captured aboard a hijacked Imperial transport in orbit
around Kilrah itself."

   There was a scattering of calls from the assembled nobles—shock,
anger, hatred plain in their voices and bearing. The Emperor silenced
them with a curt gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.

   "This incursion was an act of desperation," the prince said, showing his
fangs. His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind
the throne, "hook at these pathetic hairless apes. They have failed their
race utterly."

  A growling cheer rose from the crowd.

  "Do what you will with them," the Emperor said.

  Red light glimmered off Thrakhaths fangs. "There will be no
interrogation for these pitiful apes… and no warriors death. They are offal,
fit only for death." The Prince waved a dismissive hand. "Only one among
them is worthy of being treated as a warrior. Their leader… the one they
call… Angel."

    Blair wanted to look away as a pair of burly Kilrathi warriors
half-pushed, half-dragged a familiar petite figure into the middle of the
throne room directly in front of Thrakhath. like the other Terrans, she had
been tortured, her flight suit reduced to tattered ruin, the face that
haunted Blair's dreams bruised. There was dried blood on her forehead, a
livid welt on one cheek, but she wore her defiance like a shield. Whatever
the Kilrathi had done to her, Jeannette Devereaux's spirit remained as
fiery and determined as ever.

   At the sight of the woman, the Kilrathi nobles grew more agitated. Blair
recognized the bloodlust in their eyes, in the way they bared claws and
fangs as they jeered the captive. Only the sheer force of Thrakhath's
personality held them at bay as he stepped down from the dais to inspect
Angel more closely.

   "Still defiant, Colonel Devereaux?" the prince asked. "You should know
by now it is a pathetic and useless gesture. The hunt has nearly run its
course, and your race is prey beneath our claws."

  "You bore me, monsieur," she told him, mustering a faint smile. "I
would prefer to join my comrades, rather than listen to more of your
boasting."

   "You will not join them, Colonel," Thrakhath said. "Your fate shall be
different."

   Angel replied by spitting in his face. There were hisses and jeers from
the crowd, a harsh growl from Thrakhath's throat. He turned to address
his nobles.

   "The human cannot appreciate the honor I bestow upon her. She is not
only a great warrior, but her lair-mate is the one known as the Heart of
the Tiger." He turned back to her; his eyes narrowed in a deadly stare. The
cries of the Kilrathi reached a bloodthirsty crescendo. "You have slain
many fine warriors during your career. You have earned this honor."

  The prince unsheathed his claws. With a single thrust, he jabbed them
deep into her stomach and lifted her off the ground, high into the air.
Blood flowed freely from the wound. The view on the screen caught her
face in close-up as the life drained from her eyes. Blair thought he saw a
final look of appeal there, as if she was crying out to him for rescue… or for
vengeance.

   Then the prince released her, and her lifeless body crumpled to the
ground.

   Thrakhath's image filled the screen again. "Come, Heart of the Tiger,"
he said. "I am leading my warriors into battle today. If you would live up
to the honor your lair-mate earned, come and fight. Or be shown for the
pathetic coward you are."

   Christopher Blair stared at the screen, his mind a whirl of anger and
pain and hate. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kill!


                         CHAPTER XXI
Bridge, TCS Victory
Delius System

   "Can't you shut the damned thing off, Lieutenant?" Eisen demanded.
On his communications screen, Thrakhath's feral features continued to
glare hatred and challenge. The message was starting all over again.

   "I'm trying, sir," Rollins answered. "But it's not an ordinary
transmission. Damn things got the whole comm system tied in knots. Hold
on a minute… I think I can lack in a backup system… everybody cross your
fingers!"

   The communications officer entered a code sequence on his board, and
a moment later the Kilrathi message broke up into static. A few seconds
later Eisen's screen was back to normal, the green light shining above it
indicating the system was ready to use.

  "Thank you, Mr. Rollins," Eisen said. "Ensign Dumont, get me an
updated sensor reading. What are those bastards doing out there? Oh…
and Rollins, put me through to Colonel Blair."

  "On the line, sir."
   Blairs head appeared on the monitor. Even though his flight helmet
faceplate hid Blairs features, Eisen thought he looked pale and stricken.
There was no mistaking the barely-suppressed snarl in his voice. "Ready to
launch, Captain," he said.

   "Not so fast, Colonel," Eisen told him. "We're still trying to get a picture
of what the cats are doing. The ship's less than fifteen minutes from the
jump point, and we might make it yet without having to launch."

   "If they've got fighters out, sir, you'll have to put us out there to hold
them off," Blair replied. "At least for a little while."

   "Look, Colonel…" Eisen trailed off. He didn't know what to say to the
man, after Thrakhath's message. "Maybe you ought to sit this one out,
Blair. Let Hobbes take over."

   "No, sir," Blair said curtly.

   "Is that the Wing Commander talking… or a man who's looking for
revenge?"

   "Both, sir," Blair answered. He was silent for a moment before going on.
"Look, Captain, I won't pretend… that bastard got me where I live, using
Angel like that. He's trying to goad me into doing something stupid. And
I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to oblige him… bad. Real bad. But in this
case, playing along with his little game is our best option. As long as
Thrakhath figures I'm going to take him up on his challenge, the rest of
his fighters will hold back. Nobody's going to get into the middle of the
Crown Prince's blood feud."

    "I don't like it," Eisen said. "I've never thought this Thrakhath was very
well-equipped in the honor department, however much the cats make of
it. What do you say, Colonel Ralgha? You know more about the Prince
than any of us."

   Hobbes was slow to answer, and when he did his voice sounded blurred,
distant. "I could not… say for sure. The message was intended to… provoke
a response. But the challenge could well be legitimate. If Colonel Blair has
been honored with his own warrior's name, then the Prince must consider
him to be important somehow."

   Blair's voice betrayed a sudden concern. "You all right, buddy? What's
wrong?"

  "A… headache," Hobbes said slowly. "Some of the higher-pitched
harmonics in the message were… grating." He paused. "And, of course, I
mourn for Colonel Devereaux. She was a brave warrior. And a friend."

  "That she was," Blair said. "Captain, what about it? Do we get out there
and buy you some time?"

   "I don't like it, Blair. But I don't have a whole lot of options." Eisen
paused as the Sensor Officer displayed new data on the main bridge
monitor. "We definitely have a launch in progress from the Kilrathi
flagship. So far they're still forming up. No way to tell if they plan to press
something, or if they're just threatening. Looks like… at least a squadron
already. More likely two, if they're still launching."

   "Then we'd better get out there," Blair said. He cut the connection
without awaiting a reply.

   Eisen leaned forward in his chair. "God go with you, Colonel," he said
softly.

Flight Deck, KIS Hvar'kann
Delius System

   "Lord Prince, surely you do not need to take personal command today.
The cockpit of a fighter is no place for the Imperial Heir when the battle is
so insignificant."

  Thrakhath paused halfway up the ladder to the cockpit of his Bloodfang
and turned to glare his contempt down on Melek. "I have issued the
challenge. Would you have me hold back now, in front of our warriors?"

   "No, Lord Prince…" Melek trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "But if
something was to happen to you now, with triumph so close under our
talons, we would lose everything we have worked to achieve. The personal
challenge was a risk you did not need to take. Others would have willingly
taken on the Heart of the Tiger for you."

   "No! We want to cut this ape out of his troop, and for that he must be
goaded beyond all reason. I killed his lair-mate. He will not turn back from
the chance to kill me in return. And then… we have him."
  "He is a skilled pilot, Lord Prince," Melek warned.

   "I know it well." Thrakhath showed his fangs. "I am not a fool, Melek.
Honor requires me to be present for the challenge, but it doesn't require
me to sacrifice myself. My escorts will intervene if the need arises. But the
important thing is to eliminate this Colonel Blair now, so that he does not
stand in the way of our plans for the Behemoth. Go now. You command in
my absence. Let the hunt begin!"

Thunderbolt 3OO
Delius System

   Blair's fighter leapt from the end of the launch tube into the void,
building thrust as he steered toward the rest of Gold Squadron assembling
beyond the stern of the Victory. It required all of his will to stay focused
on his instruments, the sensor screen, and the battle ahead. He couldn't
afford to let himself dwell on Angel.

  "Thunderbolt three-zero-zero, under power," he reported. "Gold
Squadron deployed and ready."

   "You sure we shouldn't let Whittaker's boys and girls give you a hand
out there. Colonel?" The duty Flight Control Officer, Lieutenant Rashad,
sounded worried.

  "Keep them on stand-by, Lieutenant," Blair said. "I'll let you know if we
need them."

   It was the same problem encountered at Ariel. With the carrier heading
for the jump point, too many fighters in space would only complicate their
escape. Blair overruled the original call for a magnum launch, preferring
to put out the eight fighters of Gold Squadron and hold the others in
reserve in case they were needed. But he didn't intend to need them, not
today. All the Terrans needed to do at the moment was keep the Kilrathi
distracted until the carrier was ready to jump.

  So far, the cats were cooperating quite nicely. Their fighters were
maintaining a tight formation well out of range of the carrier's guns. None
showed any desire to venture close enough to threaten the Terran vessel.

  "Eight minutes," Rollins' voice informed them.
  "What are they waiting for?" Flash complained.

  "Maybe they're scared of you, kid," Maniac responded.

   "Cut the chatter, people," Blair growled. He was feeling as impatient as
Dillon. If only Thrakhath would put his fighter in Blairs crosshairs…

  "Does the Heart of the Tiger hide among the other apes?" Thrakhath's
mocking voice filled his helmet speakers. "And under the guns of his ship?
The challenge was to meet in personal combat."

   On his screens, he saw a Vaktoth accelerate away from the other
Kilrathi ships, but it stayed well clear of Victory. For a moment Blair
toyed with the idea of ordering the squadron to attack, but he knew the
Kilrathi would be on their guard against such a move. The name of the
game, for now at least, was to keep from letting a full-scale battle develop
for as long as possible.

   Thrakhath must have realized the same thing, for a few seconds later a
pair of Vaktoth broke formation, followed by two more. These streaked
toward the carrier. Gold Squadron lay directly in their path.

  "Here they come!" Cobra called. "Permission to engage?"

  "Let them come to us," Blair ordered. "Wingmen, stick close to your
partners."

   The first two Vaktoth drove into the center of the Terran formation
then rolled outward, opening fire with guns and missiles. Cobra and her
wingman, Vaquero, went after the first one, while Maniac and Vagabond
engaged the second. Blair watched the second pair of fighters and felt his
pulse race. "Hobbes, you and Flash take the one on the left," he said. "Flint
and I'll take the other guy."

   "Understood," was Ralgha's reply. He still sounded distracted. Flash
gave a whoop and kicked in his afterburners, racing to meet the oncoming
fighter.

   Blair couldn't spend any more time worrying about the others. The
fourth Vaktoth was almost on them, concentrating fire against Flint's
Thunderbolt. Blair turned sharply and accelerated, opening fire with his
blasters, while Flint banked sharply left to try to keep her weakened
port-side shields from taking any more damage.

   The Vaktoth pilot was good. He maintained his fire on Flint, randomly
altering vectors to dodge most of Blair's fire while he kept up the pressure
on his original target. Blair gave a curse and locked a heat-seeker on the
Vaktoth's tail, then followed the missile with his blasters, pouring out all
the power his weapons system could muster. The shield collapsed, and
blaster fire tore into the armor until the power cut out, recharging.

   His opponent seemed to realize then that Blair represented too great a
threat to ignore any longer. He started turning away from Flint to bring
his weapons to bear and to cover his exposed rear, but as he turned, Flint
took the opening without hesitation. Her blasters continued where Blair's
ended, and a moment later the Vaktoth exploded in a thousand whirling
fragments.

  "Nice shooting, Lieutenant," Blair called. "Good to have you back on my
wing."

  "It's where I belong, Colonel," she replied.

  "Somebody get this bastard off me! Hobbes! Colonel!" Flash's voice was
hoarse with panic. "I can't shake him!"

   On his scanner, Blair saw Flash trying to break away from the Vaktoth
he challenged, but the enemy pilot was right on his tail. Hobbes was
closing in, but slowly, cautiously, as if the Kilrathi renegade was afraid of
getting too close to the dogfighting pair. Blair banked the Thunderbolt,
increasing his speed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to reach Flash in
time to do any good.

   Hobbes took up a position behind the enemy fighter and opened fire,
but his first shots went wild. The Vaktoth unleashed another attack. This
time a deadly hail of energy bolts and missiles rained on Flash's ship as
the young pilot tried to turn out of the Vaktoth's line of fire.

   He was too late. Blair heard him scream as a fireball consumed his
craft.

  Once again Hobbes fired, but this time his opponent rolled sideways
and accelerated back toward the rest of the Kilrathi formation. More
Vaktoth were on their way.
  "Five minutes to Jump Sequence start," Rollins announced. "Captain
wants to know if we should launch additional fighters P"

   "Negative," Blair grated. His sensors showed that the other two Vaktoth
from the first flight had both been destroyed. The Terran fighters were
regrouping again, ready to meet the next threat. "Hobbes, without a
wingman you'll be a sitting duck. Retreat to the carrier and land."

  "I should remain, my friend."

   For a moment Blair considered having the Kilrathi switch positions
with one of the other pilots, someone less steady, less reliable. Flint, or
Vaquero, or perhaps Maniac. But the way Hobbes had been handling
himself today, he was no more reliable than any of them. Even Marshall
seemed to have himself under control, but Ralgha was plainly off his game.
And Flash had paid the price. "No, Hobbes. Pack it in. That's an order."

  "As you command." Ralgha's Thunderbolt broke away and headed
toward the carrier. Now there were only six Terran fighters to face the
next wave of Kilrathi.

    This time four Imperial craft came at once, holding a tight formation
all the way. Blair waited until they were just outside of weapons range
before ordering Gold Squadron to turn from the oncoming Vaktoth and go
to afterburners. The Kilrathi gave chase.

  "Maintain course," Blair said quietly. It was almost a mantra.
"Maintain course… Break! Break and attack! Victory, pour it on!"

   The Terran fighters split up, each pair of wingmen peeling off in a
different direction and looping back toward the pursuing Kilrathi. At the
same time, Victory's defensive batteries opened fire, filling the void with
searing bursts of raw energy. A pair of hits took out one of the enemy
ships in the blink of an eye, and another suffered heavy damage as it tried
to dodge the carrier's beams and pursue Cobra. Vaquero, on her wing,
finished the attacker off with a well-placed missile.

   Maniac dove straight towards his target, all guns blazing, passing bare
meters away from his opponent before the Kilrathi pilot could even react
Slowly, carefully, Vagabond trailed him, and his blasters exploited the
weakened shields to burn through the fighter's cockpit and kill the pilot.
The Vaktoth plunged on, uncontrolled, until Victory destroyed it a few
seconds later.

   Meanwhile, Flint and Blair split and circled the last Imperial fighter
from opposite sides, hammering the hull with blasters as they sped past
As a parting shot, Blair dropped a fire-and-forget missile. It hit the
Vaktoth's starboard wing moments later. The explosion didn't destroy the
enemy craft, but it was visibly damaged as it turned and ran, trailing
debris and leaking atmosphere. Maniac caught the fighter as it tried to
flee and finished it with a few well-placed blaster shots.

  "Three minutes," Rollins said.

   Blair studied his scanners. The Kilrathi fighters were still out there, but
the countdown was getting close enough that he had to start thinking
about getting the rest of the squadron on board. Anyway, the Imperial
ships wouldn't be inclined to cut things too fine by staging an attack now.
The energy discharge of a carrier going into jump could do terrible
damage to fighters close enough to be caught by the creation of the
Transition Field.

  "Take them in, people," he ordered "Maniac, Vagabond, you two first.
Don't miss the first approach. You might not get another one. Cobra and
Vaquero, you go as soon as they're clear. Flint, you're with me."

    No one argued, though he thought he heard Maniac muttering a
protest. The first two Thunderbolts peeled off and headed back for the
carrier; the second two followed, but more slowly, to give Marshall and
Chang time to set down and clear the flight deck. Time passed with
agonizing slowness, with no further moves from the Kilrathi. But Blair was
tense. He was sure Thrakhath wouldn't let them leave without some kind
of final shot.

  "Two minutes," Rollins announced at length. "Maniac and Vagabond
are aboard. Vaquero's in the beam now."

  "You re up, Flint," he said. "Take her inside."

   "Don't be slow following me, Colonel," she responded. "I'm getting too
used to flying on your wing."

  She left nim, and Blair started a quick checklist for his own approach
and landing. It was starting to look like Thrakhath wasn't planning a last
push after all…

   "Jump Sequence start in ninety seconds," Rollins said. "Better bring
her in now, Colonel."

   As he started to turn, Thrakhath's voice boomed loud in his speakers. "
So, I was right, ape. In the end you do run. You did not meet my
challenge… Even your lair-mate showed more courage, facing death."

  "Seventy-five seconds, Colonel."

   Blair tried to shut Thrakhath's words out of his mind, but the Kilrathi's
mocking voice went on. "We misnamed you, perhaps, in calling you the
Heart of the Tiger. You are weak … a coward… a failure. Not worthy of
your lair-mate at all." The Kilrathi's voice took on a harsher edge now. "I
enjoyed the feel of her blood running over my hands, Terran. As I
enjoyed the taste of her flesh, in the victory feast."

   The words hammered at him on a level below conscious thought, and
blind rage threatened to claim him. The carrier was looming large ahead
of his fighter, but Blair hardly saw it through the red haze that clouded his
eyes. He wanted to turn around, accept the Kilrathi's challenge, batter
through Thrakhaths defenses and silence his taunts once and for all. That
thing, that animal, had killed Angel and served her up at one of the
barbaric Kilrathi ritual feasts.

   "Almost in the beams, Colonel," Rollins said. "Keep her steady…
steady… Reduce your speed! If you don't cut your speed you'll overshoot
!"

   "For God's sake, skipper, don't let him get to you!" That was Flint's
voice. "If you take his challenge, you're stuck out there! Thrakhath'll
wait… you'll get another chance at him!"

   The words penetrated his fog, and Blair killed his forward momentum
with a hard braking thrust, like a kick from a horse. Almost sobbing, he
stabbed at the landing gear controls as the beams took hold. Slowly,
gently, the fighter dropped toward the deck and touched down.

   He hardly noticed as the fighter was drawn into the hangar area. A pair
of spacesuited figures released his cockpit, urging him to get out even
before gravity or pressure were restored, and Blair neither helped nor
resisted them. They guided him across the open space in long, low-G
bounds. Pressure was restored as they reached the door, and one of
them—Blair vaguely realized it was Flint, still clad in flight suit and
combat helmet— helped him remove his own helmet as they guided him
into the corridor. His other helper fumbled with helmet releases and
finally freed the bulky headgear. It was Rachel Coriolis.

  "jump sequence engaged," the computer announced blandly, "one
minute to jump."

  "You gave us a scare, skipper," Rachel said. "Thought you were gonna
pull a bolter and miss the landing."

   "I should have," Blair said. "I should have stayed out there and nailed
that damned furball."

   "That's exactly what he wanted," Flint told him. "If you had let him
draw you into a fight, you'd never have made it back before we jumped. I
thought you were the one who never let it get to you? Isn't that what you
said when you were chewing me out?"

  He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Maybe so. And maybe I
was wrong when I said it." Blair looked away. "I guess I'll never know,
now."

   Blair brushed away their offered help as the elevator doors opened and
he stepped into the cab. They followed, but he ignored them both, staring
rigidly ahead at the keypad controls, unwilling to talk. Inside he felt
drained, empty of everything except the knowledge that he had.

  The knowledge that Angel remained unavenged.

Flight Deck, KIS Hvar'kann
Delius System

  An honor guard greeted Thrakhath as he disembarked from his fighter,
but he ignored them all in his anger. He glared as Melek approached,
bowing.

  "Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has jumped. The captain of the
Toor'vaas reports that the asteroid base has been breached, and Assault
Marines are penetrating the station. There is no sign of further resistance
anywhere."

  Thrakhath gave him a dismissive gesture. "I expected none," he said,
not bothering to hide the angry growl in his voice. "See to it there are no
apes left alive once their base has been secured."

   "But, Lord Prince, there will be many suitable slaves there." Melek
looked shocked. "Surely you would not deny the Clans their right to take
back captives—"

  "No survivors, I said!" Thrakhath snapped.

   Melek stepped back as if physically stricken. "As you wish, Lord
Prince," he said, bowing again.

   "We have been at war with these apes for more than a generation,
Melek. But I still cannot understand them. How could any sentient
creature, however lacking in honor, fail to respond to a chance for
vengeance?" Thrakhath studied his retainer for a long moment. "You are
sure that this Blair was truly lair-mate to the one we killed?"

   "Intelligence reports claimed so, Lord Prince. Based on many
interrogations of captured human pilots. The knowledge was evidently
widely known in their warrior community."

   Thrakhath took a moment to chain his anger and speak calmly, as
befitted a Prince. "Clearly the animal humans are even less civilized than
we thought. They do not even respect their lair-mates enough to fight for
them." He paused. "But even if the Heart of the Tiger survives, the rest of
the plan shall move forward. He cannot deflect the fate that pursues the
Terrans now."

  "Yes, Lord Prince."

   "Order a carrier to follow the Terran ship, but wait until it has had
time to get well clear of the jump point before sending it. Sar'hrai would
be a good choice. Give his new captain a chance to prove his worth. They
are to mount a close surveillance on the enemy carrier, using stealth craft.
When our agent makes his move, we must be ready." Thrakhah showed
his fangs for a moment. "Our claws are at their throats, Melek. They will
not escape the hunt."
                          Chapter XXII
Flight Deck. TCS Victory
Tamayo System

    Once again the flight deck was crowded with officers and crewmen
gathered to bid farewell to one of their own. The neat ranks of pilots,
technicians, and ship's crew… the honor guard with weapons held in a stiff
rifle salute… the chaplain's service, and the empty coffin waiting by the
launch tube-only the names changed, but never the trappings or the
emotion.

  Christopher Blair slowly stepped forward to the temporary podium. He
never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.

   "Major Jace Dillon was a reluctant warrior in the Confederation's battle
against the Empire," Blair said slowly. He raised his eyes to study the front
ranks, especially the pilots of Gold Squadron. For a fleeting moment he
wondered what Ralgha was thinking. Did the Kilrathi renegade regret
letting the young Terran pilot down in that last battle? Hobbes had
certainly been withdrawn ever since. It was a feeling Blair understood
entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the going got tough.
He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor
and courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."

   As he stepped back to allow the chaplain to advance and cany on with
the funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He wished he
could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of
place here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin
accelerated out of the hangar deck, or as the honor guard fired their
low-powered volleys. And when he bowed his head to offer up a prayer, it
was Angel Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Tamayo System

   Blair sat alone at a table by the viewport, staring down into his empty
glass as if it was a crystal ball that might give him a glimpse of another
time and place. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, the other pilots
and crewmen who talked, laughed, and carried on with their lives, with
only an occasional glance at the solitary, withdrawn figure of their wing
commander.

   A shadow fell across the table, and he looked into the knowing eyes of
Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on the table beside him. "You look
like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.

   He poured a shot and drank, wincing a little at the bite of the cheap
liquor in his mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if
waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching
the reflections dance in the amber liquid.

   "Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the
right buttons to push."

  Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at
Rachel.

  "I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know
what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a
moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"

   Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to
the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle
away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."

   She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't
run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those
things just postpone the inevitable."

   "I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said
slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it
like that… and having that bastard gloating about it…"

   "Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay?
Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out
on the cats— look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared
about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."

   He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about… I hope you're not
thinking… ?"

  Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody
who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say…
let's just say you're a man I could care about… if there was nothing else
holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no
matter what."

  "I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends,
my shipmates… Angel… they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If
you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."

   "Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a
smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of…
a friend."

Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory
Torgo Sgstem

   "All right, last item on the list," Blair said, ticking off another point on
his personal data display. "Captain says we're due for a visit from some
VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen hundred hours. We need to police the flight deck
and hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching shipshape.
Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail."

   Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"

    Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron,
all chuckled. Ralgha, sitting in the corner of the office away from the
others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling
boredom.

   "Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that
we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of
playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the
office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?"

  No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood
up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes
was the last to leave, and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind,
buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."

  Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he
rumbled.
   "Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it…"

   "I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human
couldn't easily fathom. "We have been friends for many years, you and I.
Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your
pain over Angel, I have… feelings I find hard to share now."

   "Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"

   The Kilrathi didn't speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans… have
rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I… regret her passing. And
what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.

   "If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with
myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that
I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting
over her. So I won't do anything stupid."

   The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he
said. "But… Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will
see, before the end."

   "I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look, you get some
rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been
on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to
know that I think she'd be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."

   Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it.
Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a
disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.

  "What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the
desk and resuming his own seat.

   "Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's
broadcast, before the battle at Delius."

   Blair frowned. "What about it?"

   "We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty
strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you,
and then… well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker
you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op.
They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the
way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that
signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up."

   "Hmmm…" Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they
wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with
everything blazing while we were still at Delius Station they could've had
Victory for breakfast… and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to
get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath's challenge?"

  "It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.

  "The question is, why?"

  Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that
could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was
something… familiar about that transmission."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

    She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I
heard… or saw. I just had a sense of… something. Something familiar. It…
it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."

  "Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. "Rollins, can you shed
any light on it?"

   "Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I
want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an
ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum
transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought
they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it
was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much.
Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I
have to say this… if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their
challenge and… all the rest… well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."

   Cobra bit her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know
what you told me about accusations. About wanting proof… and I don't
have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me
in the brig over it. I think there could have been some kind of hidden
signal in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent."

   "You're talking about Hobbes, of course," Blair said, frowning.
"Lieutenant…"

  "I didn't say it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra said. "But we know the cats
have agents in the Confederation."

   Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I think you should hear her out on
this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard."

   "like how they keep throwing us softballs in tight corners," Buckley
amplified. "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if you think about it.
They could make jump points disappear, but the second one stayed open
for us. And it wasn't defended, either."

    Blair looked from one to the other. "It still isn't proof of anything except
the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last. "You
know where I stand. I don't like having accusations leveled at Hobbes, and
all you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked down at his
desk. "It's a very serious charge to make…"

   "Hell, Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean,
he's a Kilrathi, and you know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't
prove anything." She laughed, a short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I
know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi spy. You love the cats… a cat, at least,
and you were in command when things went sour at Locanda Four. All I'm
saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit. I think we have to
consider it."

   "All right, Lieutenant. I'll consider it." Blair leaned back in his chair.
"Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you
find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves.
Have you talked with anyone else?"

  "No, sir," Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but Cobra
wanted to come to you first."

   "I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this
thing, sir," she amplified.

   "Good. For now, lets keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets
embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"

  "Yes, sir," Rollins said.

  Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.

  "All right. Dismissed, then."

   They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister
Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round
them up, if you please."

  "Yes, sir," he responded.

   Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a long,
hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much
stock do you put in all this?"

  "Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."

  "How much of this is your idea?"

   Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I
thought about the battle… about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She
made some good points…" He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some
suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do
with any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all
this, Colonel?"

    Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, I'll give her that. And
if I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to
go along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through
together, Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change
my mind about him now."

  "She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."

   "True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running
Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on
the spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only
one he could talk to, under these circumstances. "There's another
possibility I can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
   "Sir?"

   "Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any of
that from your sources?"

  "Er… no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe, but
nothing solid."

   "I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need to
know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is
this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the
Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough
time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a
Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are
pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got
through debriefing so they were 'rescued' and brought back to Terran
space."

   "You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell, Colonel,
she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"

   "As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi
signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried
in there somewhere? Maybe there were—orders, for instance. But a clever
spy might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our
suspicions in an acceptable direction."

   "Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's… how did you put it, Colonel?
A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra than I
do for Hobbes."

  "And Cobra… she'd have to be one hell of an actress, making believe she
hated the cats so much."

   "It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't want to
believe it, Lieutenant. She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But
Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."

   "Why are you telling me this, sir?"

   "I just want you to… keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You two
are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to make
sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. like
Ralgha's cabin, for example."

  "So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"

   "I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our
side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it.
Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make
the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way." He held up his
hand. "And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She
could believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate…
it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this
whole mess objectively."

   "I'll… do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant. "But
I'm not sure I'll like it."

   "You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite the
bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to
admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been
through, and for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No,
Lieutenant, I don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that
has to be done."

  "Aye, aye, sir," Rollins said quietly.

Flight Deck. TCS Victory
Torgo System

  "Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"

   Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little
uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword
hanging at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best,
though in some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's
best efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory
herself. He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby,
overused fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.

   He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carrier's
faults, to think of the ship as his home?
   The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was
unrolled to the shuttles door. It looked out of place on the flight deck,
gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.

   The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view,
pausing to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides
followed him, Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of
Marine sentries brought up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the
plain tunic of a deck officer, the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars
pinned to his lapel.

  Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have
you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.

   Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving
eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."

   Blair saluted, saying nothing.

   He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous
campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured
toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of
his staff and entourage.

   "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he headed for
the bridge.

   Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a reputation as a
man who got things done… he hoped the man would live up to that
reputation now.


                         CHAPTER XXII
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   "Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double."

  "Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel." That was Flint, coming
toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the
Admiral?"
   As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look
was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better… like being out on
the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."

  She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac,
and Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter.
Who's next?"

   For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown
in his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry…" she said. "That was
stupid of me. I should have realized…"

   "Never mind," Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit, I
guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right at
the top of the list."

  "I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie, too. One
minute, you're fine. The next… Bamm't The memories just won't let go."

   "Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you
for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back
and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't
forget it."

   "You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just
looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel—Colonel
Devereaux—tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"

  Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was
common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you
been cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"

  She laughed. "Neither one. Just… a student of history. I try to make it a
point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it, you and
Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."

   "Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in his
own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts lives
on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."

   "I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and
forwards… he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
   "Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to that
time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the
flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against
overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces
could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the
ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in
the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving
with the old man ever quite forgot the day.

   There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I… I was
serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk about
her at all… well, I'm a good listener."

   Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do."

  "But…" He shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm… supposed to meet
someone."

  At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting
him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.

   "I see. I'm sorry… I didn't know you moved quite that fast, Colonel." She
turned and walked away before he could respond.

Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   Admiral Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one
deck below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with
a table able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive, and Tolwyn greeted
him with a hearty smile and a handshake.

   "Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last
cruise together."

   Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted
several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was
revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.

   Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat,
there was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the
general air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never
dreamed that we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front
line. The Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the
government is now saying about it being a glorious victory. One more
victory like that and the human race will be a forgotten footnote in the
history of the universe!"

   Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered.
Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.

   "She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good
captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi
have been keeping us busy."

  "Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've
been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into
our old friend Thrakhath, I hear."

   "Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked away,
thinking about Angel again.

   "I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost
as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a
mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was
made."

  "When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.

   "The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry
Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly 'need-to-know'
material. You understand?"

   "What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been
competing over your damned secret projects, and Angel got caught in the
middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn.
Victory's… and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more,
Admiral, but I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind
of price Angel already shelled out, just to prove that your damned gun
works the way you said it would."

   "Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting at
windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact is
that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning of
Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of
Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the
end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like
yourself. Son, I know you don't like some of the implications behind this
project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."

   "I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means
giving you the credit—and a shot at being the next Confederation
President, no doubt—that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you
trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are
your plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship
the same way you did on Tiger's Claw?"

   "I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel,"
Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain
Eisen retains his post… but I am in overall command of this mission.
Period." He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally
achieve a measure of respect for one another, after all this time, Colonel. I
am the first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your
career, with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging
me. Still, you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No
matter where they end up taking you."

  Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning
understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots…
We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what…"

   The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had
the biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel,
that we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone,
would approve… after what happened to Angel."

   He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed
with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than
revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah…

   But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part
in the destruction of an entire race.

   The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn
admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer,
Blair found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all-
Perhaps all that really mattered, in the end, was winning.

  He was very quiet over dinner that evening.

Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   The atmosphere in the ready room was tense as Blair entered. It was
strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while
Tolwyn presided in the captain's accustomed place. The sight sent a little
shiver down Blairs back, making him think of Tiger's Claw and Captain
Thorn, all those years ago.

   Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was
Kevin Tolwyn and another of the admirals aides, Commander Fairfax,
representing the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the
admiral expectantly as he settled into his seat and switched on the map
table's holographic projector.

   "Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying
photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest
achievement… the Behemoth."

   The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that
dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen
ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of
the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever
constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.

   "This device is the product of a decade of research and development by
some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn
continued. "It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and
for all."

   The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as
Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light
beam to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked
superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five
hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of
that point is destroyed… utterly. And the energy released by the impact is
enormous; devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the
energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that
the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart,
particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The
upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly
employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short
strokes."

   Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained
silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the
weapon's capabilities.

   "We would have liked another year or two for testing and
development," Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately, circumstances have forced me
to order the weapon to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare.
"We are in danger of suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation
on Locanda Four, perhaps against more vital targets."

  "Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.

   "The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the
Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking
more softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains
classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if the
worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to land
troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use
Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."

   Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of
the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are… somewhat
incomplete. There are a few, shall we say… soft spots… located here… and
here… where the shields are thin and there's been no time to complete keel
mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive laser turrets."

  "Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented.
"Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."

   Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being
assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you
to be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people
know what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no
mistake, Colonel, gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must
be permitted to get through to threaten it."
   "Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said
slowly. "It makes a… very big target."

    "Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide
if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel, full data on the defense of Behemoth
will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also
assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can
practice before we begin the actual deployment."

  "Sir, the wing's pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some
new blood to bring us up to strength?"

   "We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him.
"Two carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out
Torgo's replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your
bomber squadron off the ship and replace them with a second
point-defense squadron. Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive
operations this time out, and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover
the Behemoth."

   Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth
explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The
admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High
Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot
of toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share
his belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and
Blair could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and
refusing to give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he
snagged Victory because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor
relation.

   That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was
convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the
High Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with
Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall
on his face.

   "Now… as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final
power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard
tomorrow evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in
company with the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He
looked at Eisen. "It's plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally
unsuitable test site for the weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the
Hermes turned up a much more likely target: Loki Six. There is a jump
point to the system from Blackmane, so we will pass directly between
jump points in the Blackmane System and then transit to Loki."

   Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ
on the Hermes survey mission. Lola Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost.
Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to
serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel
System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll
send the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have
been better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a
second-rate base."

   Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right
message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a
glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way
or another, Behemoth is going to end this war."

   On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were
replaced by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump
point to here… Lola Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which
we can skim from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this
position, near Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the
operation, gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron,
three destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general
support vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary
responsibility of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be
clear on this. The mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect
that weapon." Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"

   There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes.
"Colonel Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and
my staff over the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a
genuine expert on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some
likely models of how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six,
and to other measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them
to the peace table."

  Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn
you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my… former
comrades… with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will
necessarily be… imperfect at best."

   "It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room again,
then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation. You'll
each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're
dismissed."

   Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left. The admiral was studying
the map of the Loki System intently, the expression on his face one of
anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the
look in the man's eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle
ground, and no room to adapt to circumstances.

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Torgo System

  "Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation."

  Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not
bad at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."

   "It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike
again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have
been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off a
shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it
did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive
specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave
those weak spots uncovered."

  "You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.

   "Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning,
after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest.
And study that database. Now… dismissed."

  "You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin.
"Don't tell me you've become a convert."

  "Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on me,
Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that
monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the
Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms… with Thrakhath's blood for
the ink!"

  Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you
know the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was
doing if he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."

  "Yeah…" Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes. "What do
you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the
chance?"

   "I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After
what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the
Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon
this devastating… But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on
the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them…" He met Blair's eyes
again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."

    Blair shook his head. "Not… changed. But nothing's as clear as it was
before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In
front of a damned screaming audience of… barbarians. Part of me would
like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong."
He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that
thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I did
it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."

   Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself
afterward, whichever course you took?"


                        CHAPTER XXIV
Communication Center, TCS Victory
Torgo System

   The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete
confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened
room. Seen through a bulky night vision device, the room glowed with an
eerie greenish light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the
Communications Center except when the ship was at General Quarters,
and the intruder was confident that no one would notice this stealthy
foray.

   Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the
consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters
glowed as the computer responded to the intruders commands.

  ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.

   The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would
have been easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to
cover one's tracks afterward with a voice record…

  IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE
INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.

  It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in. Another
console came to life across the room.

  TICHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK
COORDINATES.

   Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the
intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A
green light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.

  COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.

  The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the
monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.

  DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.

   The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views
and schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message
flashed on the screen. TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER
INSTRUCTIONS?

  The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once
again the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the
monitor.

  WIPING… TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.

   The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and
collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One
last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was
done.

   Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that
the intruder had ever been present.

Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai
Torgo System

  "Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher." Khantahr Tarros
nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the communications officer. "On
my screen," he ordered.

   His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed
from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around
Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed
that Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfecdy. The Kilrathi spy in
the Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the
information the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data
was being relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to
rejoin Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.

   The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the
operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in
his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications
Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the
Watcher to rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He
allowed himself to relax again.

  They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well,
once the Terrans had fallen into his trap.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   The view from the rec room was impressive; Blair had to admit that
much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the
Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the
Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo, their pace had been
slow—apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of
engines, either— but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on
their way to the next jump point, and Lola VI.
   He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along
at this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There
was a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension.
It wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the
new Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war
was already as good as over.

   Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and
watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket,
sir?"

   "To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least,
seemed pleased.

    "Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more
broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la
vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two
minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice
little place…"

   "Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant," Blair
said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the Kilrathi
down overnight."

   He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted
Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the
rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.

  "So… how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly. "Run
any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"

  Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously,
Colonel."

  "No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But you've
been on this for… how long's it been? Over a week, now, isn't it? I'm just
not sure there's anything there for you to find."

   Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two
nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on
one of my computer commo logs. And I can't account for it. I think it was
sabotage."
   "It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You
might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to
snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been
something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent,
then had the record wiped."

   "Nobody said anything about a transmission…"

   "Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep
quiet. You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us
everything. And the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his
hand close to his chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good
thing, but make sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you
see sabotage every time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to
keep his laundry list classified."

   "Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that
original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty
wild, Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the
screen. "Look at this… and this."

   "I'm no expert in signals analysis, lieutenant," Blair said. "To me, you've
got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they mean?"

  "I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of signals
somewhere before… something outside of normal communications use. If I
could just figure out where…" He trailed off, looking apologetic. "Sorry,
Colonel. I guess I still have a ways to go before I can deliver. But it isn't for
want of trying, or for a lack of things to look into, either."

  Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to
admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing.
But I'd figure the admirals staff would be the place to plant an agent."

  "Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you
noticed?"

    Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a
little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat in
the chair he'd vacated.

   "It never stops with you, does it, lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless
program loop."

  "You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just
don't have a clue."

   "Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said bluntly.
"Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."

  "It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she
spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the
Hermes spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these… nightmares.
People talked, you know how it is."

  "Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.

  "The stuff I heard was… pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me
when I was ten…"

  "The Kilrathi?"

   She nodded. "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a
Confed attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the
fighting. Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I
don't know. But there were only a few of us who lived through it."

  "It must have been—"

  "You'll never have any idea of what it 'must have been' like, Colonel. I
saw things…" She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.

  "So the Navy pulled you out of there… and you signed up?"

   "The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said.
"First it was debriefing… you know, regression therapy, trying to find out
everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for
Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they
couldn't wipe it all out, not without giving me a personality overlay. And I
wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats
couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"

   "You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like
that… to go on to join the fight…"
   "It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's what
I'm still doing today."

   He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to
the war? What then?"

   She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep
myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound
that reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. "The fact is, Colonel, there's a little
bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out
Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger… and one day, there
won't be any human left inside me any more."

   He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough
credit. Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle.
You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."

  Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But… well,
maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."

  He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him
when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do
understand, Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long
ago."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving
anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."

   Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "COUNTDOWN TO JUMP, ONE HOUR, FIFTEEN MINUTES." Blair
glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room window
to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch aboard
the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Lola
System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of
defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they
would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the
Behemoth, nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
   Technicians prepped the fighters for launch, working quickly but with a
care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight
deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked
fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the
topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The
huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic activity, and Blair felt like
an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.

   Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her
coverall was considerably cleaner than usual… and so were her hands and
arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual
go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry
glare.

  "Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three
sonic probe up your nose."

  "Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I
never thought it would actually take."

   "Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp
British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change
my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"

    Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should wear
the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I don't get
at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him, myself."

   "After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to
loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was
smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.

  "Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the
word on the launch?"

  "Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks." Rachel
hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his
computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
 Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due.
What about the others?"

  "Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside
chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't
count on it."

  "Do what you can," Blair told her.

   "Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she
caught his sleeve. "Look… after the mission… what say we get together?"

   He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who
served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one.
"I'd… like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since… ever
since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for me. It's…
made a big difference."

   Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without
another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like
Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as
strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate,
less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly
what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.

Bridge, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up." Eisen acknowledged
the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and studied the tactical display
with a critical eye. This was the period of greatest danger in any squadron
operation, when ships performed their transits in succession and everyone
involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't be emerging in the middle of an
enemy fleet.

   They weren't taking any chances this time. Coventry would go through
first, ready to engage anything waiting near the other end of the jump
point. The destroyer that followed her would jump at the first sign of
trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.

  That would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how Jason
Bondarevsky felt about flying point on this mission. He was supposed to be
one of Admiral Tolwyn's shining young proteges, but apparently the
admiral's patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a
dangerous mission.

   Eisen glanced uneasily at the admiral. He was dressed to perfection,
uniform starched and crisp, every hair in place. But Tolwyn did look
nervous, pacing restlessly back and forth behind the Sensor Officer's
station. For all the man's air of confidence, it was clear that he had his
share of worries.

   "Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported.
"Jump field forming… there she goes!"

  Tolwyn glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the final
countdown, Captain," he ordered.

   For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on
board he'd interfered in routine ship's operations: barking orders, taking
over briefings, dressing down crew members who didn't live up to his
image of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control
everything and everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was
the only thing that could guarantee the success of the mission.

   But perhaps Tolwyn had good reason to be concerned. Eisen leaned
forward in his chair and repeated the Admiral's order. Commander
Gessler slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.

  "now, jump stations, jump stations," the computer announced, "five
minutes to jump sequence start."

   The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn
them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this
operation would go by the numbers after all…

   "Remember, Captain, Behemoth will be five minutes behind us all the
way," Tolwyn said. "I expect response times to be tight. We can't afford a
screw-up. Not now."

  "Yes, Admiral," Eisen said. They'd been over it all a dozen times before.
He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking
about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.
  And nothing would ever be the same again.

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Loki System

  "And five… and four… three… two… one…"

  Jumpshock!

   Blair's guts twisted and churned as the carrier went through transition.
No matter how often he experienced it, he could never get used to the
sensation. The physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there was
always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness that left him
confused, numb.

   He blinked and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Everyone in
the wing had gone through this transit strapped into their cockpits, a
standard precaution when jumping into hostile space. They had the flight
deck to themselves. Force fields and gravity generators sometimes faltered
during jump, and technicians stayed clear of the flight deck for fear of a
catastrophic failure. So the pilots were alone, lined up at their launch
tubes, as ready for action as anyone could be in the aftermath of
jumpshock.

  Blairs eyes came back into focus, and he checked his readouts and
control settings automatically.

  A voice crackled in his headphones. "Jump complete," Eisen said.
"Welcome to Loki System."

    There was a pause before Rollins took over. "According to sensors, the
area is clear," the communications officer announced, still sounding a
little groggy. "And Coventry says the same. Sorry to disappoint you, ladies
and gents, but it looks like an all clear."

   Blair let out a long sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
They had cleared the first hurdle, but they weren't finished yet, not by a
long shot.

   The admiral's voice came over the channel, clipped and precise.
"Colonel Blair, you will relieve yourself from launch stations immediately.
All flight wing personnel remain on alert status until further notice."
   He still disagreed with the admirals decision to suspend all flight ops
from the carrier until they had to deploy to protect the Behemoth.
Coventry's four fighters and the destroyers flying escort would give
adequate cover, but Blair didn't like keeping all of his people on standby
alert for hours on end without relief. Better to let them fly patrols, get
some down-time, and take the risk that the wing might be a few hands
short when things hit the fan. But Tolwyn had overruled him.

   He started to unstrap himself from the Thunderbolt's cockpit. If all
went well, Blair thought hopefully, this interlude would soon end. And
then… ?

  It was difficult to picture what peace would be like, after a lifetime
dedicated to the war.


                         CHAPTER XXV
Bridge, TCS Victory
Loki System

  "God, that sucker sure is thirsty," Rollins commented. "Good thing you
don't have to pay for a fill-up when you're skimming hydrogen."

   "Eyes on your board, Lieutenant," Eisen growled. "And put the mouth
in neutral."

   "Yes, sir," Rollins replied quickly. The edge in Eisen's voice made it
clear that the captain was dead serious.

   The Terran squadron had proceeded from the jump point to their first
destination, the gas giant Loki VIII, without encountering any sign of
Imperial resistance. Victory remained close by while the Behemoth moved
into a tight, hyperbolic orbit around the huge ball of gas. The cruiser and
her consorts stood further off to give warning of any enemy interference,
but there was nothing. The weapons platform dipped into the atmosphere
long enough to top off the depleted tanks of liquid hydrogen needed as
reaction mass to move her ponderous bulk toward the target world.

   "Sensors are still reading clear, sir," the Sensor Officer reported. "Looks
like we're home free."
   A red light flashed on the Communications board, and Rollins called up
a computer analysis of the stray signal locking onto his computer.
"Captain…" he began, hesitating a moment. "Sir, I've got some kind of
low-band transmission here. Seems to be coming from one of the gas
giant's moons."

   "What do you make of it, Mister Rollins?" Admiral Tolwyn cut in before
Eisen could respond.

   "I'm not sure, sir… uh, Admiral. I don't think it's a ship. More like an
automated feed… from an unmanned relay station or sensor buoy. But
powerful. A very strong signal…"

  "Any idea what it's saying?" Tolwyn asked.

  "No, Admiral. It's scrambled. Could be almost anything." Rollins looked
up at him, apologetic, but Tolwyn had already turned away.

  "Colonel Ralgha? What do you think?"

   Hobbes had been scratched from the fighter roster with a down-gripe
on his Thunderbolt, so Tolwyn decided he should join other members of
the admiral's staff at supernumerary positions on the bridge. The Kilrathi
renegade shook his head, a curiously human gesture.

  "I am sorry, Admiral. I do not know."

   "Well, I do," Tolwyn said. "It means we've been noticed. And the cats
will be organizing a welcoming committee for us."

  "Any orders, Admiral?" Eisen asked. Rollins had never heard him sound
quite so stiff and formal.

   "The squadron will continue as before," Tolwyn ordered. "Have
Behemoth secured from fueling stations and fall into formation. Coventry
to take station ahead." He paused, almost seeming to strike a heroic pose.
"Maintain your vigilance, gentlemen. And be ready for anything."

Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Loki System

  "Lord Prince," Melek said, approaching the dais and bowing deeply.
"We have a report from one of the sentinel stations near the eighth planet.
Terran ships have been detected. Their movements conform to a
wilderness refueling operation, and one of the vessels appears to be their
Behemoth weapon."

   Thrakhath leaned forward on his throne, his eyes gleaming in the harsh
red light. "Ah… so it begins." He showed his fangs. "You see, Melek, how
well our agent has performed? Not only the design specifications of the
weapons platform, but also the intended Terran movements. Refuel at
planet eight, then a crossing to six. Exactly as specified in the report from
Sar'hrai."

   "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed. Behind his mask, he allowed himself
a moments impatience. As the plan unfolded, the Prince was becoming
increasingly filled ivith a sense of his own self-importance. The arrogance
af the Imperial Family was one of the major sources of disaffection among
the great nobles of the realm, and Melek was finding it difficult to
maintain his pose of sycophancy as Thrakhath's posturing grew more
blatant. "It seems we will indeed have a battle here, and soon."

   Thrakhath's gesture called for silence. "The strength )f the Terran
force?" he asked.

   "Five capital ships, Lord Prince," Melek replied. "Plus he weapons
platform itself. Only one carrier… Victory. rhe others—a cruiser, and three
destroyers. Nothing o challenge our force significantly."

  "Excellent. They assumed the outpost here was not vorth a larger
squadron." Thrakhath paused. "How are >ur preparations proceeding?"

    "Nearly completed, Lord Prince. The Terrans will find heir planned
firing position difficult to reach. Our own orces will be deployed by the
time they realize the hreat." Melek paused. "There is still time, Lord
Prince, ) order more capital ships into the battle zone, to ensure I he
Terrans are destroyed."

   The Prince gestured denial. "No, Melek. Fighters will have the best
chance to penetrate the defenses of the weapons platform. We do not want
to scare the enemy away with too great a… detectable show of strength.
Even if some of their ships escape, we will have the Behemoth. And with
it… the war."
   "As you wish, Lord Prince." Melek bowed and retreated, but a part of
him wished he could see Thrakhath lose some of that arrogant assurance.
Perhaps then the prince would finally come to understand the true nature
of the dangerous game he played with the future of the Empire.

Gold Squadron Ready Room, TCS Victory
Loki System

   It took hours to cross interplanetary distances, and the flight wing
settled into a grim routine of waiting, with two squadrons on watch in
their ready rooms and the other two snatching downtime while they could.
There were only six of them in the Gold Squadron ready room, with
Hobbes on the admiral's personal staff, but it seemed unpleasantly
cramped after nearly four hours of boredom waiting for an alarm that
never came. No one wanted to take up Vagabond's challenge at cards any
more, and talk lagged. Most of them sat quietly, enveloped in their own
thoughts.

   Blair wasn't sure how much longer his staff could wait.

   "Man, I'd almost rather the cats would try to stop us," Maniac Marshall
said suddenly. "Anything would beat sitting here on our asses with
nothing to do."

   "Hey, get used to it," Vaquero told him. "If that Behemoth thing works,
and we get peace, then we're history. No more magnum launches, no more
long patrols…"

   "I'll believe it when I see it," Cobra said. "I figure we'll still have to keep
the fleet ready, peace treaty or no. You can't trust the cats to keep to any
treaty. Just look at what they did the last time we signed an armistice
with them!"

  At that moment an alarm siren cut off all talk, "LAUNCH STATIONS,
LAUNCH STATIONS," the computer announced. "ALL FIGHTERS UP.
MAGNUM LAUNCH."

  The Gold Squadron pilots scrambled to their feet, snatching up helmets
and gauntlets and heading for the door.

  "Thanks a lot, Maniac," Blair said as the two nearly collided at the door.
"Looks like you're getting your wish."
   Marshall grinned, a wolfish, uncanny smile similar to Paladin's.
"What's the matter, Colonel, sir? You'd rather sit here and collect dust
than get out on the firing line again?"

   He ignored the comment and followed the others down the corridor to
the entrance to the hangar area. Just inside he stopped at an intercom
station and punched for the bridge. "This is Blair," he said as Rollins
appeared on the screen. "What's the scoop, Radio?"

   Rollins looked flustered. "Wait one minute, Colonel," he said.

   A moment later Admiral Tolwyn's face filled the monitor. "Coventry's
hit a mine," the admiral said. "She's falling behind, with heavy damage to
her shield generators. Looks like a Kilrathi mine field right across our
planned course, and I don't like it one little bit. So I'm putting your boys
and girls out there until we see what else the cats might have waiting for
us."

   "So we don't have anything definite yet… except the mines?" Blair
wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned. If this was just a false alarm, it
would sap the wing's morale even more. But the Hermes survey hadn't
reported any mine fields on the approaches to Loki VI. Blair didn't like any
coincidence this suspicious. Not here, not now.

   "Finding a bunch of mines this close to the planned firing point… I
don't like it, not one bit." Tolwyn's words echoed Blair's uneasiness. "Your
job is simple, Colonel. Cover the Behemoth until it's ready to open fire."

   "Sounds simple enough, Admiral," Blair replied. "But sometimes the
simple jobs are the real killers."

   Tolwyn broke the circuit. Blair retrieved his flight gear and turned back
to the bustle in the hangar deck. Four of the Thunderbolts were already
rolling into place in front of their launch tubes, while four Arrows from
Denise Mbuto's squadron were in place on the opposite side. By the time
the two ready squadrons launched, preparations were well in hand for the
other two: the point-defense fighters. By then their pilots, roused from
much-needed rest, would be ready to fly.

  Rachel Coriolis hurried to him. "Better get saddled up, Colonel, or you'll
miss the party," she said.
   He smiled. "They can't do that. Didn't you hear? I'm the Heart of the
Tiger. Can't have a party without the Heart of the Tiger, you know."

   Her look was serious. "Take care of yourself out there," she said quietly.
"I wouldn't like it if… someone else I cared about didn't come back."

   "I'll be back. Now that I know I have something worth coming back to,
they won't get to me again." He turned away and hurried toward his
fighter, drawing on his helmet and gauntlets as he strode briskly across
the broad metal deck.

Stalker Leader
Loki System

   Flight Captain Graldak nar Sutaghi studied his sensor screens and
wished his pressure gauntlets had room for him to unsheathe his claws in
anticipation. The Terrans had discovered the mine field and were
beginning to deploy their fighters. It was unfolding just as Prince
Thrakhath outlined. With the mines across their intended course
occupying all their attention for a critical few minutes, there was a perfect
opening for stealth fighters lying in wait to launch a devastating attack.

   The huge blip on his screen had to be the weapons platform, the
primary target. It had come to a dead stop while the carrier edged closer
to the mine field and began to launch its fighters. For the moment, at
least, the Behemoth was actually closer to the waiting Kilrathi ships than
the enemy carrier.

  Now was the time to strike.

   "Stalker Flight, this is Leader," he said aloud. "Stand by to disengage
cloaks and attack on my mark. Three… two… one… mark! Attack! Attack!
Attack!" As he spoke, he cut the power to the Strakhas stealth device and
brought his shield and weapons power on-line. He rammed his throttles
full forward and felt the fighter surge, a predator eager to seek out the
prey.

   "All fighters, concentrate attack on the weapons platform," Graldak
ordered. "Remember the briefings… attack the weak points."

  "And the enemy fighters?" someone asked.
   "Do not let them interfere with you," Graldak said. "But do not be
drawn into a dogfight until the primary mission is achieved." Inside his
bulky flight helmet, he was showing his fangs. Graldak was eager to get
the first phase finalized so his squadron could engage the Terran ghters.
In the fighting at Locanda, it had been galling to avoid combat and run
under cloaks. This time they would show the apes how warriors fought.

   And today there were no limits on engagement, no fighters declared
off-limits to attack. Any enemy pilot who wanted to fight, even the Heart
of the Tiger or the Kilrathi renegade, was fair prey to the hunters today.

   The Kilrathi attack group, four squadrons strong, drove straight toward
the daunting bulk of the enemy planetkiller. Graldak's blood sang within
his veins.

Thunderbolt 3OO
Loki System

  "Targets! Targets! Targets!"

   Blairs eyes shifted instinctively to his sensor screen as Rollins chanted
the warning. Suddenly the monitor was crawling with the red-orange dots
representing enemy fighters, four distinct swarms of Kilrathi craft
arranged in a rough half-globe. But they were close, too close… well inside
the range of Terran sensors. And on the far side of the Behemoth from
Victory.

   Cloaked Strakha, then. They had lain in wait while the Terran squadron
passed by, striking only now when the mine field cut off their advance and
the Behemoth was momentarily uncovered and vulnerable.

   The Kilrathi must have known the significance of the weapon and the
Terran plan of attack. It was blatantly clear that all the talk about a
possible spy giving away secrets to the Empire was more than just
speculation.

   Blair pushed the thought aside. Time enough to worry about that later.
Right now, the Kilrathi were closing fast with the Behemoth.

   "Red and White Squadrons!" he snapped. "Double back and engage the
enemy as quickly as possible." That would send the point defense ships
into action directly, but it wouldn't provide much cover to the weapons
platform itself. "Blue Squadron, Gold Squadron, follow me!"

   He banked sharply, lining up on the Behemoth's looming mass and
opening up his throttles to full power. With afterburners blazing, Blair
dove straight toward the huge weapon. The others trailed him, only
thirteen fighters in all. A part of Blair's mind dwelt idly on the question of
whether or not the number of ships was significant. An ill omen, perhaps?

   "Skipper…" Denise Mbuto roused him from his reverie. "Don't you
think… ?"

   "Comm silence!" he snapped. "Follow my lead, damn it!"

   And still they dove, until the weapons platform filled the entire forward
cockpit view and he could make out individual structures and projections
on the hull of the gigantic device. As they swept down toward the metal
surface, Blair suddenly pulled up, skimming within fifty meters of the
Behemoth. He had a maniacal grin on his face as he pictured the reactions
in the other fighters behind him.

  "Whooeee! What a ride!" Marshall shouted, and Blair didn't reprimand
him for breaking communications silence. The man's reaction was
something he could understand perfectly. He wanted to shout out loud
himself.

  Instead he forced himself to think about the battle as a whole.
"Watchdog, Watchdog, this is Guardian Leader," he said on the command
channel. "Come in, Watchdog."

   Again it was Tolwyn, and not Rollins, who answered his call. "Damn it,
Blair, get in there!" he snapped. "You have to protect the Behemoth/"

  "We're on it, Admiral," Blair replied. "But some support from the
destroyers would be a good idea. Coventry, too, if she's able."

   "Negative on that," Tolwyn replied. "We've just spotted a flotilla of
Kilrathi cap ships closing on us. They're at extreme range but coming in
fast. Sheffield is moving to delay them. And Ajax is trying to clear a
route through the minefield."

   "She'll never make it," Blair said. "You know the odds against spotting
every mine when you're in something as big as a destroyer."
  "Coventry's launching her fighters, but she's in bad shape. And
Bondarevsky's been wounded …" The Admiral was struggling to maintain
control. He stopped, visibly gathering his composure before he spoke
again. "Just do your job, Blair. Tolwyn clear."

   The channel went dead, and Blair cursed under his breath. Tolwyn was
so concerned with finding a way around or through those mines that he
was throwing away valuable assets just when they needed them most.

  Blair dismissed the thought. Tolwyn would fight this battle his own
way. What mattered now was the flight wing's part in it all.

   Still skimming low over the curved body of the Behemoth, the Terran
fighters flashed past the pressurized section of the hull where the control
center and crew's quarters were housed. Beyond lay the battle zone, where
the two squadrons of Hellcats were already making their presence known
against the Strakha. Blair pulled up sharply as his sensors registered the
fighting, climbing steeply away from the weapons platform. His maneuver
had placed the two squadrons, Arrows and Thunderbolts, between the
Kilrathi and their target. Now all they had to do was make the move count
for something…

Stalker Leader
Loki System

   Graldak let out a Kilrathi oath as he spotted the Terran fighters
forming near the hull of the weapons platform. He hadn't expected the
apes to fly so recklessly close to the surface of the huge weapons platform.
It was a daring move. A warrior's move. He recognized the hand of the one
Thrakhath had dubbed the Heart of the Tiger, the same one who had so
nearly defeated the attack force off Locanda IV That was one ape who
knew how to fight…

   "So, Heart of the Tiger," he said over the comm channel. "You would
stand in my way? You will not stand long, I assure you."

   The Behemoth was the primary target, but that did not preclude
swatting aside any resistance that sought to stop his attack run. With all
weapons armed, Graldak switched on his targeting computer and drove
the Strakha straight toward the Terran fighters.
Thunderbolt 3OO
Loki System

  "Here they come!"

   Blair saw the leading Strakha accelerating toward them just as Flint
gave her warning cry. The Kilrathi fighters were no longer spread out, but
formed a wedge behind their leader. They were keeping tighter formation
than usual, probably hoping to bore through the Terran defenses and
reach Behemoth through sheer numbers and concentrated firepower. A
quick glance at the sensor screen revealed the other Kilrathi ships now
thoroughly engaged. The two Hellcat squadrons tied up most of the
enemy, while the rest were being pursued by the half-squadron off of
Coventry. The cruiser itself limped in closer. Apparently Tolwyn was
wrong about the situation aboard the capital ship…

   "Close up," Blair ordered. These were the only Kilrathi ships in a
position to hit Behemoth for the moment, but unless the Terrans shifted
to meet the unexpected Imperial formation their advantage would be lost.
"Form on me."

   But the cats were driving in too fast. An Arrow flashed past Blair,
blasters firing wildly, but three of the Strakha nit the interceptor with
massed fire. Blair tried to catch up to support the Arrow, but he was too
late. The Terran fighter's shields went down, and in seconds the Kilrathi
blasters chewed through armor and hull, boring into the reactor. The
Arrow went up in a blaze of raw energy.

  It was only then that Blair realized it was Denise Mbuto's fighter.

   Now the leader was almost on top of him, and the rest of the wedge
close behind. Blair set his crosshairs on the lead Strakha and opened fire.
Several Kilrathi ships began to return his volley, but Cobra and Vaquero
appeared from nowhere to engage on their flank, and in their haste to
meet the new threat, the Kilrathi did little more than graze Blair's shields.

   He maintained fire on the leader, looping to follow as the wedge shot
past him. Fingers dancing over the fire controls, Blair called up a pair of
dumb-fire missiles. They were simple unguided rockets, without any of the
sophisticated homing systems common in other weapons in the Terran
arsenal, but in this situation they were exactly what Blair needed. If he
fired any of the other types, they were apt to be confused by the sheer
number of available targets. And Blair wanted the leader.

   He kicked in his afterburners once more, driving right into the enemy
wedge. His targeting reticule centered over the lead Strakha and flashed,
and Blair's fingers stabbed at the fire controls. The two missiles leapt from
their launch rails almost as one, speeding straight toward the Kilrathi
ship. His opponent, realizing what was happening at the last possible
moment, started to swerve, but it was too late. The missiles detonated,
and the Kilrathi shields began to fluctuate wildly.

  Blair locked on his blasters and opened fire.

   The Kilrathi pilot continued his maneuver even as the armor was being
ripped off his stern section. The Strakha was changing course, but no
longer in an evasive turn. He was lining up on a vector only slightly
different from his previous heading… straight toward the Behemoth.

   With a shock, Blah- realized that the pilot's new course had his fighter
aimed directly at one of the exposed shield generator housings that
Tolwyn had indicated as a weak point in the weapons platform's defenses.
The Kilrathi pilot had decided to make his death count…

   The Strakha came apart, but hurtling chunks of debris stayed on
course, raining on the surface of the Behemoth. A ripple of explosions
erupted from the huge vessel's hull. A moment later, two nearby Kilrathi
ships let loose missile barrages to take advantage of collapsing shields on
the weapons' platform. Flint and Maniac accounted for the two cats, but
the damage was already done.

   Blair could see lifepods and shuttles detaching from the Behemoth as
the explosions spread and swelled. He pulled up sharply, steering back
through a gauntlet of Kilrathi Strakha, knowing he had to put some
distance between his fragile fighter and the doomed planetkiller.

   The final explosion, when it came, overwhelmed his sensors and
external cameras. For a moment he was flying blind, buffeted by spinning
bits of metal and stray shots from enemy fighters. Kilrathi jeers and
taunts were loud on the comm channel, a demonic cacophony of hate and
glee.

  Behemoth was gone…
   Elsewhere, the Kilrathi fighters were turning away. The Terran
resistance had been stiff, and with the destruction of the weapons
platform their mission was accomplished. As the Kilrathi began to
withdraw in the direction of their capital ships, Blair ordered the flight
wing to regroup near Victory. No one offered to pursue the retiring foe.

   Tohvyn's face appeared on Blair's comm screen. "I'm ordering the fleet
to withdraw," he said, shock and pain etched plainly on his face. "Ajax
will stall the enemy fleet as long as possible. Land your fighters, Colonel."
The admiral's shoulders seemed to sag. "It seems we've lost our last
chance…"


                       CHAPTER XXVI
Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   The retreat from Loki had cost the flight wing five more pilots, and the
destroyer Ajax was destroyed while attempting to hold off the enemy so
the rest of the squadron could withdraw through the jump point. Still, it
might have been considered a victory of sorts, extracting the Terran
squadron from the trap at Lolci VI… if it hadn't been for the loss of
Behemoth.

   The last hope for mankind… that was how the Behemoth was described.
Now it was gone. And it was Christopher Blair who had failed in his duty
to protect the weapon from the Kilrathi attack.

   The bitter thought gnawed at Blair as he stood on the flight deck,
surrounded by other senior ship's officers. The failure had been his… but
right now, it was Admiral Geoff Tolwyn who was suffering the
consequences of that failure. The orders came in two days after the
squadron retreated to the Blackmane System. They were conveyed by a
fast courier ship that had carried Tolwyn's report to sector HQ and then
returned. Tolwyn was relieved of command over the erstwhile Behemoth
Project. He was to strike his flag aboard Victory and return to Torgo
immediately to face an inquiry into his handling of the entire operation.

   Victory, meanwhile, was to maintain position and complete field
repairs pending the arrival of a new squadron commander. No one aboard
was sure what that portended.

    Tolwyn dressed as precisely as ever, but defeat was plain in his carriage
as he stepped onto the flight deck, his staff trailing behind him. The
admiral did not seem surprised to note that the turnout to see his
departure was smaller and less impressive than upon his arrival. His star
fell, and he with it. Tolwyn was well aware of the fact. He stopped to
return Eisen's crisp salute.

  "I relieve you, sir," the captain said quietly.

  "I stand relieved," Tolwyn replied. "Permission to leave the ship?"

  "Granted, Admiral." Eisen saluted a second time.

   "A word of warning," Tolwyn said, again returning the salute. "The cats
knew exactly where we were going, and when. They even knew exactly
where to strike." He paused, running a sour eye over the assembled
officers behind Eisen. His gaze seemed to come to rest on Blair. "I believe
you may have a leaky ship, Captain."

  "With all due respect, sir," Eisen responded stiffly. "I resent any such
suggestion regarding my people. They've served this ship and the
Confederation with honor, one and all. There are never any guarantees
when it comes to battle, Admiral. And no such thing as certain victory, no
matter how awesome your weapon may be."

   Tolwyn's expression was bleak. "Victory is certain enough now,
Captain, for the Kilrathi. I hope the honor of your crew is enough, in the
fighting that lies ahead. It will only get worse from here."

   He turned away and stalked toward the shuttle without another word.
Climbing the ramp, he turned back to look at the flight deck one last time,
and again Blair felt that the admiral's gaze singled him from the rest.
Then Tolwyn boarded the craft, and the door swung shut behind him. The
assembled officers and men withdrew as the shuttle powered up.

  The hangar area was empty by the time the shuttle rolled onto the open
deck beyond the force field curtain, rising slowly away from the carrier
and into the black void.

Bridge, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Captain, we've got a ship coming through the Torgo jump point. Looks
like a big one…"

   "On the main monitor," Eisen ordered, leaning forward in his chair.
The viewscreen showed a computer-enhanced view of open space, with no
outward sign of the jump point or the disturbance the sensors picked up
indicating a ship in transit.

   Four days had passed since Tolwyn's departure, and aboard Victory
and the other ships in the ill-fated Behemoth Squadron, the passage of
time was starting to weigh heavily on crew morale. Being driven back with
the loss of the weapons platform—not to mention Ajox— was bad enough.
But to wait here, useless, without a word of the war from other quarters…
that was even worse.

   A ship took form on the viewscreen, slightly larger than Victory but
similar in configuration. It was one of the latest models of escort carrier,
but its sleek, modern lines were marred by battle damage.

  "Jesus," someone muttered. "Looks like half the flight deck got cooked."

   "Transponder code's on line, Captain," Rollins said a moment later.
"She's the Eagle. Captain Chalfonte."

  "Confirming," the sensor officer added a moment later.

  "Message coming in," Rollins reported. They're sending across a
shuttle. No details, sir. Just… sending a shuttle.

  "We're to stand by and await further communication."

  Eisen nodded. "Very well. Alert Flight Control we have an incoming
shuttle. Mr. Gessler, you have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room if there's
anything further."

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

  "Victory, Victory, this is shuttle Armstrong. Request landing clearance
and approach vector."
   "Shuttle Armstrong, cleared to land," Blair replied. He was standing a
turn as OOD in Flight Control, one more way to keep himself busy so that
he wouldn't brood over recent events. He signaled to one of the technicians
to activate the carrier's approach beacon.

   The shuttle skimmed low over the flight deck and allowed the tractor
beams to lock on and pull it in. Blair monitored the landing, and when the
stubby little craft was down, he gave curt orders to activate the force fields
and revive pressure and gravity inside the hangar area. Behind him, two of
the techs were swapping speculations about the shuttle and its reason for
paying the ship a visit from Eagle, but Blair silenced them with a quick
look.

   The shuttle doors opened up, and a single stocky figure appeared at the
top of the ramp. Blair stared, wide-eyed, as the man glanced around the
hangar deck and gave an approving nod of his graying head. Rachel
Coriolis appeared at the bottom of the ramp, holding out a PDP so that
the shuttle's pilot could log in, but she nearly dropped it as she took in the
rank insignia on the man's well-worn flight suit.

   It wasn't often that a full general visited the flight deck of a carrier.

   Blair wasted no time in getting to the flight deck to join Rachel. By the
time he reached the shuttle, General James Taggart had descended to the
deck, taking the data pad from the chief technician's hands. He was
smiling as he signed it and thrust it back at her.

  "There, now, lassie, 'tis all legal and proper," the general said, his thick
Scots accent a welcome reminder of better days. He caught sight of Blair
and his grin broadened. "Och, lad, dinna hurry! I'm nae sae old that ye
maun rush tae see me before I keel over!"

   "Paladin!" Blair said, saluting the man who had been his first squadron
leader on the old Tiger's Claw. "Er… General…"

   "Paladin I'll always be tae my auld mates, laddie," Taggart told him,
returning the salute carelessly and then seizing Blair's hand in a warm
handshake. " Tis aye good tae see ye again."

  "Why didn't someone tell us you were on the shuttle?" Blair demanded.
"We would have laid on a proper welcome." He was thinking of the
contrast between Taggart's arrival and Tolwyn's just two weeks earlier.
   "Och, lad, I cannae be bothered with all the pomp and circumstance. Ye
should ken that well enough by now. The business I'm on doesna allow
time for all that folderol."

   "Business?"

   "Aye, lad." Paladin stroked his salt-and-pepper beard and fixed Blair
with a steely stare. "The business of putting right the mess Auld Geoff
made of things, at Loki. I just hope 'tis nae too late tae salvage this mess."
The general gave him another smile. "So, if ye dinna mind, lad, I need tae
see Captain Eisen as soon as may be. But I'll be wanting tae talk to ye, as
well, soon enough."

  General Taggart strode briskly toward the door, leaving Blair behind.
Rachel exchanged glances with him.

   "That was General Taggart?" she asked as Paladin's broad back
disappeared through the doorway.

   Blair nodded. "In the flesh."

   "Good God," the woman said softly. "I feel sorry for the Kilrathi who
gets in his way…"

   "The last one who tried ended up with a Paladin-sized hole in him,"
Blair agreed. "I just wonder what the hell he's doing here… ?"

Wing Commander's Quarters. TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   The door buzzer made an irritating noise, and Blair swung his feet from
his bunk and said "Enter" just to shut it off. He wasn't surprised to see
Paladin when the door slid open. "Come in, General," he said formally.

  Taggart cocked an eyebrow at him. "General, is it, again? Have ye
decided tae go all formal on me, lad?"

  Blair shrugged wearily. "It's hard to think of you as Paladin any more,
you know. It's been a long time."

   "Those were the good days, though, laddie," Paladin told him, crossing
the cramped cabin to perch on the only chair. "I wish I was still out on the
firing line with you young lads and lasses, instead of flying a bloody desk."

  "I wish you were out here, too," Blair told him. "A few more pilots like
we had in the old gang and we might've saved Behemoth last week."

   "That bucket of bolts," Paladin said, making a face. "Auld Geoff really
thought that monster of his would work. He always believed that bigger
was better."

  "You had a better solution, I take it? Kevin said you had some scheme
cooked up, over in Covert Ops." Blair couldn't help letting some of his
anger show in the comment.

  Taggart studied him. "I hear you… heard about Angel," he said,
answering Blair's tone rather than his question. "In a tangle with
Thrakhath, no less."

  "Yes, I did, you son of a bitch."

  "I'm sorry that ye had tae find out that way."

  "How long have you known?" Blair demanded.

   Paladin didn't answer right away. "Since… since before Concordia was
lost," he admitted.

   Blair felt the anger surging within, his fists clenching with the sudden
desire to strike out at the man. "You bastard," he said. "When I asked, you
stood there and lied to me."

  "Laddie, I had to do it. I was under orders myself…"

   "All the missions we flew together—they didn't mean a damn thing, did
they?" Blair demanded. "You out there on my wing, protecting me…"

   "Don't you see that's what I was doing by not telling you?" Paladin said.
"Look, laddie… look what ye almost did out there, when ye learned of it all.
I was protecting you again… from yourself."

    Blair looked away, at the holo projector sitting beside his bed. He
hadn't played the message again since learning she was dead, but he heard
it in his dreams all too often. "You know what she meant to me."
  "Aye, lad, I do indeed." Taggart paused. "But we're fighting a war, son.
We've all lost someone close to us. It doesna make you special."

   "Yeah, right," Blair said. "I've heard the whole routine before. It doesn't
get better with repetition."

   Paladin shrugged. "I suppose not. But the fact is, lad, that we couldna
tell anyone about Angel. Not until now. Not without ruining the work she
did before she died."

  He didn't answer, but he met Taggart's eyes.

   "Her last mission was a part of my project, laddie. Not sae grand,
perhaps, as Auld Geoff and his Behemoth, but a way tae end this war, once
and for all. And 'tis up tae you, Chris Blair, tae finish what Angel started."

Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   Like his arrival, the briefing Paladin gave the next morning was a
low-key affair. Instead of an audience of aides and ship's officers, the
general limited the briefing to Blair and Eisen. He wasted no time on
useless preliminaries or self-congratulation.

   "We've got a lot to cover, and damned little time to do it in." Blair
always noticed that Paladin's accent faded as he focused on important
matters, and today was no exception. "Covert Ops lost out to Admiral
Tolwyn when it came time for HQ to decide on a response to the Kilrathi
biological threat, but like him we've had an operation in train for several
years. It's a long shot, I'll grant you, but it can work. It has to."

   Blair noticed a look of distaste on Eisen's face. After Behemoth, another
long shot was the last thing any of them wanted.

   "You hae already been briefed on the seismic instability of Kilrah,"
Paladin went on. "It was central to the whole Behemoth project, the notion
that even if the weapon wasn't able to bust a planet cold, it could at least
shake the place apart when applied against the right target. Our project
tackled the same concept from anither angle, one more in keeping with
the philosophy of Covert Ops."

  He punched a code into the keypad in front of him and the map table
came to life, projecting an image of a torpedo-shaped device into the air
between the three men. "This is the Temblor Bomb," he said quietly. "It
was developed by Doctor Philip Severin, one of the top research men in
the Confederation. It's been undergoing tests for some time now… nearly a
decade, in fact."

   The view changed to schematics. It brought back unpleasant thoughts
of Tolwyn's Behemoth lecture, and Blair shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Eisen's face was a study in bland neutrality as he regarded the holographic
image.

   "The bomb operates on the principle of seismic resonance," Taggart
continued. "Detonated in the right place, at the proper juncture of
tectonic fault lines, it will set up a series of quakes which will increase in
intensity until Kilrah is quite literally shaken apart." Paladin spread his
hands. "Unfortunately, the weapon doesna lend itself to pretty
demonstrations on backwater worlds. There's only a handful of planets we
know of where the Temblor Bomb could do its work, and Kilrah is at the
top of the list. The High Command wanted something they could escalate
up to gradually, so they threw their weight behind Admiral Tolwyn and
the Behemoth."

   Blair frowned. "I've said all along that I'm against—"

   "Laddie," Taggart said sternly. "I'd like nothing better than to find a
solution that didn't involve civilian casualties, but the simple fact is we do
not have one at hand." He paused. "Right now we have to stop the Empire
cold. Not just a defeat, but a final defeat. The Imperial hierarchy is so
centralized, so built around the idea of Kilrah as the core of their entire
culture, that the destruction of the planet will bring the rest of the Empire
to a halt. Even if there are a few warlords who want to fight, the other
Kilrathi worlds will come apart as clans and factions and splinter groups
start fighting for a new equilibrium. And that's our only hope of bringing
the war to a quick end."

   Eisen looked at him. "The brass must have thought a negotiated
settlement was possible," he commented. "They wanted Tolwyn to
demonstrate Behemoth and make the Kilrathi come to the peace table."

   "Aye, that was the hope," Paladin admitted slowly. "Though you must
know that the admiral had no plans tae stop with Loki. He knew, just as I
do, that Thrakhath and his Emperor willna stop fighting as long as they
see a hope of winning. And a balance of power, their bioweapons against
our Behemoth, would nave meant the advantage of numbers and strategic
position was still with the Empire."

  "It sounds to me like there was never any choice at all," Blair said
quietly.

   "Laddie, there wasn't." Paladin looked grim. "Fact is, even if Auld Geoff
had decided tae hold off, I was ready to launch a Temblor Bomb attack on
Kilrah on my ain authority."

  "What?" Eisen looked shocked. "You'd have been court-martialed six
ways from Sunday!"

   "Aye, true enough," Paladin said. "But my career doesna mean much
set against the end of this damned war. Our hope was that the cats would
hear about Behemoth's attack on Loki and assemble the bulk of
then-reserve fleet tae intercept it. I persuaded Captain Chalfonte tae take
Eagle into Imperial territory tae launch the Temblor Bomb strike on
Kilrah while the cats were chasing Behemoth. But they were a step ahead
of us, it seems. Thrakhath had a strike force ready at Loki, and never
touched the reserves. Eagle ran into trouble before we got anywhere near
Kilrah. We had tae break off and retreat with heavy damage."

  "So it's over, then," Blair said bitterly.

    "Not yet, it isn't," Taggart said. "That's why I'm here. Now that
Behemoth has failed, Sector HQ has authorized the Temblor strike. This
time, when we go in, we'll be supported by a fleet. If we can penetrate the
defenses that turned Eagle back, and get a few fighters through, we can
still drop the bomb and destroy the planet."

   "That doesn't sound like a long shot," Blair said. "It sounds like no shot
at all. A fleet couldn't penetrate all the way to Kilrah, and anything less
than a fleet would be carved up before you could say 'here, kitty, kitty!' "

  "Dinna be sae sure, laddie," Paladin said with a wolfish grin. "Covert
Ops didna gae into this thing blind. Fact is, a squadron of fighters can do
what a fleet cannot hope to… thanks to Jeannette Devereaux."

  "Angel? Where does she come into all this?" Blair was still frowning.
   "Her last mission was to Kilrah, laddie, aboard a captured Kilrathi
freighter we rigged up with a nice little cargo of goodies." Despite his
almost bantering tone, his eyes were dead serious. "You see, we kenned
just fine that we couldna bull our way through to Kilrah. So instead we've
arranged for a… more stealthy approach." He manipulated his keyboard,
and a new schematic appeared. Blair recognized it. He had seen Rachel
pouring over these same plans once. ' "An Excalibur?" he said, raising his
eyebrows.

   "Aye. Eagle carries a squadron of them, the first operational squadron.
Tliey have a limited jump capability, and a cloaking device—which means
they can penetrate the Kilrah System in secret, carry out the mission, and
hopefully get clear again when its over." Taggart raised his hand to ward
off the protests that sprang to Blair lips. "Hear me out, laddie. You'll be
wanting to say yon fighter doesna have the range tae make a jump and
proceed all the way in to Kilrah. That's true enough. But Angel's mission
was to survey a jump point that we didna previously know about, and tae
make some stops along the way in to Kilrah." A map appeared over the
table, showing the Kilrah System. "Here… here… and again, here.
Asteroids… the last of them Kilrah's outer moon, which barely merits the
label. And on each one, a hidden supply cache hollowed out by Angel and
her crew. Big enough to take in a squadron of ships, but well camouflaged.
Each equipped with fuel, missile reloads, the works. And this one—" He
indicated Kilrah's tiny second moon. "In this cache, a pair of Temblor
Bombs, all set and ready to load."

   "You mean they're already out there?" Blair demanded. "But Angel's
people were caught. Interrogated. The Kilrathi could have found them all
by now…"

   Taggart shook his head. "Nae, laddie. These were Covert Ops people,
dinna forget. Conditioned not tae remember anything of the mission, once
they were caught. Not even Thrakhath's torturers could hae pried
anything out of them."

  "So the caches are still there," Blair said slowly. "Just… waiting."

   "Aye. Waiting," Paladin said. "Angel did her job well. Those bombs are
aye big, laddie, so big ye couldna carry any other missiles once you
mounted one. Planting them here was the best solution. You go into the
system fully armed, so you can deal with any patrols you run into along the
way. But when you make the bomb run, it'll be from close range. There's
less chance of disaster this way. Even if you lose ships going in, the ones
that are left can still pick up the bombs and carry out the mission."

   "If they're hidden, how do we locate them?" Blair asked.
"Transponders?"

  Paladin nodded. "Aye. They'll respond on a very high band, and only
when you fire a query at them. Believe me, laddie, we've done everything
we can tae make this work."

  "You're sure Colonel Devereaux got all the way and set up all three
depots?" Eisen asked.

   "She did," Paladin said quietly. "She managed tae send out a coded
signal, before the cats took her ship. A scout ship posted in the Oort Cloud
monitored it and brought word tae us." He paused. " Twas frae them we
learned of the capture… and the execution, as well. Then the cats put it
out on their propaganda broadcasts…"

   "And you really think this plan can work?" Blair said y, changing the
subject. He didn't want to think about Angel's death, not now. "Aye,
laddie, it will work. Because it has to."

Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Because it has to." The image on the screen was too small to pick up
details, but the voices had been clear enough. It had been a good idea,
placing cameras where they might pick up important meetings.

   The spy shut off the monitor as the briefing dispersed. It seemed that
the threat to Kilrah was not over yet, even with the destruction of
Behemoth. Thrakhath's instructions didn't cover this eventuality, and
there would be no ships lurking nearby to pick up another broadcast.

   If the spy was to alert the Prince of this new danger, it would require
careful preparation indeed. But it had to be done…

  For the glory of Kilrah!


                       CHAPTER XXVII
Flight Control, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "That's the last of'em, Colonel. Eight Excaliburs, all ready for action."

   Blair stared at the flight deck through the transparent wall of Flight
Control, studying the lines of the last of the new fighters as it rolled slowly
to a halt inside the hangar area. On Paladin's orders, the Excaliburs came
from Eagle in exchange for Gold Squadron's Thunderbolts. They certainly
looked impressive enough. Blair hoped a few days of patrols would give the
pilots a chance to get used to them before they went into action in
Paladin's crazy scheme to attack Kilrah. "I hope they're all they're cracked
up to be," he said quietly.

   "Believe me, skipper, they're the hottest birds that ever hauled jets off a
carrier deck," Rachel Coriolis said. She wore an expression of sheer joy as
she contemplated the new craft. "These beauties are a mechanic's dream.
At long last, I get to really show what I can do."

  "Oh, I don't know, Chief," Blair said, glancing at her enraptured face
and giving her a smile. "I've been pretty impressed right from the start."

   "Yeah, but you haven't seen everything, not by a long shot," she said,
flashing an answering grin. She moved a little closer to him and lowered
her voice. "It might not be proper protocol to make the first move with an
officer and all… but how 'bout we get together later on and I'll show you
the rest? Sooner or later, you and me, we've got to let go of the ghosts.
Figure out if the parts'll fit somewhere else… if you know what I mean?"

   Blair hesitated, looking into her dark eyes. He couldn't now deny being
attracted to Rachel, her quiet strength and her irreverent humor. Always
before it seemed too much like a betrayal of Angel…

   But Angel was gone, and she would have been the first one to want him
to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. Rachel had already helped
him over the first, most difficult adjustment It seemed right, somehow,
that they travel further down the road she helped him find that led out of
the darkness.

   "You think our parts might mesh, Chief?" he asked her, his smile
broadening.
  "You never know until you take a test run," she said. "Tonight, maybe?"

  "Tonight," he agreed quietly.

  He was almost surprised at the intensity of the emotion behind that
one simple word.

Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

  "Got a minute, Colonel? Before I have to go on watch?"

   Blair looked up at Lieutenant Rollins and gave him a curt nod. "Sure.
Pull up a chair." He hesitated, studying the young communications
officer's worried expression. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

   Rollins sat down, looking uncomfortable. "I think I've finally turned up
something solid, Colonel. In that… matter Cobra and I've been looking
into."

  "And that is?"

   "I figured out where I'd seen that harmonic pattern before," Rollins told
him. "It's been used a time or two in psychiatric work. Personality
overlays…" Rollins hesitated. "Sometimes, with a subject, you want to be
able to switch from a substitute personality to the original, or back again.
They use it in therapy, overlaying a well-adjusted behavior pattern over a
personality that's got problems, but the doctors want to be able to retrieve
the original identity, locate the root of the problem."

  "Yeah, I've heard about it. You think it applies here?"

   "If I'm right, the Kilrathi might have used that message from
Thrakhath as a carrier for a personality trigger. When it was played, it
brought up a different personality in a Kilrathi agent on board." Rollins
hesitated. "If Cobra's right, it would have brought back an original
personality in Hobbes, something overlaid by the one we've known all
along. Or…"

  "Or what?" Blair demanded.

  "I… was thinking about what you said. About Cobra. She admitted
there was something familiar about the signal, but she didn't say what.
But it set me to thinking. What if the signal was supposed to bring up an
implanted personality in her… something programmed by the Kilrathi to
make her work as a spy. Hell, she might not even be aware of it any more,
if the work was sophisticated enough."

   Blair looked down at his drink. "Once again, there's no real proof," he
said slowly. "We can hatch theories until the sun goes nova, but without
real evidence…"

   "I know, sir," Rollins said, biting his lower lip and looking worried.
"But… hell, I don't know what to think any more or who to trust. I think
I've identified another part of Thrakhath's transmission that carries a
low-frequency side message, but it seems like it's a pretty old code. It was
discontinued a while back, and is no longer in our current files. I'm still
trying to reconstruct it. Maybe we'll know more then. But meantime, what
do I do? Tell Cobra? If she's the spy…"

   "Keep it to yourself, lieutenant," Blair said. His wrist implant chimed a
reminder. "Damn. I've got a meeting with Paladin and the Captain." He
stood up. "You keep working on that signal, Lieutenant. Crack it fast
because we have to find out if there really is a leak—before we start
General Taggart's new mission."

Flight Deck, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

  Lieutenant Laurel Buckley studied the sleek lines of the Excalibur and
gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Man, oh man, that is a thing of
beauty," she said softly. Cobra was looking forward to trying tie new craft
out, even if it was only a routine patrol.

   "I'll say," Chief Coriolis said, looking up from where she was kneeling,
checking the locking mechanism on the forward landing gear. "This is one
nice piece of machinery."

  "Where's Ski, Chief?" Cobra asked. Technician First Class Glazowski
was her usual plane captain, but he was nowhere in sight.

  "Had to put all the Gold Squadron plane captains through a crash
course on how to care and feed these beauties," Rachel told her. "I'm the
only one who's up on the specs at the moment. Don't worry, he'll be done
by the time your patrol gets back." She looked around. "Who's going out
with you?"

   "Vaquero," Cobra said. "Except he's late, as usual." She moved over to
the cockpit ladder. "I swear he'll be late to his own cantina opening."

  "I'll have Flight Control put out a call for him," Rachel said. "You need
any help strapping on this baby?"

   "Nah. Looks like you're overworked as it is."

   "I'll say. I'm supposed to have five techs on every bird. Today I've only
got three to get both you guys up and flying." The tech looked disgusted.
"My watch roster looks thinner every day, seems like."

   "Well, I can run through my checklist just fine by myself. Just don't
forget to send somebody out here to give me my clearance when it's time
to launch!"

   Rachel chuckled and turned away. Buckley paused at the bottom of the
ladder and cocked her head to one side. Something… someone was moving
around on the other side of the Excalibur.

   She set her helmet and gauntlets down on the wing and ducked under
the fuselage to investigate. From what Rachel just said there shouldn't
have been any technicians working in that corner of the bay…

   Something struck her in the stomach as she straightened, knocking her
backward against the hull of the fighter with such force that she banged
her head. As she shook it, trying to clear her blurring vision and the
ringing in her ears, she became aware of the pain in her abdomen. Her
fingers, clutching at the spot, came away sticky with blood.

  And then her vision did clear, for a moment, as she slumped to the
deck. The bulky figure standing over her might have stepped out of her
worst nightmare.

   "Hobbes…" she gasped. Then blackness took her.

Flight Control, TCS Victory
Blackmane System
  Rachel Coriolis entered the Flight Control Center and dropped into the
nearest vacant seat. "God, I'll be glad to get some sack time," she said. She
suppressed a grin as she remembered the plans she'd made with Blair. She
doubted either one of them would get much sack time tonight. "They're all
yours, Captain. And good riddance."

   Lieutenant Ion Radescu, the duty Flight Controller, gave her a grin.
"Come on, Rachel, you know you love it. What would your life be without
fighters to work over, huh?"

  "A hell of a lot cleaner," she said, returning his smile. Since Admiral
Tolwyn's departure, she'd gone right back to her old habits of dress.

   Radescu chuckled and turned to his console. "Okay, boys and girls, let's
get this show started." He thumbed a mike switch. "Prowler Flight, this is
Control. Radio check."

  "Prowler Two," Vaquero said. "Read you five by five."

   There was a moment of silence before Cobra's voice came on the
speakers. "Clear signal."

   The FCO frowned. "Prowler One, I'm not getting anything on video
from you. You got a fault showing?"

  Again there was a pause. "Negative."

   "Damned thing ought to be working," Rachel said, joining Radescu at
the console. "Those birds are so new you can still smell the fresh paint."

  "Want to have a look?" Radescu asked.

  "It ain't enough to get a down-gripe," Rachel told him. "Long as audio's
working, I don't see a problem." She paused. "I'll take a look when they get
back in."

  "Okay, Chief," the FCO nodded. "Prowler Flight, cleared to launch."

   Out on the flight deck below them, the fighters rolled into position in
their launch tubes. Green lights flashed on Radescu's board. "Launch
when ready," he ordered.

  And the two Excaliburs hurtled into space.
   Rachel turned away. "I'm gonna grab me a cup of something hot and
then check on my students in Ready Room Three," she said over her
shoulder. "Yell if you need me—"

   The intercom shrilled. "Flight Control, Bay Twelve," a hoarse voice was
loud over the speaker. "I just found Cobra down here. She's hurt… real
bad!"

  "Cobra?" Rachel and Radescu spoke at the same moment.

   "What the hell… ?" the FCO added. "Rachel, get down there and find
out what's going on." He was already punching in a combination on the
intercom. "Bridge, this is Flight Control. We have a problem…"

Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   "Our job, then, is tae remain clear of the fighting unless absolutely
necessary. Let the rest of the fleet thoroughly engage the bloody moggies
and then slip around to the back door, the jump point to Kilrah. Then,
laddie, your squadron will launch."

   Blair nodded as Paladin finished. "With luck, the Excaliburs will cloak
before the cats see us out there, and we can reach the jump point without
ever being noticed. Very pretty planning, General."

   Taggart grinned. "Another fine product of the Covert Ops planning
staff," he said. "Just remember, laddie, that the cloak's nae good at close
range. It hides ye from sensors, but it doesna make you invisible."

   "I'm still not very happy about sending the fighters through blind."
Eisen spoke up for the first time since the briefing had started. "They'll
have no support… and if they run into trouble before they refuel they won't
be able to recharge their jump generators and make it back here safely. If
this really is a back door into Kilrah, wouldn't it be better going in with
them?"

   "We dinna ken how well defended the jump point might be," Paladin
said. "The fighters will have to decloak to jump, of course, and they'll be
detected as they enter the system. But if they cloak right away, they can
evade any reception committees in the neighborhood. Send a carrier in,
and we stir up a hornet's nest."
   "I appreciate the concern, Captain," Blair added, meeting Eisen's eyes.
"Fact is, our chances of getting back aren't that good one way or another.
I'm treating this as a one-way mission… volunteers only. If we can get
back, great. But none of us will be under any illusions."

   "Laddie—" Paladin began. He was cut off by the ululation of an alarm
siren.

   "Flight deck. Emergency." The voice on the tannoy belonged to Rollins,
but it was almost unrecognizable, choked with emotion. "We have a
problem on the flight deck!"

   "Blair, get down there," Eisen rasped, pushing back his chair and
getting to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge…"

   "On my way," Blair said. He was already halfway to the door, but
Paladin, despite his age and bulk, was right behind him. They raced to the
elevator, all pretense of officer's dignity forgotten.

   Rachel met them at the door to the hangar deck. "Bay Twelve," she
said, grim-faced. The two men didn't wait for an explanation. They
hurried down the row of fighter bays to the empty space that had housed
the Excalibur assigned to Lieutenant Buckley.

   Cobra was lying near the back of the bay, half hidden by a rack of
testing equipment. There was blood on the deck where she'd been dragged
to the niche, and a larger pool of blood around her. Someone had tried to
staunch her wounds with a makeshift bandage, but it wasn't controlling
the flow of blood. Blair knelt beside her and lifted it to examine her
injuries. Four deep slashes cut across her stomach, and the sight of those
wounds made Blair, hardened veteran that he was, turn his head away.

   He had seen that kind of disemboweling cut before, after the ground
fighting on Muspelheim a decade ago. The cuts could only have been made
by a Kilrathi's claws.

   Blair tried to ignore the nausea welling up inside him. Cobra's eyes
fluttered open. "Colonel…" she gasped.

  "Hobbes?" he asked, knowing the answer.

  "He… hit me. Don't know why…"
   "I do," Paladin said grimly. He held up a holo-cassette. "He must have
dropped this when he dragged her over here."

   Taggart pressed a button, and a small holographic image formed in the
air above Cobra. It took Blair a moment to recognize the scene. It was a
view of Eisen's ready room, shot from a high angle. The three figures there
belonged to Eisen, Paladin, and Blair.

    "This is the Temblor Bomb," Paladin's image said. "It was developed by
Doctor Philip Severin, one of the top research men in the Confederation.
It's been undergoing tests for some time now… nearly a decade, in fact."

   Taggart switched it off. "The briefing…"

  "All this time," Blair said slowly, shaking his head. "All this time, he's
had us bugged…"

  Rachel returned, with a team of medics running after her. Paladin
moved away to give them room to work, while Blair cradled her head and
shoulders in his arms. "We'll get you to sick bay," he told her.

   "Too late… for me," she gasped out. "Get Hobbes. You still have time…"

   He could almost feel the life ebbing out of her as the awareness faded
from her eyes. One of the medics shook his head. "It's no good, sir," he
said. "She's gone."

  Blair lowered her head to the deck gently and stood up. "What about
Hobbes?" he asked Rachel, voice flat and harsh. "Any idea where he is?"

  "He took Cobra's fighter," she said. "Launched with Vaquero a few
minutes ago. He must have had a tape of her voice to answer the radio
check."

   Flint appeared at the mouth of the bay, running. She pulled up short at
the sight of Cobra, then fixed her eyes on Blair. "Prowler One just broke off
the patrol route," she said, breathing hard. "Fired on Vaquero when he
tried to intercept." She paused. "The fighter's heading for the Freya jump
point, maximum speed. Vaquero's pursuing."

  Blair looked at Paladin. "Even without that holo, Hobbes can tell them
about the plan. About the caches…"
   Taggart nodded. "If he makes it through the jump point, it's all over,
lad," he said.

  "Not yet, it isn't," Blair said. He looked at Rachel. "Which of the
Excaliburs is prepped for Alert Five?"

  "Three-oh-four," she said. "Maniac's bird."

  "Get it on the line now. And get me a flight suit." He turned to Flint.
"You get to Flight Control. Order Vaquero to keep up the chase. Stop that
bastard at all costs, or at least slow him down until I get there."

   He looked back down at Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and
rage. "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes…"

   Blair turned away and started toward Maniac's fighter, grim and
determined. Hobbes had betrayed them… and now the renegade had to be
stopped before he destroyed everything.

Excalibur 3O4
Blackmane System

  "Victory, Victory, I need help out here! He's flying rings around met"

   Blair muttered a curse under his breath. Even with the Excaliburs
superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake
Vaquero and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and
keep him busy, but it was an uneven match. Hobbes had always been a
good pilot, but Blair had never expected to see him matched against one
of his own comrades.

  On his sensor screen, he saw Hobbes making a long, slow loop, circling
back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already taken damage to his engines,
and was having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.

  "He's coming in again …" Lopez said. "Firing …"

   A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It
must have been a fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed
and weaved in pursuit of Ralgha's fighter. Hobbes tried to dodge it, but it
caught him across the port-side shield. Lopez let out a whoop and dove.
Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.
  "All right!" Lopez shouted. "That one's for Cobra! Get ready to say
good-bye, Hobbes."

   "Not today, I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathis fighter
released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.

  "Cristos… I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos…"

  And then he was gone.

  "God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."

   "Is that you… old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded
like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you
turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."

  "Deal with this… old friend!" Blair shouted. Ralgha's Excalibur was just
coming into extreme range, and Blair let loose a volley of blaster fire. But
Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.

  Ralgha turned away, as if to run. Blair's hands clenched on the steering
yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away…

   But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too
much of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into
the area, and since Hobbes could only be heading for the Freya jump point
to warn the Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.

   Ralgha suddenly rolled up and back, a classic Immelman maneuver
that almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again as he dodged the
Kilrathi's fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves.
But he wasn't flying quite the way he usually did. There was something
different in his style, more reckless, more aggressive. More like the
Kilrathi Blair usually met in battle.

   As Hobbes sped past, Blair checked his sensor readouts on the other
Excalibur. Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If the port shield
went down, Ralgha would be vulnerable, and he was sure to be sensitive to
that weakness. Hobbes had used all of his missiles to knock out Lopez,
giving Blair a significant advantage.

  The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him. He
let Hobbes finish his turn, then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a
charge right at the other fighter, a move he was sure Hobbes would never
expect from him. Blaster fire raked across his forward shields, but he
ignored it, even when the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were
going down…

   Ralgha stopped firing, his weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi swerved
sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire. The two
fighters were close together now, and Blair had to kill his momentum
quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.

  The Terran allowed himself a grim smile and locked on a pair of
heat-seekers. As Ralgha finished his turn and exposed his tail, Blair let the
missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.

   "Impressive, my friend," Hobbes said as the barrage struck home. "
Impressive… I fear that you have bested me… Now I shall never see
Kilrah again."

   The missiles detonated almost simultaneously as the Excalibur's rear
shields went down. The fighter came apart.

  Blair thought he heard Hobbes call out his name before the fireball
consumed his craft.

   "Excalibur three-o-four," he said, his voice sounding dead in his own
ears. He couldn't feel anything, either sadness or satisfaction, at the
knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes… is gone. I'm coming in."


                      CHAPTER XXVIII
Flight Wing Quarters, TCS Victory
Blackmane System

   Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly
inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to
ask questions, or to offer comments. He didn't think he could face anyone
just now, especially not here, in the quarters that had belonged to Ralgha
nor Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on
automatically. They were set to the dim reddish hue Hobbes favored, a
reminder of Kilrah's K6 star.
  A reminder of Ralgha's home…

   Ralgha… Hobbes… It surprised Blair to realize how deep this wound
went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas,
flown with him, loved him like a brother over the better part of fifteen long
years. When others had raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in
Hobbes, the one being Blair would have trusted to the bitter end… and
beyond. Yet Hobbes betrayed him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge
of that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.

   He turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the door, punching
for Terra-normal lights and lower heat and humidity than Ralgha had
preferred. The changes helped him push away the bitter thoughts of
Hobbes, but not far enough for any real peace of mind.

   No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a
fine-tooth comb in hopes of finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery.
Blair didn't plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert Ops. But it
was one of his duties, as wing commander, to deal with the personal
property of any pilot who died while under his command, and much as he
wanted to delegate it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself.
He could at least take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he
had no idea where it would go when Paladin was through with it. Usually
personal effects were returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes
leave?

   He defected in the company of a retainer named Kirha. Had the
retainer been another agent? Or legitimate? Blair wasn't even sure if the
other Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed
allegiance to a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St. John, but that was years ago.
Blair hadn't heard anything of Hunter for a long time.

    Well, if nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned
to the Empire when the war was over, if it ever was over. Perhaps Hobbes
still had family somewhere. He claimed they had all died before his
defection, but that could have been yet another lie.

  Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any
more, about Hobbes… or about anything else.

   A slender box lying on the bunk drew his eye, and Blair crossed the
room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector, much like the one Angel
nad sent him. Curious, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed the
switch.

  A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.

   "Colonel Blair," the holographic figure said in Ralgha's familiar tones.
"I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me
to provide an explanation for my actions.

   "You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a
construct, the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago
by Imperial Security at the behest of Prince Thrakhath. You have never
met the real Ralgha nor Hhallas, nor would you have become his friend,
for he was and is dedicated to the service of the Empire. Only the
construct-personality could become your comrade and friend. I myself was
entirely unaware of my true self until the message broadcast by Prince
Thrakhath that day at Delius, tine message where you were given your
Kilrathi title, the Heart of the Tiger. Embedded in combination with a
signal embedded in that transmission, the phrase "Heart of the Tiger" was
the trigger that awakened my true personality, hidden for so many years.
There were buried messages within it that gave me my Prince's
instructions, which I have carried out since that day. Once Ralgha nar
Hhallas was restored within me, I had no choice but to act as I did. Thus,
my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am the Heart of the
Tiger."

   The Kilrathi paused for a long time. His expression was one Blair had
never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn
in two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi do not surrender, my old friend,
and neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my
race and obedient to my duty, I have been forced to betray you. For
though I am no longer the same being you once named Hobbes and
befriended when I was alone among strangers, I retain a full memory of
everything that Ralgha thought and did. I remember you, Colonel, for
what you were and are, and know that you are an honorable warrior. If I
could have performed my duty without betraying you, I would have done
so, but that was not possible. And if we meet again… we will have no
choice but to perform our duties… with honor."

   "I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in battle.
But if we do, I will salute you as a warrior… and I will mourn you, as a
friend lost to me forever."
   The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the
tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained there
a long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.

  He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.

   It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you here. Captain called down to
Flight Control asking after the final operations plan for this mission of the
Generals." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning
out the cat's stuff, huh?"

   Blair shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Just… an inventory. Before the
captain gets started with the investigation…"

  "Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into… everything,
huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"

  Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.

  "Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across," Marshall said.

  Blair surged out of the bunk and caught him by the collar, raising a
hand to strike the man. All his anger had came rushing out, and all he
wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.

   "Temper, temper," Marshall said. "You shouldn't start something you
can't finish, Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to lose any more
wingmen. Not now."

   Blair dropped his hand and let go of Marshall's collar. The major took a
step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.

  "For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.

  "I am?"

   "Yeah. Yeah, there's precious few of us left, Major. Two Excaliburs
destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only four of us left in Gold
Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's
face. "I'd deck you right now, Maniac, and to hell with the consequences.
But I figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."

  Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right. You never thought I was any good before.
So why would you want me this time?"

   "Simple," Blair told him. "Odds are none of us are coming back from
this one, but I figure you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down. So
maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned
mission's over and done with."

  Marshall looked at him doubtfully, as if uncertain how serious Blair
was. "You're crazy, man," he said.

   Blair didn't answer him. He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started
the inventory, ignoring Marshall until the other man snorted again and
left the cabin.

    After Maniac left, he took time out to use the intercom to pass a
message to Eisen, identifying the computer file that held the work the
flight wing staff had put into refining Paladin's attack plan. Then he
finished up in Ralgha's cabin and left, locking the door behind him with a
security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.

   He still had other unpleasant duties to take care of, however. The next
one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior
wing officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold Squadron. He
halted in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG— LT. MICHELL
LOPEZ and set down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.

   Blair touched the buzzer beside the door and stepped back. It took a
few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights were out, but a figure
was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.

   "Come in," Vagabond said. There was little of his usual bantering
manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What
can I do for you?"

   Blair kicked the cargo module through the door and stepped inside,
letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, lieutenant,"
he said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced this part of the
job alone, as he had in Ralgha's quarters. "I just… I came to round up
Vaquero's stuff. Shuttle's heading back to the Eagle later today, and I
figured they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they
jump…"
   "In case we don't make it," Chang finished the thought for him. He
raised his voice slightly. "Lights."

   The computer brought the light level up. Under the illumination, the
lieutenant's expression was bleak.

   "Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair said quietly. "I know how you
feel… this mess is getting to all of us. But we've all got to get a grip. Bounce
back."

   "The cliche of the week," Chang said. He pointed to one of the lockers
on the far wall. "That one's Vaquero's. Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot
paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."

  Blair nodded and crossed to the locker, opening it with a security
magnakey that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy.
Evidently Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of
possessions in the short time he'd been aboard Victory.

   "Tell me this much, Colonel," Vagabond said from behind him. "Rumor
mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it
true?"

  Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah. A shot… a pretty damned long one,
but a shot."

  "Good." Chang gave a curt nod. "Good. 'Cause I want a piece of the
bastards."

   "Are you sure? You were the one who had doubts about Behemoth, as I
recall. And the new mission's also designed to knock out Kilrah. No ifs,
ands, buts, or maybes…"

   Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it,
the kid didn't have to die like that. He was going to retire, open his
cantina. He had it all planned out, and that bastard Hobbes snuffed him
out. And Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line,
but this… it's just wrong."

  Blair fixed him with a level stare. "I hear you, Vagabond. I've been there
myself, and not just this cruise, either. But you can't let it eat away at
you." He pointed to the locker. "Do you know how much I hate this ritual?
As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm to Vaquero's family…
you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son
and the way he died. What am I supposed to tell them? That my best
friend turned traitor and killed him in a sneak attack? That I might have
stopped it if I hadn't been so convinced that Hobbes was one of the good
guys?" He shook his head.

   Vagabond shrugged and sighed. "I used to think I could keep myself
apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional on duty, and the
squadron clown in the rec room. But for the first time, here on Victory, I
actually felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real
friends… Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is
to see the end of it all… one way or another."

   Blair didn't reply right away. Vagabond's words struck a familiar chord.
"The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang," he said at last.
"It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage you to
opt out of it, since you were pretty well set against bombing civilian
targets. Now… hell, I don't have enough pilots in Gold Squadron as it is. If
you really want in, I'll be glad to have you there. But if you're not sure,
speak up now. So I can try to get someone else checked out on the
Excalibur from one of the other outfits."

  Vagabond shook his head. "Don't bother. I'm in."

   "It's nice to know you can count on… people." Blair turned back to the
locker, saw Vaquero's prized old guitar. He picked it up, ran his fingers
over each string. "His family will want this, I suppose…" he said softly.
Then, with another flash of anger, he went on. "It just isn't fair, Chang.
That kid should never have been a pilot."

  "But he was," Vagabond told him. "A good one, too. We're all going to
miss him, before this thing is over."

   Together, they emptied out the locker and packed Vaquero's gear in the
cargo module. When it was done, Blair tagged it and left it outside the
door for a work detail to pick up later. He fetched a second module from a
storeroom nearby and headed for his last stop. He knew this one would be
the most difficult of all.

   Cobra had shared her quarters with Flint, and the lieutenant opened
the door at Blair's signal. She saw the cargo module and nodded. "Cobra's
stuff, huh?"

   "Yeah." He followed her in. "Er… you knew her pretty well, didn't you?"

    "As well as anyone, I guess," she said. "Laurel didn't make a lot of
friends."

    "I guess not" Blair looked away. "Fact is, I'm supposed to send her
effects to her family, write a note, the usual routine. But I don't even know
if she has a family. Her file was pretty thin."

   "We were the only family she had," Flint said softly.

   "I didn't treat her very well, for family," Blair said, looking away. "I
trusted Hobbes, not her…"

  "You had your reasons," she replied. "Blaming yourself won't change
what happened… won't bring Cobra back, or Vaquero, either."

   "Maybe you're right. I don't know any more. It seems like every choice
I've made, every turn I've taken since I came on board this ship has been
wrong. I'm starting to second-guess myself on everything."

   Flint hesitated a moment before responding, her look intent, searching
for something in his face. "Everything? Does that mean your romance with
your little grease monkey has fallen through?"

   "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He was still feeling bad
about breaking his date with Rachel the night before, but under the
circumstances he hadn't felt like seeing anyone.

   She looked away. "I just thought… you could do a lot better, you know?"

  "No, I don't know," Blair told her. "Rachel's been a good friend to me…
more than a friend." He studied her. "I know you thought there might be
something between you and me. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea
about how I felt."

   "Just how do you feel?" she demanded.

   "You've been a good friend, too, Flint. Hell, I probably owe you my life,
after Delius. And under other circumstances, things might have gone
further between us."
   "Other circumstances… ?"

    "Don't you get it, Flint? Rachel's not a pilot. You are. And after Angel—I
just don't think I could handle getting involved with another pilot.
Especially one who might end up flying on my wing." He paused. "Truth is,
it isn't fair to either one of you, now. When we hit Kilrah, odds are none of
us are coming back. So any romance I get into now is strictly short-term."

  "Maybe that's all there is for any of us, now," Flint said quietly. "If this
next fight goes against us, there won't be time left for anyone."

  Blair nodded. "That's true enough. Look… I'm sorry. I didn't want to
hurt you."

   "I'm grown up," she told him. "I can handle rejection. But I don't take
kindly to losing out to some mechanic who smells like synlubes and uses
grease for make-up."

   He looked away, feeling helpless. "If it helps any, I doubt she and I are
going anywhere, now."

   Flint's look was cold. "Do what you like, flyboy," she said. "Doesn't
matter to me. And like you said, this next op's probably going to be the
last, right? For all of us."

   "It's a volunteer mission, Flint. You don't have to fly it. Maybe you'd be
better off staying with the ship."

   She shook her head. "You've been telling me not to put my feelings
ahead of my duty, and that's just what I'm going to do now. I will be in on
the kill, all riglit. Just try and stop me." Flint paused. "But I'll give you a
word of warning, Colonel. I may try to keep my personal feelings on a
leash, but I don't make any guarantees. And it might not be such a good
idea for you to pick a wingman you've just kicked in the teeth. If you take
my meaning… sir."

  Blair had no answer for that. He left Flint to pack up Cobra's gear, and
headed back to his office to think.

  Sometimes it was easier to face the enemy than it was to deal with the
people he cared about most.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory
Freya System

   The carrier made the jump from Blackmane to the Freya System, where
the High Command ordered the strike force to assemble for the attack
that was supposed to cover the raid on Kilrah. Through the viewport in
the rec room, Blair could see a few of the ships of the Terran fleet, some
close enough to recognize shapes and configurations, others so far away
that they glimmered as moving lights against the starfield.

   It was a powerful force, but nowhere near the size of the fleet that had
held the Kilrathi at Terra. Yet this was supposed to be Earth's decisive
strike, the knockout punch that would end the war.

   Blair watched the other ships, and doubted.

  "You look like you could use some company," Rachel Coriolis said from
behind him.

   Blair turned in his chair. "Rachel… I thought you had the duty until
seventeen hundred hours."

   "This is just a break," she said. "We've still got a lot to get done before
the jump to Hyperion tomorrow, so I'm grabbing a bite to eat now and
then pulling a double shift." She mustered a weary smile. "So, are you
going to invite a girl to sit down, or what?"

   "Sure, sure," he said hurriedly. "Please. Sorry…"

   Rachel laughed. "So, the rough, tough pilot goes to pieces under
pressure." She took the seat across from him, her eyes searching his face
under a worried frown. "What's the matter? Is it… Hobbes?"

   He shook his head. "Not that… not really. Fact is… it's, well, it's us."

   "Us? As in you plus me equals us?"

   "Yeah. Look, Rachel, I started thinking some things over today, and I
realized something. Yesterday I was all set for a nice little seduction scene.
Dinner. Music. A quiet talk that could lead to… whatever." He looked
away. "After what happened…"

   "Hey, I understood then. I understand now. We'll still have our time
together."

  "Maybe it was best that we couldn't make it happen," he went on
doggedly. "It might be the best thing if we don't try to push it now…"

  "Are you backing out on me?" Her expression hovered between concern
and anger. "I thought…"

  "Look, Rachel, by this time tomorrow, God only knows where I'll be.
Even if we carry out the mission, the deck's stacked against any of us
coming back from Kilrah. It isn't fair to start something with you that I
might not be able to finish. I wouldn't want you to have to go through
what I did… with Angel."

    "Pilots…" She shook her head. "They'd rather crash and burn than
make a commitment. Look, Chris, I've been there, remember? I know what
it's like. And I also know that if we keep putting our own lives aside
because of what might happen tomorrow, eventually we'll run out of
tomorrows. We'll never have anything to look back at, anything to
remember except the war, just fighting and killing. I want something else
to remember… whether it's one night, or an eternity. Don't you?"

  "Do you really mean that? You want to go ahead, even knowing it might
not be more than one night?"

   She met his eyes and nodded. "I'd rather we had just one night
together. Especially if the alternative is… never having any time at all."

  "Your shift…"

   "Ends at midnight. I'll skip the dinner and the music, if you'll be there
for me when I come…"

   "Midnight, then." She stood when he did, and they came together in a
long, lingering kiss. "Midnight…"


                        CHAPTER XXIX
Excalibur 3OO
Hyperion System
  Acceleration pressed Blair into his seat as the Excalibur burst into open
space. He cut in his engines and steered hard to port, toward the unseen
jump point that would carry him to the enemy homeworld.

  To the real Heart of the Tiger, he thought idly.

  "Excalibur three-zero-zero, clear and under power," Blair said aloud.
"Lancelot Flight, form on me and proceed as planned."

   The other three pilots acknowledged, closing around him. Four
Excalibur fighters, to attack the Imperial homeworld. It still seemed like
sheer madness. But this time it was truly mankind's last chance for
victory.

   "Lancelot Flight, Lancelot Flight, this is Round Table," Eisen's voice
crackled over the eomm channel. "Good luck to you all… and Godspeed."

   Blair didn't reply. Instead he checked his power levels, then spoke to the
other pilots. "Go to cloaks… now!" he ordered, switching on his own
cloaking system. There was no apparent effect, other than the sudden
increase in the fighter's power drain. Weapons and shields were useless
while the shroud concealed the craft, but detection would be nearly
impossible. Already the other Excaliburs had vanished. He was all alone in
an endless night.

  He checked the range to the jump point, and asked the computer for an
ETA. Ten minutes…

   The timing of this phase of the operation was critical. The Confed's
battle fleet had jumped into the Hyperion System from nearby Freya,
challenging the local Kilrathi garrison forces with a series of strike attacks
by fighters and capital ships. Victory had remained in reserve throughout
nearly a week of combat ops, keeping to the fringes of the action. The
Kilrathi were given every opportunity to commit their forces to the
system, and they'd pumped in enough ships to put the Terran fleet at a
serious disadvantage. It was all a part of the plan, to encourage the cats to
thin out their home defenses and divert attention away from Kilrah. But it
had been a costly fight already, and it was likely to get worse.

  Today the admiral commanding the fleet had passed the word to
General Taggart aboard Victory. There was no guarantee that the fleet
could maintain the fight for more than a few more hours. Then they would
have to break off, or go down fighting. Paladin had given the orders. The
attack was on at last.

   The carrier edged toward the jump point, seemingly to reinforce the
Terran battlegroup built around the Hermes and the Invincible which had
been heavily engaged in the area for several hours. According to
intelligence reports, the Kilrathi were unaware of the Terran survey work
done around Hyperion, and thus thought the Confederation knew nothing
of the Kilrah jump point. But they had to be careful to keep from tipping
their hands too soon.

   As it was, they nearly ran into trouble when a Kilrathi destroyer escort
left the enemy fleet on course for the jump point, but Eisen turned the
situation to their advantage by pretending to pursue the enemy ship. That
ship had passed through the jump point less than half an hour ago, and
that transjump became the main reason for Blair's present preoccupation
with the ticking countdown clock.

   If the escort withdrew to Kilrah to summon additional reinforcements,
the Terrans had to hope nothing else was waiting close to the jump point
on the other side. Otherwise they might be blundering into trouble before
the mission was even fairly under way.

  He checked the ETA again. Three minutes…

Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Kilrah System

  "Message from the escort Ghordax, Lord Prince. From the fleet at
Hyperion."

  Thrakhath allowed his throne to swivel past the viewscreen he was
contemplating so he could look down on Melek. "What is their report?"

  "The battle proceeds well, Lord Prince," Melek said, bowing. "The
Terrans cannot last long."

  "So there is no further need for reinforcements, then?"

  "No, Lord Prince. None."

  "Good," Thrakhath said. "I do not wish to further disrupt our buildup.
Is there any word from the Logistics Masters on the timetable for
launching the Grand Fleet?"

   "Six eights of hours, Lord Prince. The bombardment missiles will be
fully loaded by then, and the fleet can break orbit any time after that."

   "Excellent. Then we will soon be on our way to the Terran homeworld.
This time they shall not turn us back." Thrakhath turned his throne again,
gesturing to the screen. It showed a view of Kilrah's orbital yards, with
capital ships grouped around orbital depots and swarms of smaller craft
moving among them, preparing the Grand Fleet for the last great
campaign. "Victory, Melek," the prince continued. "It smells sweet, does it
not?"

  "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek replied dutifully.

   "Still, there is one thing missing," Thrakhath went on, almost to
himself. "I can only hope for one last chance to meet the Heart of the Tiger
in battle. It will make our triumph all the more complete…"

   Thrakhath continued to study the viewscreen, the light of victory in his
eyes.

Excalibur 3OO
Kilrah System

   Jumpshock made Blair sluggish, but he forcing his body to obey his
will, he switched power from the transjump drive to the cloaking device.
Powering up his engines, he steered the fighter out of the jump point,
setting course inward, toward the Kilrathi homeworld.

   On his sensor screen, another blip flickered into existence astern, then
faded a few moments later. That was Vagabond, acting as wingman on the
mission. Maniac and Flint followed in succession, apparently without
being noticed. There were no Kilrathi ships in the immediate area, though
the escort they had trailed in the Hyperion System was at the very edge of
detection range, also on course toward Kilrah. Hopefully, if they spotted
anything suspicious at all they wouldn't be able to react until the cloaked
Terran ships were well clear of the area.

  Blair's comm monitor came alive with an image of Paladin. The old
warrior had warned him that the computers aboard all four fighters would
trigger periodic briefings as they headed in toward their goal. This tape,
for Blair, had been personalized. Taggart smiled out at him. "Laddie, we've
covered this ground backwards and forwards waiting for the mission to
launch, but I'll give you the straight dope one more time now. Since you're
seeing this, you've made the jump successfully, and you're in the Kilrathi
System now." The screen changed to show a chart of the Kilrah star
system, with navpoints glowing brightly. "Your first job, now that you're
through, is tae bring your fighters in tae the first asteroid depot. There
you'll find a stock of fuel, spares, and missiles, everything you'll need tae
carry you all the way in tae the outer moon of Kilrah." The first depot
faded, and another, more distant asteroid was indicated. "Should ye find
the first position compromised, laddie, there is a second choice. But
remember, if ye canna keep one depot in reserve, there'll nae be enough
fuel in your birds tae get you through the jump point after the mission's
done. The second depot is supposed to be for the trip back… but I ken well
you'll do what ye have tae if the mission depends upon it."

  Paladin's face appeared on the screen again. "Good luck, laddie. You'll
need it."

  The screen went blank.

   Blair set his course for the nearer depot, knowing that the others would
be doing the same. They were maintaining absolute comm silence, hoping
to avoid any detection by the Kilrathi. Surprise was their only hope…
surprise, sheer flying skill, and pure, unadulterated good luck.

  He hoped it would be enough.

Excalibur 3O2
Kilrah System

   A warning alarm beeped for attention, and Lieutenant Winston Chang
checked his sensor board. There was something ahead, a powered target
that glowed amber on his screen as the computer tried to identify it as
friend or foe. A moment later, it changed to a reddish orange. An enemy,
then… no, two enemies, a pair of Darket fighters, evidently making a
routine patrol sweep.

  Vagabond muttered an old Chinese curse under his breath and cut
power to his engines. The two Darket were dead ahead, and only a few
hundred kilometers beyond lay the large asteroid where the first depot
was established. In order to reach their destination, transmitters aboard
the Excaliburs were programmed to send out short-burst signals to
activate the locator transponders in the depot. As long as those two Darket
were in the neighborhood, the Terrans were stuck. The depot might as
well be around Sirius.

  Meanwhile, there was another danger. If the Kilrathi got too close, they
would spot the Terran ships, cloaked or not.

   The two light fighters were making a slow, graceful turn. Vagabond
warily watched them, alert for any signs of their detecting the location of
one of the Terran fighters. He wondered about the others. Their original
tight formation had become tenuous en route to the asteroid, and he was
no longer sure where any of his comrades might be.

   The Darket were going to pass close to him… too close. Vagabond
engaged his engines again and started to bank away, but it was too late.
Suddenly the two Kilrathi ships were picking up speed, swinging around,
pointed directly at him. Cloaked, he had no shields. A few shots would be
enough to knock him out.

   He cut the cloak, shunting power to the weapons and shield generators
and cutting back on his own course with a sharp pull on the steering yoke.
Maybe if he disposed of these two fast enough there would be no time for
them to summon help.

   One of the Darket opened fire just as the green light on his shield status
display appeared. Blasters pounded at the shields, but to little effect. He
returned fire with blasters and a pair of heat-seekers, closing the range
fast. The Darket's shields crumbled beneath the heavy pounding, and a
moment later his beams bored through armor and set off the missiles
slung under the Kilrathi crafts wings. He was close enough now to actually
be caught in the fireball, and the energy release and spinning debris
overloaded his own shielding.

   In that moment, the second Darket engaged He didn't have to look at
the damage control panel to know that he was losing armor around his
reactor. Desperately, Vagabond tried to dodge, but the controls were
sluggish.

  He broke comm silence. "I can't shake him! I'm going up." And just
before the Darket fired again, he managed to add a final plea. "Don't give
up, Colonel. You've got to take them down… for all of us who didn't make
it!"

   He slammed the switch to trigger his ejection system, praying he wasn't
already too late.

Excmlibur 3OO
Kilrah System

   Blair saw Vagabonds Excalibur go up in flames of fury. He let out a cry
of rage and grief. The Chinese pilot's last words echoed in his mind, and
he made a grim, silent vow that Changs last effort wouldn't be in vain.

   Then Maniac's fighter appeared on his sensors, swooping in from
beyond the expanding fireball. Blair spotted the Excalibur a moment later
as Maniac opened fire, battering through the Darket's shields. The fighter
exploded.

  His satisfaction was short-lived, though. Flint broke comm silence a
moment later. "We've got trouble, boys," she said. "Heading our way."

   Two more Darket appeared from beyond the bulk of the asteroid,
moving slowly but gathering speed as they came. Blair's comm monitor
picked up a transmission from one of them. They were summoning help.

  "Lancelot Flight, break off action," he ordered sharply. "Recloak and
head for the backup rendezvous."

   It galled him to run, but they didn't have much choice. Though the
Excaliburs could deal with these two fighters easily enough, they couldn't
count on being able to refuel and rearm at this depot before a swarm of
additional Kilrathi ships turned up. A thorough search of the asteroid
would turn up the depot, and if they were caught inside the result would
be disastrous.

   He hit his afterburners and punched in the new course. Paladin's
warning ran through his mind. With this depot compromised and the
secondary one depleted, the Terrans were on a one-way trip to Kilrah.

  If they made it that far.
Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Kilrah System

   The Audience Hall was empty except for the Crown Prince, brooding on
his throne. Melek hastened to the foot of the dais, bowing low. Thrakhath
raised his head at the retainers approach.

  "I left orders that I was not to be disturbed," the Prince rumbled.

   "An urgent message, Lord Prince," Melek told him. "One of our patrols
reported engaging Terran fighters. Here in our own system… and they
escaped using cloak technology."

   "Ape ships… here?" Thrakhath straightened, eyes flashing with anger.
"Cloaked… spies, seeking word of our fleet, then."

   "We cannot say, Lord Prince," Melek said. "But… we intercepted one
exchange of messages between them. And our computers have identified
the voice of the apparent leader." He paused. "It was… the one named
Blair. The Heart of the Tiger."

    "Him…" Thrakhath stood slowly, drawing himself to his full height.
"That one would not come on a mere spy mission. Could it be… could the
Terrans be planning a strike? Perhaps they plan to attack our fleet while it
is still taking on armaments… to break up our attack before we can leave
orbit."

  "It is possible, Lord Prince. But we cannot be sure." Melek hesitated.
"The cruiser Kheerakh discovered a hidden supply cache in an asteroid
near where the encounter took place… but I fear the fools destroyed it by
bombardment rather than investigating."

  "I trust Kheerakh has a new captain now?"

  "Yes, Lord Prince. One who is… less impulsive."

   "We must look to our defenses, Melek. I do not believe the Terrans can
mount a serious threat, but even a few shipkiller missiles released into the
fleet while it is bunched up would be an… annoying setback. Order fighter
patrols around the orbital yards doubled." Thrakhath paused. "And have
my personal ship and squadron readied to launch on short notice. If the
Heart of the Tiger has come, I mean to take him myself."
   Melek bowed again. "As you order, Lord Prince." He backed away,
leaving Thrakhath alone in the empty hall.

  It seemed the apes were far more resilient than the Emperor's grandson
had ever realized. Melek wondered what other surprises the Terrans might
have in store.

Covert Ops Depot #3
Kilrah System

   They had come farther than Blair ever dared to hope they would. The
three Excaliburs located the backup depot and set down long enough to
refuel and replace the missiles Maniac used to destroy the Darket that
took out Vagabond. From there, they pushed into the Kilrah System, all
the way to the outer moon of the Kilrathi homework! itself, and the last
Terran depot.

   Like the first station, this depot was a crude chamber carved out of
solid rock with mining lasers. A force field curtain allowed the interior to
be pressurized, so Blair and his two pilots worked unencumbered by bulky
pressure gear. But the facilities were primitive, and the work was difficult
enough even so. The near-weightless conditions didn't help matters much,
either. Though the equipment had virtually no weight, it retained its full
mass, and none of the three were accustomed to working under such
conditions. Care and caution were required at a time when every instinct
cried out for them to hurry, to finish the job and get back into space as
quickly as possible. It made for frayed nerves.

   Nonetheless, they did the work, exchanging the missiles slung under
Blairs Excalibur for one of the two massive Temblor Bombs stowed in the
depot He decided against loading the second one onto a different fighter.
Originally, he hoped to have two fighters fitted with bombs, each with a
fully-armed escort, but Vagabonds death changed his plans. A fighter
without missiles wasn't worth much in a dogfight, and one escort couldn't
hope to cover two bombers at once. If this run failed—and anyone survived
to return to the depot—they could try again later, perhaps. But for now
Blair figured two fighters flying cover gave him that much more of a
chance to make the bombing run successful.

   With the bomb loaded, they topped off their fuel tanks and ran a final
test of their on-board systems.
   "Do you really think this is going to work?" Flint asked as they were
finishing. "Or are we just going through the motions?"

   "It'll work," Blair said. "We have to make it work." He was still thinking
about Vagabond's last transmission. So many people died to get them
here, starting with Angel. Blair was determined to make their sacrifices
count.

   "I'd be a damned sight happier if Vagabond was still with us," Marshall
said. "He wasn't very flashy in the cockpit, but he was steady. And we'll be
missing him soon enough, I bet."

   "I already miss him," Blair growled. "And not just because he was a
good wingman." He caught sight of the sheepish look on Maniacs face.
"Look… we'll all miss him, the way we miss every single one of the others
who bought it. I read somewhere that the darkest times are supposed to
bring out the best in people." Blair looked away. "I don't know about that.
All I do know is this: we've got to finish the job. Because if we don't, there's
nobody else to pick up and carry on after us. So… give me everything
you've got. That's all I can ask."

  He turned away and shoved a chip cartridge into the portable
computer they used for their tests. The oversized monitor screen came on,
and Paladin looked down at the three with a serious expression.

   "This is the final briefing, laddie," Taggart's recorded image told them.
"By now you've finished loading the T-Bomb, and you're ready for the final
phase of the mission. I pray to God you can carry it out. If you canna do it,
I dinna ken who can."

   Paladin was replaced by a satellite photo showing part of the surface of
Kilrah, a long, jagged canyon in the middle of rocky desert land. "You are
looking at your target, a deep natural canyon that goes down nearly a
mile. It was formed by one of the most active fault lines on the planet." A
computer-generated map replaced the photo image. "If our calculations
are correct, this point, here, near the northern end of the canyon, is
critical. Three faults come together at this one point, and if the Temblor
Bomb is detonated there it should set up a chain reaction of quakes that
will devastate Kilrah."

   Taggart appeared again. "Lay it in there sweet and easy, laddie. The
exact coordinates are already preprogrammed in your flight computers.
To make the run, though, you'll have to descend into the atmosphere, into
the canyon itself, and drop the bomb on the target. Because you'll need
your shields to handle a high-speed atmospheric insertion, you'll have tae
go in the last stretch without your cloaks. It'll be dangerous… but if you
move fast and hit hard, you'll have a chance."

   The general paused, and Blair had the feeling his old eyes were looking
right out of the screen at him. "Its almost over, laddie. You and your
people are the best for the job, and I know you'll do Terra proud. You'll be
in my prayers, all of you. Good luck."

   The screen went blank, and Blair turned back to the others. "All right,
time to saddle up. We've got a message to deliver to the Emperor, and the
clock is ticking."

Excalibur 3OO
Kilrah System

   Kilrah was a dirty orange-brown sphere that filled his field of vision,
swelling visibly as the Terran fighters pressed forward at full thrust. Blair
ran his eyes over his instrument board, checking over all systems one more
time and praying nothing would go wrong now that the final attack was so
near.

   His hull temperature gauges were just beginning to register the friction
of the tenuous upper atmosphere. Soon he would have to switch to shields
or drastically cut his rate of descent. Blair waited until the cockpit was
noticeably hot, until the outer hull was beginning to glow faintly, before he
finally cut the cloak and activated the shield generators.

   Screaming through the thickening atmosphere under the dull light of
Kilrah's red-orange sun, three Terran fighters plummeted downward
toward a final rendezvous with death.


                        CHAPTER XXX
Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Kilrah System

  "Lord Prince, the ground-based defenses have picke up three intruders.
Terran fighters matching the description of those engaged yesterday."

   Thrakhath rose from his throne and stepped down from the dais. "The
ground defenses?" he demanded. "Is every one of my ship captains blind,
then?"

   "No, Lord Prince," Melek said, voice quavering a little. "But the
Terrans… are entering the atmosphere. They came out of cloak almost
directly below our present orbit, descending at high speed."

   "Scramble all available interceptors, Melek," Thrakhath commanded,
starting toward the door. "Including my own squadron. We will show
them they cannot defile the Homeworld with impunity!"

Excalibur 3OO
Kilrah

   "Eighty kilometers up… two hundred ten kilometers to target," Blair
said over the comm channel. There was no need for comm silence now.
The Kilrathi had surely detected the Terran fighters. "Maniac, you take
point. Open me a path. And you watch my tail, Flint. They're going to
throw everything they can our way."

  "Affirmative," Flint replied.

   "You got it," Marshall chimed in a moment later. His fighter swept past
Blair's to take the lead.

   He was hardly in position before the first targets appeared ahead. "We
got bogies," Blair said. "They look like atmospheric craft—ground-based
interceptors."

   "Piece of cake," Maniac told him. The Excalibur's afterburners cut in,
and Marshall surged ahead, his blasters beginning to fire as he closed in
on the enemy aircraft.

   Conventional atmospheric fighters weren't as well-equipped as space
fighters, but they were fast and maneuverable in their own element.
Marshall's guns cut a swath through the leading fighters, but the others
rolled out and then swung inward from either flank, unleashing a massive
bombardment. Caught in a crossfire from four aircraft at once, Maniac
rolled left to concentrate on one threat. Blair banked sharply right and
opened fire on the remaining pair. His blasters raked across the nearer
target, which came apart under the savage force of the beams.

   The second fighter looped up, turning away from the battle and
accelerating fast. Evidently the pilot had decided against a glorious death
today…

   "There's more of the bastards up ahead, Colonel," Marshall reported as
he finished off his last opponent and swung back into formation. "Looks
like we're not welcome around here."

   "As long as they're just conventional aircraft, they shouldn't be much
trouble," Blair said. "Stay focused, though. You can bet they'll bring in the
big guns soon enough…"

   "Targets! Targets! Targets!" Flint chanted. "I've got six… eight targets
on my board. Coming in from orbit!"

   They weren't showing on Blair's sensors yet, so they were still at
extreme range. "Watch 'em, Flint," he ordered. A whole squadron of
space-based fighters would be a lot harder to handle than the aircraft
ahead, but they'd be hard-pressed to close the range as long as the Terrans
could keep moving.

   The second wave of interceptors closed in from below, eight
high-performance jet aircraft in a tight formation. They broke just as
Maniac opened fire, scattering, curving in on the Terrans and engaging
with missiles and beam weapons. Once again Maniac and Blair had to
engage them, and by the time the attackers had been destroyed or forced
to flee Blair realized what the enemy strategy was. Each time the Terrans
got caught in a dogfight, however short, the orbital fighters closed the
range a little more…

Excalibur 3O3
Kilrah

   A near miss by a missile buffeted her fighter, and lieutenant Robin
Peters had to fight her steering yoke to maintain control. It had been years
since she'd last had to fight a battle in a planetary atmosphere, where all
the rules were different from those she was used to in deep space fighting.
Shock waves carried… and shields were weakened by the energy they
absorbed from friction in high-speed maneuvers.

   "They're firing," Flint reported. "One Vaktoth… and a Bloodfang, both
of them in combat range. More Vaktoth coming up fast behind them."

  "Bloodfang… Thrakhath's personal fighter." Blair's voice was grim. "
Damn it all!"

   She nodded. Intelligence reports on the Prince's personal fighter,
code-named Bloodfang by the Confederation, suggested it would be one
hell of a tough opponent. "Don't know if I can take the bastard, skipper,"
she said. "You have any bright ideas?"

  "Go to afterburners," Blair ordered. "Let's see if we can outrun them."

   She kicked in the extra power, but the Vaktoth matched her…
continued closing the range. Another missile detonated, even closer this
time. "No joy, skipper," she said. "Looks like there's going to be a fight…"

    Kilrathi blaster fire probed at her rear shields, sapping the power levels
with each hit. Cursing, she pulled up in a sharp loop and opened fire on
one of her two pursuers with blasters and a spread of four missiles. The
two fighters were having as much trouble fighting in atmosphere as she
was, and the weakened forward shields of her target went down under the
fury of her attack. The Vaktoth exploded in a shower of debris, and Flint
let out a whoop of triumph.

  It died on her lips as the Bloodfang opened fire. She tried to roll out,
but blasters pounded at her shields. They were going down… and a pair of
heat seekers were already on the way.

  "He's got me, skipper!" she called. "Can't… evade. Don't forget… I could
have loved—"

  She didn't live to finish the sentence.

Excalibur 3OO
Kilrah

  "Flint!" Blair shouted, but it was too late. The rearmost Excalibur went
up in a dazzling fireball, and Robin Peters was gone.
  A new voice crackled in his headphones. "So it shall be with you as
well, Heart of the Tiger." He recognized the harsh, sibilant voice.
Thrakhath… "You are foolhardy, to venture with so few against my
Homeworld. Once before you lacked the courage to fight me. This time,
you shall not escape. Welcome, Heart of the Tiger, to Kilrah… and to
your death!"

  "The canyon's in sight ahead, Colonel," Marshall reported. "I'll drop
back and have the next dance. You get in there and do your stuff!"

   Blair hesitated. Thrakhath had challenged him once again… and he
couldn't stand and fight. It took every bit of his self-control to grit his
teeth and acknowledge Marshall's call.

  Maniac executed a tight Immelman loop, swinging up and around to
head back toward the on-coming Kilrathi fighters. Thrakhath's Bloodfang
was still well in the lead, but there were two others closing fast.

  Blair saw the canyon ahead, a long, jagged scar on the surface of Kilrah.
His target was there, at the far end of the deep trench…

  "Watch your tail, Colonel!" Maniac called suddenly. "Don't know if I
can cover you!"

   His sensor board told the story. Thrakhath had ignored Maniac's
Excalibur entirely, refusing to be drawn into a dogfight. Instead he had
plunged past Marshall, and the two trailing Vaktoth were all over the
Terran pilot now. Blair cursed aloud. Maniac couldn't last long against
two heavy fighters…

   And his underarmed Excalibur was no match for Thrakhath's
Bloodfang.

   He swung sharply left, away from the canyon, as the Kilrathi prince
opened fire. The blaster shots went wide, but the Bloodfang followed his
turn, still clinging stubbornly to his tail. All the advantages lay with
Thrakhath now.

   Blair was only dimly aware of the explosion higher up and off to his
right. His monitor told him it was one of the Vaktoth facing Maniac.
Somehow Marshall had managed to savage one of his foes, but the other
was still pressing hard. For the moment Blair couldn't afford to think
about him, though. He cut in full afterburners and tried to climb up and
out of range of Thrakhath's fighter. A Kilrathi missile exploded against his
rear shields, sending the power levels fluctuating wildly.

  And still Thrakhath held on behind him.

   "Heads up, Colonel! Incoming!" Maniac's call was loud and almost
exultant. Marshall had swung away from his second opponent and was
diving down on Thrakhath, heedless of the Vaktoth behind him slashing at
his shields with bolt after bolt of raw energy.

   Marshall released two missiles, then two more, holding steady on his
target and refusing to be drawn off by the dire threat behind him.

   "Shields are failing," he said as he released the missiles, his voice
almost matter of fact now. "Looks like you're on your own now, Colonel.
For what it's worth, I'm proud I flew with you …"

   And then his fighter was gone, too, an expanding cloud of flame and
smoke and whirling debris. Blair thought he caught a glimpse of the
Excalibur's escape pod boosting clear of the explosion, straining to reach
orbital velocity, but he wasn't sure. And even if Maniac had somehow
managed to survive that blast, he wouldn't be playing any further part in
this battle.

  Blair was alone.

   He threw the Excalibur into a tight turn to port and opened fire with
his blasters just as Marshall's first two missiles detonated against
Thrakhath's shields. The Bloodfang passed close beside Blair's craft, and
he maintained his tight turn to stay lined up on the Kilrathi fighter. The
other missiles struck the Prince's rear shields, and Blair squeezed the
trigger again. Beams tore through the weakened shields, chopping
through armor.

   "Curse you, ape!" Thrakhath snarled. "You have won today, Heart of
the Tiger. But it will not bring back your mate… and it will not save your
kind from the vengeance of the Empire. This I swear!"

  Explosions tore through the Bloodfang, and it seemed to stagger in
mid-air before plunging downward. Blair watched as Thrakhath fought to
maintain control, saw the nose just start to come up as the Prince
managed one last masterful maneuver. But it was too late. The Bloodfang
ploughed into the red-lit desert floor, erupting in fire and thunder.

   There were still several fighters above Blair, but they seemed stunned
by the loss of their leader. He turned his fighter back toward the canyon
and opened up his throttles. Perhaps there was just time to start his run
before the Kilrathi recovered…

   He dropped down into the steep-sided, twisting gorge. It took all his
skill to weave through that narrow gash in the desert. His HUD reeled off
the range to the preprogrammed drop coordinates, and Blair's thumb
grew tense hovering over the switch that would release the Temblor Bomb
from the belly of his fighter.

    A part of him recoiled from what he had to do. The destruction of an
entire planet, warriors and civilians alike. Once he would never even have
considered making this desperate gambler's last throw. What had led to
this moment, then? Was it just a thirst for vengeance? Thrakhath's death
had left him feeling curiously empty of feeling, as if all his hate after
Angels death had been for nothing. It had been the same with Hobbes. In
the end, revenge was a sterile thing. He could slaughter every Kilrathi,
here and in the farthest reaches of the Empire, and the killing would never
change the facts. Angel and Cobra and Vaquero and all the others would
still be dead, and his life would still be empty.

    He felt as if they were all there in his mind. Vagabond… Flint… even
Maniac, who in the end had risen above their long rivalry and given his
life so that Blair could finish the mission. But in the long run, he knew it
was wrong to use that bomb in the name of those who had died.

   His range indicator continued to count down…

   Blair thought of the ones who hadn't died. Paladin and Eisen, Admiral
Tolwyn and his nephew. Rachel Coriolis, who had accepted the fact that he
might never come back and still dared to love him. They were the ones
who counted. And if the War went on, they would ultimately pay the same
price as all the ones who had gone before. He pictured Victory broken and
shattered as he had last seen Concordia, imagined plagues spreading
across Terra as they had spread on Locanda Four. It was war to the knife
with the Kilrathi.

   Kill or be killed. Not for revenge. Not for hate. But for simple survival of
the human species.

  He gritted his teeth and watched the range tick down. The target was
coming up fast It was now or never…

   His thumb stabbed down on the release, and as the bomb dropped
away he jerked hard back on the steering yoke and cut in his afterburners.
The Excalibur climbed fast, the atmosphere screaming past as the fighter
accelerated. A Vaktoth had followed him into the canyon and opened fire
as Blair pulled up, the Kilrathi pilot followed, but at that moment the
Temblor Bomb went off, and the shock wave threw the Imperial craft
against the side of the narrow trench. The fireball was lost in the greater
blast of the bomb.

   He had to wrestle with his own controls as the blast battered at his
Excalibur. The rear shields failed, and Blair thought he could feel the
impact of bits of debris against the tail section of the fighter. He had no
way of telling how much damage he took, but the controls were feeling
heavy and sluggish under his hands as he continued his steep climb,
clawing for the safety of open space.

  Behind and below him, the force of the Temblor Bomb triggered a
quake in one of the major fault lines. The effects spread, and spread again,
until the entire canyon was trembling with the force of a seismic event of
unparalleled ferocity.

   Blair didn't see the effects of the bomb. It took time for the first quakes
to trigger subsidiary effects, radiating outward through all the
interconnected fault lines. The Excalibur had already reached orbit by the
time the quakes became planet-wide, collapsing Kilrathi-made buildings
and structures within the major quake zones. The Imperial Palace was one
of the first to suffer, as the entire massive edifice caved in on itself,
crushing the Emperor and his court before they had a chance to react to
the violence consuming their world.

   The ground was heaving even in regions far from the fault lines now, as
the pent-up energy of the entire worlds tectonic stresses was all released at
once. Dust clouds rose into the atmosphere, huge rents opened up in the
crust of the planet. As Blair finally cut his engines and looked down at the
planet, it was to see Kilrah disfigured by angry orange gashes spreading
across the face of the globe. The Kilrathi homeworld was coming apart
before his eyes…
   And then it happened. Overcome by the awful forces set free by the
Temblor Bomb, the planets core exploded, hurtling huge chunks of the
mantle and crust outward. Vast planetoids tore through the orbital yards,
smashing the assembled might of the Kilrathi Grand Fleet. Only a few
ships, those under power and able to maneuver, escaped the death of the
Homeworld.

   Blair managed to steer clear of the largest of the debris, but his
Excalibur was battered by smaller fragments. As Kilrah came apart,
spreading out into a cloud of drifting asteroids, the fighter's engines
finally failed. He was drifting free now… trapped in the doomed system.

   Christopher Blair sagged back in his acceleration couch, closing his
eyes. He was exhausted, drained of anger and fear and hope alike. He
knew he would die here, along with the planet and the empire his bomb
had brought down.

   Barely conscious, Blair didn't see the Kilrathi carrier that edged
through the whirling debris toward his drifting fighter. Tractor beams
lanced out to seize the Excalibur and pull it down toward the flight deck.
He realized, too late, that his death would not be as quick and easy as he
had hoped. He would, after all, face the enemy one more time.

Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann
Kilrah System

   Kilrathi guards in the elaborate harness of the Imperial Guard hauled
Blair from the cockpit of his battered Excalibur and used gunbutts and
nerve prods to herd him through a maze of dim-lit corridors. Still barely
recovered from the beating his ship had taken, staggering with
exhaustion, Blair still tried to force himself to remain stiffly upright. He
remembered the last images of Angel, the pride she'd conveyed even after
torture and imprisonment. The least he could do was to emulate her now.

   They brought him into the open expanse of the audience chamber,
shoving him forward until he stood before the raised dais that dominated
one end. A stocky, massive Kilrathi figure stood beside the throne,
regarding him with dark, hooded eyes that gave away nothing.

   He was vaguely aware of other Kilrathi warriors in the hall, hidden in
the shadows, hissing their hatred, but his full attention was focused on
this one dominating figure.

  "The Heart of the Tiger," the Kilrathi said in heavily-accented English,
sounding like a judge about to deliver a verdict "I am Melek. Prince
Thrakhath was my master."

   Blair remained silent, staring into those dark pools that were Melek's
eyes.

   "In my bones, I wish to kill you…" Melek let the words hang in the
chamber. From the shadows, there was muttered agreement, sibilant
curses.

  "Do it, then," Blair said. "Get it over with. It won't bring back your
world."

   "And what is the Race without the Homeworld?" Melek asked.
"Nothing… dust in the wind." He paused. "You have defeated us, Heart of
the Tiger. Brought down the Empire with one blow. Thrakhath was a fool
to discount what you Terrans could achieve, but he and his accursed
grandfather have both paid the price for that folly."

   Blair squinted up at him, a faint hope stirring within. He hardly dared
fan it, for fear it would be false.

   "But you Terrans have committed your own folly, this day," Melek went
on. "For now the Empire will fall… and the enemies who harassed our
outer marches will now have nothing to stand between them and your
Confederation. They have a power that even Thrakhath was wary of. Do
you Terrans, who barely held against us, have the strength to face them
when they come?"

  Blair found his voice again. "If we're attacked, we'll fight back," he said.
"As we did with you."

   Melek stepped down from the dais, his face only inches from Blair's.
"With the Homeworld gone and the Emperor dead, the rest of the Empire
will fall apart. There will be civil war, factions fighting for power, subject
races throwing off our rule. Chaos. And enemies waiting to exploit our
weakness…" He lowered his voice, until Blair had to strain to hear the
words. "Perhaps the only hope for either of our races is to face the future
together. The Kilrathi Race has become too corrupt, slaves to bloodlust
and the evils brought by too much power. We have paid a heavy price…"

   He stepped back and raised his voice again. "Killing the Heart of the
Tiger, the one warrior great enough to humble the Empire, will bring me
no honor." Melek looked at Blair for a long moment, as if struggling for the
will to go on. "Your claws are at our throats. Would your people accept
our… surrender? The Race cannot be allowed to die, even it means placing
our fate in the hands of our enemies."

   Blair nodded slowly. "Peace is what we both need now. If you can end
this war, I think you'll find we won't demand more than you're willing to
give." He paused. "And maybe one day, when the War is over and the hate
is past, you and I will be able to meet… as friends."

   "Friends…" Melek seemed to ponder the idea. "Perhaps it is possible.
Will you carry our offer to your superiors? To help us put an end to the
fighting?"

   Blair nodded, the effort almost more than he could manage. As the fear
and the adrenaline both ebbed away, he could feel the fatigue sapping his
strength. "I'll do it," he said. "We'll do it…"

  Then blackness took him. He never felt himself hit the smooth,
unyielding deck below him.


                           EPILOGUE
Shuttle Cludad de Buenos Aires
Terra System

   "Our top story is the historic news from the Torgo System, where
delegates from the Kilrathi Empire signed a peace treaty to put an end to
the war…"

   On the newspad monitor screen, the view showed the interior of the
huge auditorium at Sector HQ. There was a large audience, mostly
uniformed members of the Confed Armed Forces, gathered around a
raised stage beneath the transparent dome. The ceremony took place at
night, and a thousand stars blazed brightly above the delegates.

  Blair noted Paladin prominently seated among the Terran
representatives, and near him was Admiral Tolwyn. The court of inquiry
found the admiral blameless in the loss of the Behemoth, and he had
returned to active service just in time to be a part of the protracted
negotiations. Blair thought it was fitting, somehow, that Tolwyn played a
role in the final triumph. Though he never agreed with the man's style or
motivations, Admiral Geoff Tolwyn was a central figure in the
Confederation resistance throughout the war, and it was only right that he
should see it through to the very end. His nephew, Kevin, was also among
the host of aides and assistants, and Eisens dark, craggy features were
visible at the table as well. Among the Kilrathi, the only one Blair
recognized was Melek, but the ornamentation of the other Imperial
delegates made it plain that they represented a cross-section of important
surviving nobles and military leaders.

   Barbara Miles continued her voice-over report. "Following the
incredible raid which led to the destruction of the Imperial homeworld,
Kilrah, the Kilrathi decision to sue for peace was greeted with excited
celebrations throughout human space. After months of peace talks
deliberating a final settlement, the initial cease-fire was finally converted
to a lasting peace through the Kilrathi acceptance of the Treaty of Torgo."

   The view switched back to a head-and-shoulder shot of Barbara Miles.
"TNC attempted to contact the pilot who carried out the Kilrah raid for
his reaction to the peace treaty, but Colonel Christopher Blair was
unavailable for comment. We will have further details on the signing of
the peace treaty later in this Infoburst…"

  Blair switched off the newspad and glanced out the port beside him.
The shuttle began its descent now, crossing the terminator just as the
dawning sun lit below the curved blue and white arc of the planet.

  Earth…

   He had dedicated his entire adult life to defending her, and now the
long battle was over. And despite Melek's fears of another alien empire
beyond the Kilrathi sphere threatening future wars, Blair knew his own
days as a warrior were over. After a well-deserved period of leave, he was
slated to go on the inactive list so that he could begin a new career,
serving with the diplomatic staff that would soon begin work turning the
abstract peace treaty with the Empire into solid, working reality.
Henceforth Christopher Blair would be a warrior in the cause of peace,
fighting a new kind of battle to ensure that all of his fallen
comrades—Angel and Flint, Vaquero and Hunter and Iceman, Cobra and
Flash and all the rest, even Hobbes—had not died in vain.

  It was a daunting challenge, but Blair would not be facing it alone.

   She hurried down the aisle as the seatbelt warnings flashed on the
forward bulkhead. Blair met her eyes, and they shared a smile.

   "What would you like to do first, after we're down?" he asked, strapping
her in.

   Rachel Coriolis took his hand in hers. "I'd like to take a long walk along
the seashore," she said, "with wet sand between my toes… and no
bulkheads or metal decks or spare parts in sight."

   "Sounds good to me," Blair told her, settling into his seat and closing
his eyes. The others were all still there, in his mind, but no longer
demanding or clamoring. They—and he—had finally discovered peace.