d 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 þ "
     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. And 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  work
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  Flint's, 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 kiss 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 other's 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  óconsolidation'  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 þ
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. "Its 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 homeworld
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 þ 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
innerworlds or Earth þ 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.  "Its 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, store rooms 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  Blair's 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 the 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 óput 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 by way 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  shortrange  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 óem
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 pilot's 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 óem."
     "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 óem, 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  Chang's
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. óWell,
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 þ
Flint's  voice  þ  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
Officer's 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 óem,  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 or  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 300 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 Blair's 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 hiding's  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 300 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 óem  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."
     "Let's  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 óJump Stations,'
if you þ "
     "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 dose 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 300 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 þ "
     "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 Delius jump 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 out fox 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 óem 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 Irrkham has them
at the very  edge  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  Galiban 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  homeworld, 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 þ 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, and 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 Delius 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 300 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 Blair's 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 óem," 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 þ  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
destroyers  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 moments  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 think," 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 óthe 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  cou