ld have used you out there yesterday. Next  time we'll need  you even
more. You're back on the roster, effective immediately, Flint."
     "Thank you, sir. . ."
     He held up a hand. "But  if you screw up again  . . . heaven help  you.
Because I won t."
     "Understood, Colonel." She stood up. "This time you won't regret it."

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Delius System

     A jagged, irregular chunk  of rock eighteen kilometers across dominated
the  view  from  the  rec room. A  few moving  lights marked  the passage of
shuttles and service pods back  and forth between carrier  and  asteroid. In
the three hours since Victory matched orbits with Delius Station, a thorough
inspection  of  the  ship's  hull and  external fittings  had  already  been
completed,  and  the captain had authorized liberty for the off-duty  watch.
There  weren't as  many takers as  might  be expected  þ Delius Station  was
reputed to be one of the most boring stopovers in the sector þ but there was
a definite  easing of tensions on board at the  realization that they really
were back in friendly territory at last.
     Blair  sat  alone at  a  table, sipping his  scotch  and gazing at  the
planetoid and the star field beyond. In one corner of the room, Vaquero  was
softly strumming his old guitar, a quiet,  mournful sound.  Lieutenant Lopez
had been certified fit for flight duty by the ship's Medical Officer the day
before, and Blair restored him to the roster. But he still wondered if Lopez
was fully  recovered from the battering  he  had taken in the first clash in
the nebula.
     He  heard Maniac Marshall call a greeting  as he entered the  rec room,
and half-turned in his chair to watch the major at the bar. Marshall was his
usual self, boisterous self-assured, wearing a  broad smile  as he  took his
drink from Rostov and waved an airy  greeting  to  Flint and Cobra, who were
sitting together at a nearby table.
     To Blair's  surprise, Maniac ambled  to  his table. "Colonel," he said,
giving him a nod.
     "Major," Blair replied. He waited a moment before going on.  "Something
I can do for you."
     Maniac grew visibly uncomfortable, all his cockiness disappearing as he
stammered a response. "Er . . . fact is, I wanted to tell you . . . I wanted
to say . . . Maverick, that was a damned impressive  show back at Ariel. The
way you  faked that first bunch out  of position . .  . and the way you kept
your cool  after  the  cats  pulled  their little  magic  trick." He  looked
embarrassed. "I know we don't always operate on the same frequency.  . . but
I thought I should give credit where it's due."
     Blair raised an  eyebrow.  "Well. .  ."  He wasn't sure how to respond.
Maniac Marshall had never before made such an overture. "Thanks for the vote
of confidence. It was touch and go there for a while, though."
     "Yeah,"  Marshall agreed.  "Tell me about it. When they made  that jump
point disappear . .  . God, I almost lost it. I  never thought I'd feel that
way, Maverick. Never.
     "You kept your  head pretty well, all  things  considered,"  Blair told
him. "We couldn't have nailed that destroyer without you and Flash."
     "We could  have taken her  out by ourselves, if  you and  Cobra had let
us,"  Maniac said with a trace of his old spirit. "But . . . yeah, it was  a
good score all the way  around." He  looked  out the  viewport and continued
with a sour note in his voice. "You think Chief Coriolis was right about the
Kilrathi using a cloak on the jump points, Maverick?"
     "That's the official verdict," Blair  said.  "The analysis the  captain
ordered  turned  up  sensor traces  consistent  with  the  use  of  cloaking
generators. That's the report he ordered dispatched to Sector HQ."
     "So  we only have to worry about them pulling something  like that in a
nebula, huh?" Marshall looked solemn. "I guess that's good news, at least."
     "It also means we won't be stuck, next time out," Blair said. "It might
take longer, but we could use a cloaked jump point providing  we already had
it thoroughly plotted on our charts."
     "Does that mean we're going back? To finish the mission?  Or  with this
weapon everybody's talking about?"
     "That'll be up to the brass," Blair told him. "But I doubt it. If we're
going to use an experimental  weapon under difficult conditions,  why borrow
even  more trouble? Of course,  I'm not an admiral.  Maybe they could find a
good reason, but it seems like a silly risk to me."
     "Hope you're  right,"  Maniac said.  He  studied  the  view outside  in
silence for a long moment. "Nebulas and asteroid belts . . . I'll be glad to
see the last  of  them. Give me  a stand-up fight, not all this dodging  and
ducking and worrying about what your sensors aren't showing you."
     "Look at the bright side, Maniac," Blair told him.
     "There's a bright side?"
     "Sure. The  bad guys  don't like flying through all this space junk any
more than we do."
     "Maybe not," Maniac said. "But they can take more risks out  there than
we can. After all, they've got nine lives."

     Flight Control, TCS Victory Delius System

        "NOW, GENERAL  QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS!
REPEAT, ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS!"
     Blair turned in his chair to face a monitor  and punched up an intercom
link to the bridge. "This is Blair. What's going down?"
     The  screen showed Rollins in the foreground, with the running  figures
of bridge crewmen hurrying to their posts visible behind him. From somewhere
out of the  picture the sensor officer  was talking.  "I'm  reading multiple
contacts,  Captain. Eight  . . .  no,  ten capital  ships. Four of  them are
carriers. Configuration. . . they're Kilrathi, sir. No doubt about it."
     Rollins  turned  to  look  into  the  camera.  "We've got a mountain of
trouble  out there, Colonel," he said "A whole  damned  cat task force  just
popped onto our scopes."
     The  image in the monitor broke up, replaced by Eisen's heavy, scowling
features.  "I'll take it,  Lieutenant," he said crisply.  "Colonel Blair, we
have four carriers  plus escorts incoming. No fighters  yet, but you can bet
they'll launch a flock of óem when they've closed the range."
     "That's pretty long odds,"  Blair said slowly.  "Delius Station doesn't
have much firepower."
     "Not enough to make  a difference," Eisen agreed. "We're breaking orbit
and heading for the nearest jump point. There's no sense in buying it here."
     "And our orders? The flight wing?"
     "Get ready for a  magnum launch, Colonel. Get your  birds ready. We may
need them to buy the ship enough time to reach the jump point." Eisen's look
was grim. "Another bug-out, Colonel. I'm sorry, but it looks like you'll  be
covering our tails one more time."
     "Understood, sir," Blair said.
     Eisen had already turned away  from the intercom, issuing orders to his
bridge crew. "Navigation! Plot course to the nearest jump point. Helm, break
orbit. Proceed at full thrust. Gunnery. . . be ready to clear a path  if the
debris field gets too thick . . ." The intercom went dead.
     Blair slapped the red switch that issued the magnum launch alert. A new
alarm  shrilled,  followed  by the  computer's public  address announcement.
"LAUNCH  STATIONS! LAUNCH STATIONS!  ALL  FLIGHT  WING  PERSONNEL TO  LAUNCH
STATIONS MAGNUM LAUNCH!"

     Flight Deck. TCS Victory Delius System

     Blair checked his instruments for what seemed  like the hundredth time,
knowing  that nothing had changed  yet  feeling compelled  to do  something.
Every one of Victory's fighters  was crewed and  ready, even a pair that the
technical staff had down  checked as  unreliable. Now they were waiting, and
that was an agony worse than any combat situation.
     The carrier had opened up  a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling
her way  through the  asteroid field with  weapons blazing to clear away any
chunk of rock big enough to pose a threat to the  ship. The Imperial vessels
were more cautious,  keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly after
Victory as if reluctant to commit themselves to  an attack. Perhaps they had
learned  to respect  the Terrans in  earlier clashes .  .  . or perhaps they
simply  regarded it as triumph  enough to drive  the ship away  from  Delius
Station, leaving the Terrans there  þ including  a  small  contingent of the
carrier's crew still  on liberty  þ completely  at the mercy of the Kilrathi
task force.
     Blair was  starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine
attack, but the threat remained. They  wouldn't be able to relax their guard
until they made the jump to Tamayo, if then.
     "Colonel,  sensors  are reporting a launch  in progress  from the  lead
Kilrathi carrier." Rollins  gave him a welcome distraction, however grim his
news might be.  "It's the flagship  . .  . Hvar'kann.  Looks like you'll  be
having a party after all.''
     "Acknowledged,"  Blair  said. "Flight wing, from  Blair.  Begin  launch
sequence on my mark."
     At that  moment his comm panel went  crazy. The visual display broke up
in a  kaleidoscope of  patterns and colors,  and the speakers in  his helmet
squealed and  whined. It took several seconds for the  noise to fade and the
screen  to come back on-line. Blair  stared at  the  monitor, as if it might
give him some clue to what had just happened.
     A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many
times before.
     Thrakhath.
     The image  jumped  and jittered  again, then returned. Blair studied it
thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to  ship video
transmissions used  computers to encode and decode  messages, and to provide
automatic  translations  of foreign languages. For the computer to have this
much  trouble  reconstructing whatever  message  Thrakhath  was broadcasting
meant  the  signal  content  must be  massive.  Evidently, the Kilrathi were
trying to overload Victory's whole comm system and  Jam  every frequency the
Terrans might be using.
     Thrakhath's  image began  to  speak  as  the  computers processed their
translation of the Kilrathi language. I have heard of your Terran Bible with
its predictions that there will  be  a  weeping and gnashing of teeth. These
the Imperial Race will  soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we will
scoop out your brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death."
     Blair tried  to switch to  a different  comm  channel, but  Thrakhath's
hissing, taunting image remained on the  screen. "You will be prime examples
to the other races  in  the  galaxy, you clownish  baboons.  Your race  will
suffer  a thousand torments and more. And do not think that the  presence of
the Heart of the Tiger among you  can make a difference. Colonel Blair  will
be reduced to a pile of entrails, his bones will be gnawed by our young."
     Hearing  himself  referred to  directly made  Blair stiffen.  It wasn't
often  that  the Kilrathi  chose  to  grant  a  name to one  of their  human
adversaries . . . and it inevitably  meant that the individual they chose to
"honor" had become the prime target of a Kilrathi challenge.
     "Heart of  the Tiger, you  shall  pay for the blood of  every  Kilrathi
noble you have dispatched in baffle. They shall make songs of your death, of
the failure and disgrace you shall know even  before your death. Already you
have failed, Heart of the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel . .
. failed your lair-mate, the one known as Devereaux, the Angel."
     Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out, only
to be replaced by a new scene. . . .
     A scene from hell.
     It  was  a  large   room,  red-lit,  dark,  with  ornate  fittings  and
decorations more suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi
in garb Blair recognized as that of  the high  nobility were gathered in the
middle of the  open  chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and  an aged Kilrathi,
the  Emperor  himself, entered. As the Emperor sat on the  imposing  throne,
Blair became aware of movement in the shadows on  either  side  of  the  two
figures. It was difficult to judge exactly what was  happening, but when  he
finally realized what he was witnessing, he wished he had not.
     There  were  Terrans  along  the  wall behind  the throne men and women
hanging in chains, their  Confed-issue flight suits  in rags. Bulky Kilrathi
guards carrying nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at random,
eliciting cries and moans from their victims.
     "Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has  been  thwarted,"
the  Emperor  intoned solemnly. "This  puny contingent of their soldiers was
captured  aboard  a  hijacked  Imperial transport  in  orbit  around  Kilrah
itself."
     There was  a  scattering  of calls  from the  assembled nobles þ shock,
anger, hatred plain in  their voices and bearing.  The Emperor silenced them
with a curt gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.
     "This incursion was an act  of  desperation," the  prince said, showing
his fangs. His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind the
throne. "Look at these pathetic  hairless apes. They have failed their  race
utterly."
     A growling cheer rose from the crowd.
     "Do what you will with them," the Emperor said.
     Red  light  glimmered   off  Thrakhath's  fangs.  "There  will   be  no
interrogation for these pitiful apes .  . . and no warrior's death. They are
offal,  fit only for death."  The Prince waved a dismissive  hand. "Only one
among them is worthy of being  treated as a warrior. Their leader  . . . the
one they call . . . Angel."
     Blair  wanted  to  look  away  as  a  pair  of burly Kilrathi  warriors
half-pushed, half-dragged a  familiar petite  figure into the  middle of the
throne room directly in front  of Thrakhath. Like the other Terrans, she had
been  tortured,  her flight  suit  reduced  to tattered ruin, the  face that
haunted  Blair's  dreams bruised. There  was dried blood on  her forehead, a
livid welt  on  one cheek, but she wore her defiance like a shield. Whatever
the Kilrathi had done to her, Jeannette Devereaux's spirit remained as fiery
and determined as ever.
     At the  sight of the woman,  the  Kilrathi nobles grew  more  agitated.
Blair  recognized the bloodlust in their  eyes, in the way they bared  claws
and fangs  as they  jeered the  captive. Only the sheer force of Thrakhath's
personality held them  at bay as he  stepped  down from the dais to  inspect
Angel more closely.
     "Still defiant, Colonel Devereaux?"  the prince asked. "You should know
by now  it  is a pathetic and useless gesture. The hunt  has nearly run  its
course, and your race is prey beneath our claws."
     "You bore me, monsieur, she told him, mustering a faint smile. "I would
prefer to join my comrades, rather than listen to more of your boasting."
     "You will not join them, Colonel," Thrakhath said.  "Your fate shall be
different."
     Angel replied by spitting in his face. There were hisses and jeers from
the crowd, a harsh growl  from Thrakhath's throat. He turned to address  his
nobles.
     "The  human cannot appreciate  the honor I bestow upon her. She  is not
only a great warrior, but her lair-mate is the one known as the Heart of the
Tiger."  He  turned back to  her; his eyes narrowed in a  deadly stare.  The
cries of the Kilrathi reached a bloodthirsty crescendo. "You have slain many
fine warriors during your career You have earned this honor."
     The  prince  unsheathed his claws. With  a single thrust he jabbed them
deep  into her  stomach and lifted  her off the ground,  high into the  air.
Blood  flowed  freely from the wound. The view on the screen caught her face
in close-up as the  life drained from her eyes. Blair thought he saw a final
look  of appeal there,  as if she was  crying out to him for rescue . . . or
for vengeance.
     Then the  prince released her, and  her lifeless body  crumpled to  the
ground.
     Thrakhath's image filled the screen again. "Come, Heart of the  Tiger,"
he said. "I am leading; my warriors into battle today.  If you would live up
to the  honor your  lair-mate earned, come  and  fight.  Or be shown for the
pathetic coward you are."
     Christopher Blair stared at the screen,  his mind a whirl of anger  and
pain and hate. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kill. . . .


        CHAPTER XXI

     Bridge, TCS Victory Delius System

     "Can't you  shut  the damned thing off, Lieutenant?" Eisen demanded. On
his communications  screen,  Thrakhath's  feral features continued to  glare
hatred and challenge. The message was starting all over again.
     "I'm  trying,  sir,"  Rollins  answered.  "But  it's  not  an  ordinary
transmission. Damn thing's got the  whole comm system tied in knots. Hold on
a minute  . . . I think I can kick  in a backup system . . . everybody cross
your fingers!"
     The  communications officer entered a code sequence on his board, and a
moment later the Kilrathi message broke up into static. A few  seconds later
Eisen's  screen  was back  to  normal,  the  green light  shining  above  it
indicating the system was ready to use.
     "Thank you, Mr. Rollins," Eisen said. "Ensign Dumont, get me an updated
sensor  reading. What are  those bastards doing  out there? Oh  .  .  .  and
Rollins, put me through to Colonel Blair."
     "On the line, sir."
     Blair's head appeared on  the  monitor. Even  though his flight  helmet
faceplate hid Blairs features,  Eisen  thought he  looked pale and stricken.
There  was no mistaking the barely-suppressed snarl in his voice. "Ready  to
launch, Captain," he said.
     "Not so fast,  Colonel," Eisen told him. óWe're  still trying to  get a
picture of  what the  cats  are doing. The  ship s less than fifteen minutes
from the jump point, and we might make it yet without having to launch."
     "If they've got fighters out, sir, you'll  have to put us out  there to
hold them off," Blair replied. "At least for a little while."
     "Look, Colonel . . ." Eisen trailed  off. He didn't know what to say to
the  man, after Thrakhath's message.  "Maybe you ought to sit this one  out,
Blair. Let Hobbes take over."
     "No, sir," Blair said curtly.
     "Is that  the Wing Commander talking  . . . or  a man who's looking for
revenge?"
     "Both, sir," Blair answered. He was silent  for a moment  before  going
on. "Look, Captain, I won't pretend. . . that  bastard got  me where I live,
using Angel like that.  He's trying to  goad me into doing something stupid.
And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to oblige him  . . . bad. Real bad.
But in this case, playing along with his little game is our best  option. As
long  as Thrakhath figures  I'm going to  take him up on his challenge,  the
rest of his  fighters will hold back. Nobody's going to get into  the middle
of the Crown Prince's blood feud."
     "I  don't like it," Eisen said. "I've never  thought this Thrakhath was
very  well-equipped in the honor department, however much the  cats  make of
it. What do you say, Colonel Ralgha? You know more about the Prince than any
of us."
     Hobbes was slow  to answer, and  when he did his voice sounded blurred,
distant. "I could not  . . . say for sure. The message was intended to . . .
provoke a response. But the challenge  could well  be legitimate. If Colonel
Blair  has been  honored with his own warrior's  name then  the Prince  must
consider him to be important somehow."
     Blair's voice betrayed a  sudden concern. "You all right, buddy? What's
wrong?"
     "A  . .  . headache,"  Hobbes said slowly. "Some of  the higher-pitched
harmonics in the message were .  . . grating. "He paused. "And, of course, I
mourn for Colonel Devereaux. She was a brave warrior. And a friend."
     "That she  was," Blair  said. "Captain, what about  it?  Do we get  out
there and buy you some time?"
     "I don't  like it, Blair.  But  I don't have  a whole  lot of options."
Eisen  paused as the  Sensor Officer displayed new data on  the main  bridge
monitor.  "We  definitely have  a  launch  in  progress  from  the  Kilrathi
flagship. So far they're  still forming up.  No way to  tell if they plan to
press something, or if they're just threatening. Looks like . . . at least a
squadron already. More likely two, if they're still launching."
     "Then  we'd better get out  there,"  Blair said. He cut the  connection
without awaiting a reply.
     Eisen  leaned forward in his chair. "God go with you, Colonel," he said
softly.

     Flight Deck. KIS Hvar'kann Delius System

     "Lord Prince,  surely you do  not need to take  personal command today.
The cockpit of  a fighter  is no place for the Imperial Heir when the battle
is so insignificant."
     Thrakhath paused halfway up the ladder to the cockpit of his  Bloodfang
and  turned  to  glare  his  contempt  down  on Melek.  "I  have  issued the
challenge. Would you have me hold back now, in front of our warriors?"
     "No, Lord  Prince. . ." Melek trailed off, looking  uncomfortable. "But
if something  was to  happen to you  now, with triumph  so close  under  our
talons, we  would lose  everything  we have worked  to achieve. The personal
challenge  was a risk you did not need to take. Others would  have willingly
taken on the Heart of the Tiger for you."
     "No! We want to cut  this ape out of his troop, and for that he must be
goaded beyond all reason. I killed his lair-mate. He will not turn back from
the chance to kill me in return. And then . . . we have him."
     "He is a skilled pilot, Lord Prince," Melek warned.
     "I know it well." Thrakhath  showed his fangs. "I am not a fool, Melek.
Honor requires me to be present for the challenge, but it doesn't require me
to sacrifice myself.  My escorts will intervene if the need  arises. But the
important thing is  to eliminate this  Colonel Blair now so that he does not
stand in the  way of our plans  for the  Behemoth  Go now. You command in my
absence. Let the hunt begin!"

     Thunderbolt 300 Delius System

     Blair's  fighter  leapt from the end of the launch tube into  the void,
building thrust  as he steered toward  the rest of  Gold Squadron assembling
beyond the stern of the Victory. It required all of his will to stay focused
on his instruments,  the sensor screen, and  the  battle ahead.  He couldn't
afford to let himself dwell on Angel.
     "Thunderbolt three-zero-zero, under power," he reported. "Gold Squadron
deployed and ready."
     "You sure we shouldn't; let Whittaker's boys  and girls give you a hand
out  there, Colonel?" The duty  Flight  Control Officer, Lieutenant  Rashad,
sounded worried.
     "Keep them on stand-by, Lieutenant," Blair said. "I'll let you know  if
we need them."
     It was the same problem encountered at Ariel.  With the carrier heading
for the  jump point, too many fighters in space would only  complicate their
escape. Blair overruled the original call for a magnum launch, preferring to
put out the eight fighters of Gold Squadron and hold  the others in  reserve
in case they were needed. But he  didn't intend to need them, not today. All
the Terrans  needed to  do at the moment  was  keep  the Kilrathi distracted
until the carrier was ready to jump.
     So far,  the cats were  cooperating quite  nicely.  Their fighters were
maintaining a tight  formation well out of range of the carrier's guns. None
showed any desire to venture close enough to threaten the Terran vessel.
     "Eight minutes," Rollins' voice informed them.
     "What are they waiting for?" Flash complained.
     "Maybe they're scared of you, kid," Maniac responded.
     "Cut  the chatter,  people," Blair growled. He was feeling as impatient
as Dillon. If only Thrakhath would put his fighter in Blair's crosshairs . .
.
     "Does the Heart  of the Tiger  hide among  the other apes?" Thrakhath's
mocking  voice filled his helmet  speakers. "And under the guns of his ship?
The challenge was to meet in personal combat."
     On his  screens,  he  saw  a Vaktoth  accelerate away  from  the  other
Kilrathi ships, but  it  stayed  well  clear of  Victory. For a moment Blair
toyed  with the idea  of ordering  the squadron to  attack, but he  knew the
Kilrathi would he on  their guard against such a move. The name of the game,
for now at least, was to keep from letting a full-scale  battle  develop for
as long as possible.
     Thrakhath must have realized the same thing, for a  few seconds later a
pair of Vaktoth broke formation followed by two more. These streaked  toward
the carrier. Gold Squadron lay directly in their path.
     "Here they come!" Cobra called. "Permission to engage?"
     "Let them  come to  us,"  Blair  ordered Wingmen,  stick close  to your
partners."
     The  first two Vaktoth  drove into the  center of the  Terran formation
then  rolled outward,  opening  fire with guns  and  missiles. Cobra and her
wingman,  Vaquero,  went after the  first  one,  while  Maniac  and Vagabond
engaged the second. Blair watched the  second pair of fighters and  felt his
pulse race.  "Hobbes, you and  Flash  take the  one on  the left," he  said.
"Flint and I'll take the other guy."
     "Understood,"  was Ralgha's reply. He still  sounded  distracted. Flash
gave  a whoop and kicked  in his afterburners, racing  to  meet the oncoming
fighter.
     Blair couldn't  spend  any more  time worrying  about  the  others. The
fourth Vaktoth  was  almost  on  them,  concentrating  fire  against Flint's
Thunderbolt.  Blair turned  sharply  and accelerated, opening fire  with his
blasters,  while  Flint  banked  sharply left  to try to keep  her  weakened
port-side shields from taking any more damage.
     The Vaktoth pilot  was good. He maintained his fire  on Flint, randomly
altering vectors to dodge most of Blair's fire while he kept up the pressure
on his original target. Blair gave a  curse  and locked a heat-seeker on the
Vaktoth's tail, then followed the missile with his blasters, pouring out all
the power his weapons system could muster. The shield collapsed, and blaster
fire tore into the armor until the power cut out, recharging.
     His opponent seemed to realize then that Blair represented too great  a
threat to ignore any longer. He started turning away from Flint to bring his
weapons to bear and to cover his exposed rear, but as  he turned, Flint took
the opening  without hesitation. Her blasters continued where Blair's ended,
and a moment later the Vaktoth exploded in a thousand whirling fragments.
     "Nice shooting, Lieutenant," Blair called. "Good to have you back on my
wing."
     "Its where I belong Colonel," she replied.
     "Somebody  get this bastard off me! Hobbes! Colonel!" Flash's voice was
hoarse with panic. "I can't shake him!"
     On his scanner, Blair saw Flash trying to break away from  the  Vaktoth
he challenged, but the enemy pilot was right on his tail. Hobbes was closing
in,  but slowly,  cautiously,  as if  the  Kilrathi  renegade was  afraid of
getting too close  to the dogfighting pair.  Blair  banked  the Thunderbolt,
increasing his speed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to reach Flash in time
to do any good.
     Hobbes took up a position behind the enemy fighter and opened fire, but
his first shots went wild. The Vaktoth unleashed another attack. This time a
deadly hail of energy bolts and missiles rained on Flash's ship as the young
pilot tried to turn out of the Vaktoth's line of fire.
     He  was too late.  Blair heard  him  scream  as a fireball consumed his
craft.
     Once again Hobbes fired, but this time his opponent rolled sideways and
accelerated back  toward the rest  of  the Kilrathi  formation. More Vaktoth
were on their way.
     "Five  minutes  to  Jump  Sequence start,"  Rollins announced. "Captain
wants to know if we should launch additional fighters?"
     "Negative," Blair grated. His sensors showed that the other two Vaktoth
from  the first  flight had both  been destroyed. The Terran  fighters  were
regrouping again, ready to meet the next threat. "Hobbes,  without a wingman
you'll be a sitting duck. Retreat to the carrier and land."
     "I should remain, my friend."
     For a moment Blair considered having the Kilrathi switch positions with
one  of the  other  pilots,  someone less steady,  less reliable.  Flint, or
Vaquero, or  perhaps Maniac. But the way  Hobbes had  been handling  himself
today, he  was  no more reliable than any of them. Even  Marshall seemed  to
have himself  under control, but  Ralgha was plainly off his game. And Flash
had paid the price. "No, Hobbes. Pack it in. That's an order."
     "As you command." Ralgha's Thunderbolt broke away and headed toward the
carrier. Now there were  only six  Terran fighters to face the  next wave of
Kilrathi.
     This time four Imperial craft came at  once,  holding a tight formation
all  the way.  Blair waited  until  they were just outside  of weapons range
before ordering  Gold  Squadron to turn from the oncoming  Vaktoth and go to
afterburners. The Kilrathi gave chase.
     "Maintain  course,"  Blair  said  quietly.  It  was  almost  a  mantra.
"Maintain course . . . Break! Break and attack! Victory, pour it on!"
     The  Terran fighters split  up, each pair of wingmen peeling  off  in a
different  direction and  looping back toward  the pursuing Kilrathi. At the
same  time, Victory's defensive batteries opened fire, filling the void with
searing bursts of raw energy. A pair of hits took out one of the enemy ships
in the blink of an  eye, and another  suffered  heavy damage as it tried  to
dodge  the carrier's beams and pursue Cobra. Vaquero, on her  wing, finished
the attacker off with a well-placed missile.
     Maniac dove straight towards his target, all guns blazing, passing bare
meters away from his opponent before the  Kilrathi pilot could  even  react.
Slowly,  carefully, Vagabond trailed him,  and  his  blasters  exploited the
weakened shields  to burn through the fighter's cockpit and kill the  pilot.
The  Vaktoth  plunged on, uncontrolled, until  Victory  destroyed it  a  few
seconds later.
     Meanwhile, Flint and Blair split and  circled the last Imperial fighter
from opposite sides, hammering  the hull with blasters as they sped past. As
a  parting  shot,  Blair  dropped  a  fire-and-forget  missile.  It  hit the
Vaktoth's  starboard wing moments  later. The explosion  didn't destroy  the
enemy craft, but it  was  visibly  damaged  as  it turned and ran,  trailing
debris and leaking atmosphere. Maniac caught the fighter as it tried to flee
and finished it with a few well-placed blaster shots.
     "Three minutes," Rollins said.
     Blair studied his scanners. The Kilrathi fighters were still out there,
but the countdown  was  getting close enough  that he had to start  thinking
about getting the rest of the  squadron on board. Anyway, the Imperial ships
wouldn't be  inclined to cut things too fine  by  staging an attack now. The
energy discharge  of a carrier going into jump  could do terrible damage  to
fighters close enough to be caught by the creation of the Transition Field.
     "Take them in, people,"  he ordered "Maniac,  Vagabond, you  two first.
Don't miss  the first  approach. You might  not  get another one. Cobra  and
Vaquero, you go as soon as they're clear. Flint, you're with me."
     No  one argued, though he thought he heard Maniac muttering  a protest.
The first two  Thunderbolts peeled off and headed back  for the carrier; the
second two followed, but more slowly, to give Marshall and Chang time to set
down and clear the flight deck. Time passed with agonizing slowness, with no
further moves from the Kilrathi. But Blair was  tense. He was sure Thrakhath
wouldn't let them leave without some kind of final shot.
     "Two minutes,"  Rollins announced at  length. "Maniac  and Vagabond are
aboard. Vaquero's in the beam now."
     "You're up, Flint," he said. "Take her inside."
     "Don't be slow following me, Colonel,"  she responded. "I'm getting too
used to flying on your wing."
     She left  him, and Blair started a quick checklist for his own approach
and landing. It was starting to look like  Thrakhath wasn't  planning a last
push after all . . .
     "Jump Sequence  start in ninety seconds," Rollins said.  "Better  bring
her in now, Colonel."
     As  he started to turn, Thrakhath's voice boomed  loud in his speakers.
"So, I was right, ape. In the end you do run. You did not meet my challenge.
. . Even your lair-mate showed more courage, facing death."
     "Seventy-five seconds, Colonel."
     Blair  tried  to  shut  Thrakhath's  words  out  of  his mind,  but the
Kilrathi's mocking voice went on. "We misnamed you, perhaps, in  calling you
the Heart of the  Tiger.  You  are weak. .  . a  coward.  . . a failure. Not
worthy of  your  lair-mate at  all." The Kilrathi's voice took on  a harsher
edge now. "I enjoyed the feel of her blood running over my hands, Terran. As
I enjoyed the taste of her flesh, in the victory feast."
     The words hammered at him on a level below conscious thought, and blind
rage  threatened  to claim him. The carrier was  looming large ahead of  his
fighter, but Blair hardly saw it through the red haze that clouded his eyes.
He wanted  to turn around, accept  the Kilrathi's challenge,  batter through
Thrakhath's  defenses and  silence his taunts once and for  all. That thing,
that animal,  had killed Angel  and  served  her up at  one of the  barbaric
Kilrathi ritual feasts.
     "Almost  in the beams, Colonel." Rollins  said. "Keep her  steady . . .
steady  .  .  . Reduce your  speed!  If  you  don't  cut your  speed  you'll
overshoot!"
     "For Gods sake, skipper, don't  let him get to  you!" That was  Flint's
voice. "If you take his challenge, you're stuck out there! Thrakhath'll wait
. . . you'll get another chance at him!"
     The  words  penetrated his fog, and  Blair  killed his forward momentum
with  a  hard braking thrust,  like a kick from a horse.  Almost sobbing, he
stabbed at the landing gear controls as the beams took hold.  Slowly gently,
the fighter dropped toward the deck and touched down.
     He hardly noticed as the fighter was drawn into the hangar area. A pair
of  spacesuited  figures  released his cockpit,  urging  him to get out even
before  gravity  or  pressure  were restored, and Blair neither  helped  nor
resisted them. They guided him across the open space in long,  low-G bounds.
Pressure  was  restored  as  they reached the  door,  and one of  them-Blair
vaguely realized it was Flint, still clad in flight suit and combat helmet þ
helped him remove his  own helmet as  they guided him into the corridor. His
other helper  fumbled  with helmet  releases  and  finally freed  the  bulky
headgear. It was Rachel Coriolis.
     "JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED, the computer announced  blandly. ONE MINUTE  TO
JUMP."
     "You gave us a  scare, skipper,"  Rachel said. "Thought you were  gonna
pull a bolter and miss the landing."
     "I should have," Blair said. "I should have stayed out there and nailed
that damned furball."
     "That's exactly what he wanted," Flint  told  him. "If  you had let him
draw  you into a fight, you'd  never  have made  it back before we jumped. I
thought  you were the  one who never let  it get to you? Isn't that what you
said when you were chewing me out?"
     He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Maybe  so. And maybe I was
wrong when I said it." Blair looked away. "I guess I'll never know, now.
     Blair brushed away their offered help as  the elevator doors opened and
he stepped  into the cab. They  followed, but he  ignored them both, staring
rigidly  ahead at the  keypad  controls, unwilling to talk. Inside  he  felt
drained, empty of everything except the knowledge that he had failed.
     The knowledge that Angel remained unavenged.

     Flight Deck, KIS Hvar'kann Delius System

     An  honor guard greeted Thrakhath  as he  disembarked from his fighter,
but he ignored them all in his anger. He glared as Melek approached, bowing.
     "Lord  Prince,  the  Terran  carrier  has  jumped. The  captain of  the
Toor'vaas  reports  that the  asteroid base has been breached,  and  Assault
Marines are penetrating the station. There is no sign  of further resistance
anywhere."
     Thrakhath gave  him a dismissive gesture. "I expected  none,"  he said,
not bothering to hide the angry  growl in his voice. "See to it there are no
apes left alive once their base has been secured."
     "But, Lord  Prince,  there  will be  many suitable slaves there." Melek
looked shocked. "Surely you  would  not deny  the Clans their right  to take
back captives þ "
     "No survivors, I said!" Thrakhath snapped.
     Melek  stepped  back as if  physically  stricken. "As  you  wish,  Lord
Prince," he said, bowing again.
     "We have been at war with these apes for more than a generation, Melek.
But I still cannot understand them. How could any sentient creature, however
lacking in honor, fail to  respond  to  a  chance for  vengeance?" Thrakhath
studied  his retainer for a long moment. "You  are sure that this  Blair was
truly lair-mate to the one we killed?"
     "Intelligence   reports   claimed  so,  Lord   Prince.  Based  on  many
interrogations of captured human pilots. The knowledge  was evidently widely
known in their warrior community."
     Thrakhath  took  a  moment  to chain  his  anger and  speak calmly,  as
befitted a Prince. "Clearly the animal  humans are  even less civilized than
we  thought. They do not even respect  their lair-mates  enough to fight for
them." He paused. "But  even if the Heart of the Tiger survives, the rest of
the  plan shall  move forward.  He  cannot deflect the fate that pursues the
Terrans now.
     "Yes, Lord Prince."
     "Order a carrier to follow the Terran ship, but  wait until it  has had
time to get well clear of the jump point before sending it Sar'hrai would be
a good choice. Give his new captain a chance to prove his worth. They are to
mount  a close surveillance on the enemy carrier, using stealth  craft. When
our agent makes his move,  we must be ready." Thrakhath showed his fangs for
a moment. "Our  claws are at their throats, Melek. They  will not escape the
hunt."


        CHAPTER XXII

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Tamayo System

     Once again the  flight  deck  was  crowded  with officers  and  crewmen
gathered to bid farewell  to one  of  their  own. The neat ranks  of pilots,
technicians, and  ship's crew . . . the  honor guard with weapons held in  a
stiff rifle  salute  . .  . the  chaplain's  service,  and the  empty coffin
waiting by the launch tube þ only the names changed, but never the trappings
or the emotion.
     Christopher Blair  slowly  stepped forward to  the temporary podium. He
never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.
     "Major Jace  Dillon  was  a reluctant  warrior in  the  Confederation's
battle  against the Empire," Blair said  slowly. He raised his eyes to study
the  front ranks, especially the  pilots of Gold  Squadron.  For  a fleeting
moment he wondered what  Ralgha  was  thinking. Did  the  Kilrathi  renegade
regret letting  the young Terran pilot down in that last  battle? Hobbes had
certainly been  withdrawn  ever  since.  It was  a feeling Blair  understood
entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the  going got  tough.
He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor and
courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."
     As he stepped back  to allow the chaplain to advance and carry  on with
the  funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He  wished he
could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of place
here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin accelerated
out of  the  hangar  deck,  or  as the  honor  guard fired their low-powered
volleys. And when  he bowed his  head to offer up  a  prayer,  it was  Angel
Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Tamayo System

     Blair sat alone at a table by the viewport, staring down into his empty
glass as if it was  a crystal ball that might give him  a glimpse of another
time and  place. He  was hardly aware of  his surroundings, the other pilots
and crewmen who talked, laughed and carried  on with  their lives, with only
an  occasional  glance  at the  solitary,  withdrawn  figure  of  their wing
commander.
     A shadow fell across the table, and he looked  into the knowing eyes of
Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on  the table  beside him.  "You look
like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.
     He poured a shot and drank, wincing a  little at the bite  of the cheap
liquor in his  mouth and  throat. Rachel studied him  for  a  moment, as  if
waiting  for  him to speak.  Instead  he  refilled  the  glass and  held it,
watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid.
     "Thrakhath really  got to you, didn't he?" Rachel  asked. "He  knew all
the right buttons to push."
     Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up
at Rachel.
     "I know  how  you feel, Colonel,"  she said, even softer this  time. "I
know what  it's like,  losing someone to this damned war."  She hesitated  a
moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"
     Those words got through his defenses at last.  He looked from Rachel to
the  bottle, then  back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He  pushed the bottle
away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."
     She  settled into  the chair  across from  him.  "No, it isn't. But you
can't run away from people,  and  you  can't  take refuge in  getting drunk.
Those things just postpone the inevitable."
     "I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly.
"I was afraid  she was dead. I  had nightmares about it. But seeing  it like
that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ."
     "Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't
wait until you're back in the  cockpit again. If you try  to take it out  on
the cats þ look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about
very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."
     He met  her eyes.  "Somebody  you cared about,  . .  I hope  you're not
thinking. . . ."
     Rachel  looked away. "I know  better than to put the moves on  somebody
who's  just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say .
.  . Let's just  say  you're a man I could  care about .  .  . if  there was
nothing else holding you. And  I  wouldn't want  to see you throw  your life
away, no matter what."
     "I'm  a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told  her. "My friends,
my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the  last flight without
me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."
     "Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she  said with  a ghost of a
smile. "And I think it's better  to take your chances than to steer clear of
. . . a friend."

     Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory Torgo System

     "All  right,  last  item  on the list," Blair said, ticking off another
point on his personal data display. "Captain says we re due for a visit from
some VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen  hundred  hours. We need  to police  the flight
deck and  hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching  shipshape.
Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail."
     Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"
     Whittaker,  Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the  acting  CO of Green Squadron,
all chuckled.  Ralgha. sitting in  the corner  of  the  office away from the
others  around  the desk,  studied his claws with  an  expression resembling
boredom.
     "Just do it, Maniac. We  want to make a good impression. Now that we're
back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in  the  Navy instead of playing
at  being the  pirate scum  of the galaxy." Blair  looked around the office.
"Anybody have anything else to talk about?"
     No one  spoke, and  Blair nodded  sharply.  "That'll  be all, then." He
stood up when the  others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes
was the  last  to leave and Blair intercepted  him. "Anything  on your  mind
buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."
     Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled.
     "Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ."
     "I  am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed  Blair with a  look the  human
couldn't easily  fathom. óWe  have been friends for  many  years, you and I.
Faced many things  together. But just as you have trouble  sharing your pain
over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now."
     "Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"
     The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear  that humans . . .
have rarely been  my friends. She was one  of  the few. I .  . .  regret her
passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.
     "If you're  worried  about me, don't," Blair said. "I  had a  long talk
with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody  reminded me that
I've  got responsibilities I  can't afford  to let go  of  just because  I'm
hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid."
     The Kilrathi gave a very  human shrug. "Your species is  resilient," he
said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will
see, before the end."
     "I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest.
I think this whole mess  has been about as rough on you as it's been on me."
He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that
I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."
     Before Ralgha  could  answer,  the  door buzzed,  and Blair  opened it.
Rollins  stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She  gave Hobbes a disdainful
look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.
     "What can  I  do for  you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by
the desk and resuming his own seat.
     "Colonel,  we've   been   talking,"  Cobra  said.   "About  Thrakhath's
broadcast, before the battle at Delius."
     Blair frowned. "What about it?"
     "We're puzzled,  Colonel,"  Rollins said. "The whole  thing was  pretty
strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you,
and then . . . well,  not much of a follow-up. I  mean, he did  his best  to
sucker you  into a dogfight, but  think of how poorly they handled the whole
op. They gave us plenty of  warning they were coming, and let us get all the
way  to the jump  point  before  they put  on much of an  attack. Then  that
signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up."
     "Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they
wanted  me, but they  didn't  care  about the ship. If  they'd come in  with
everything blazing while we were still at  Delius station  they could've had
Victory  for breakfast . . . and me with  it. You think they wanted the ship
to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?"
     "It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.
     "The question is, why?"
     Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that
could  be  important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there  was
something . . . familiar about that transmission."
     "What's that supposed to mean?"
     She  shrugged.  "I can't put  it into words, sir. It wasn't anything  I
heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar.
It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."
     "Hobbes said  something similar,"  Blair  mused. óRollins, can you shed
any light on it?"
     "Beats the hell  out of me, Colonel,"  the communications officer said.
"I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That  wasn't  just  an
ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum  transmission
that had damn near every channel blocked. At  first I thought they were just
trying to jam  us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the  whole
attack. In  the  end, they  just weren't trying  very  much.  Otherwise they
would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . .
if all they  were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. .
. all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."
     Cobra  bit  her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know
what you  told  me about accusations. About  wanting proof.  . . and I don't
have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me in
the brig over it. I think there could have  been some kind  of hidden signal
in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent."
     "You're  talking  about  Hobbes,  of  course,"  Blair  said,  frowning.
"Lieutenant . . ."
     "I didn't say  it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra  said. "But we  know the cats
have agents in the Confederation."
     Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I  think you should hear her  out
on this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard."
     "Like  how they  keep throwing  us softballs in tight corners," Buckley
amplified.  "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if  you think  about
it.  They could make jump points disappear, but the  second one stayed  open
for us. And it wasn't defended, either."
     Blair looked from one to  the other. "It  still isn't proof of anything
except the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last.
"You know where I stand. I don't like having  accusations leveled at Hobbes,
and  all  you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked  down at
his desk. "It's a very serious charge to make . . ."
     "Hell,  Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean,
he's a Kilrathi, and you  know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't
prove anything." She Laughed,  a  short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I
know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi  spy. You love the cats .  . .  a cat, at
least,  and you were in command  when things went  sour at Locanda Four. All
I'm  saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit.  I  think  we
have to consider it."
     "All right,  Lieutenant. I'll  consider it."  Blair leaned back  in his
chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you
find anything concrete we can use.  And keep your suspicions  to yourselves.
Have you talked with anyone else?"
     "No, sir.'  Rollins said. "I was going  to take it to  the captain, but
Cobra wanted to come to you first."
     "I  didn't want  you  to think  I was  going behind your back with this
thing, sir," she amplified.
     "Good. For now, let's keep the  matter between us. That way nobody gets
embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"
     "Yes, sir," Rollins said.
     Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.
     "All right. Dismissed, then."
     They both started for the  door,  but Blair  held up  a  hand.  "Mister
Rollins. I  have  some reports for the captain. Stay  a moment while I round
them up, if you please."
     "Yes, sir," he responded.
     Blair  waited  until the door closed  behind Cobra.  He  gave Rollins a
long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have  to  ask this. How much
stock do you put in all this?"
     "Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."
     "How much of this is your idea?"
     Rollins frowned.  "Well,  Lieutenant Buckley  came to me asking what  I
thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She
made some  good  points  . . ."  He trailed off,  frowning. "But I had  some
suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with
any of that." He hesitated. "Just  what are you  trying to get  at with  all
this, Colonel?"
     Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if
I didn't have complete faith  in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be  ready  to go
along with  it. But she doesn't know  how much we've been through  together,
Hobbes  and I. And all her hate isn't going to  make me change my mind about
him now."
     "She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."
     "True enough. But ever  since  I've  been on board  she's been  running
Ralgha down. She  accused  him  of everything but mopery  and dopery on  the
spaceways." Blair paused,  reluctant to  go on, but Rollins was the only one
he could talk to, under  these circumstances. óThere s another possibility I
can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
     "Sir?"
     "Rumor is  that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave  for ten years. You hear any
of that from your sources?"
     "Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe,
but nothing solid."
     "I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need
to know  about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is
this: if I was in Kilrathi  Intelligence, and wanted  to plant  spies in the
Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough
time winning  acceptance.  I'd  use  humans,  slaves who  had grown up  in a
Kilrathi labor camp.  The things they can do with  personality overlays  are
pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure  they got
through debriefing so they were órescued' and brought back to Terran space."
     "You  think  Cobra's  our  spy?"  Rollins  looked  incredulous.  "Hell,
Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"
     "As you  said,  you  already  had  some questions about those  Kilrathi
signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in
there somewhere? Maybe there were  þ orders, for instance. But  a clever spy
might want to figure out how much we  suspected, and steer our suspicions in
an acceptable direction."
     "Like Hobbes." Rollins  was frowning.  "It's. . .  how did you put  it,
Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra
than I  do  for Hobbes. And Cobra  . .  .  she'd have  to be one  hell of an
actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."
     "It's  pretty  thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him  a sour smile. "I  don't
want to believe it, Lieutenant She's  a good pilot, and a  good wingman. But
Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."
     "Why are you telling me this, sir?"
     "I just want you to  . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You
two are going to be looking for proof about  a spy on board. I  just want to
make sure none of that proof  winds  up  somewhere  it  doesn't belong. Like
Ralgha's cabin, for example."
     "So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"
     "I just  want you to put that famous Rollins  paranoia  to work for our
side for a  change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it.
Whether  it's Hobbes, or Cobra,  or somebody else entirely. Just  don't make
the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up  his hand.
"And I don't just mean because  she might be  a  Kilrathi agent.  She  could
believe  everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate .  . .
it  warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her  bias and look at this
whole mess objectively."
     "I'll. .. do what I can,  Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant.
"But I'm not sure I'll like it."
     "You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite  the  attitude. Despite
the bigotry and the hate. Down  deep, she's always struck  me as somebody to
admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and
for being one  hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant,  I
don't  like this  any better than you do. But  it's something that has to be
done."
     "Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Torgo System

     "Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"
     Blair  straightened  at the  crisp order from Eisen,  feeling  a little
uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform  with the archaic sword  hanging
at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in
some cases  it  was  a little difficult to tell. And  despite Maniac's  best
efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself.
He remembered his  own first  impression of the carrier's  shabby,  overused
fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.
     He found himself  wondering  when had  he come to  accept  the carriers
faults, to think of the ship as his home?
     The crewmen lined up  in ranks on either side  of a red carpet that was
unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of  place on the flight  deck,
gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.
     The door  opened slowly, and Admiral  Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing
to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him,
Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair  of Marine  sentries brought
up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in  the plain tunic of a deck officer,
the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.
     Eisen  stepped forward  to meet him.  "An honor and a privilege to have
you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.
     Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving
eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."
     Blair saluted, saying nothing.
     He  turned  back  to Eisen.  "This is  the  beginning  of  a  momentous
campaign,  Captain. The end of  the  war is in sight at  last." He  gestured
toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his
staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he
headed for the bridge. Blair  fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a
reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up
to that reputation now.


        CHAPTER XXIII


     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Torgo System

     "Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double."
     "Sounds  like you're having  a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming
toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?"
     As he  took his  glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look
was sour. "Let's  just  say there  are things I like better . . . like being
out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."
     She smiled. "Must feel like  old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and
Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?"
     For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye,  and it must have shown in
his expression.  Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . .  ."  she said. "That was
stupid of me. I should have realized . . ."
     "Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit,
I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right
at the top of the list."
     "I know," Flint  said  quietly.  "It was that  way with Davie  too. One
minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go."
     "Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you
for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back
and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget
it."
     "You did it for me," she said. "And took  a  lot more risks. I was just
looking out  for my wingman." Flint  hesitated. "Angel þ Colonel Devereaux þ
tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"
     Blair studied  her  through  narrowed eyes. "I  didn't  think  that was
common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have  you been
cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"
     She laughed.  "Neither  one. Just . . . a student of history. I  try to
make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it,
you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."
     "Bumped heads is more like it,"  Blair told her.  "He's a good man,  in
his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts
lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."
     "I know the type," Flint said. "He  knows  the  rulebook  backwards and
forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
     "Can't argue with you  there, Flint," he said.  His  mind went  back to
that time aboard  the  Tiger's  Claw, when  the admiral made the carrier the
flagship  of  a  ramshackle  squadron.  He  took  her  into  action  against
overwhelming  odds to  hold off a  Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces
could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the
ship's commanding officer, and filed  charges against him for  cowardice  in
the  face of  the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving
with the old man ever quite forgot the day.
     There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I
was  serious  about wanting to hear  about  Angel. If it would help to  talk
about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener."
     Blair  hesitated.  "I appreciate it, Flint, I  really do. But. .  ." He
shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone."
     At  that moment the door  opened and Rachel Coriolis  came in, greeting
him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.
     "I  see. I'm  sorry . .  . I  didn't  know  you moved quite that  fast.
Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond.

     Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory Torgo System

     Admiral  Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one deck
below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with a table
able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive,  and Tolwyn  greeted him
with a hearty smile and a handshake.
     "Ah,  Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope  that this is our last
cruise together."
     Blair felt a  flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted
several  different  ways  and  he  wondered  if  subconsciously  Tolwyn  was
revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.
     Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there
was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets,  or the  general
air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that
we'd be reduced to  pulling ships  like  this back into the front  line. The
Battle  of Terra put us  on the ropes, no  matter what the government is now
saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the
human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!"
     Tolwyn  looked  away for a  moment. "When will this end," he whispered.
Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.
     "She's a  good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly.  "And Eisen's a good
captain. We haven't  had much  time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi
have been keeping us busy.
     "Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up,  barely regaining his composure. "I've
been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our
old friend Thrakhath, I hear."
     "Yes, sir,"  Blair admitted,  trying to keep his voice level. He looked
away, thinking about Angel again.
     "I was sorry to hear about  Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on,  almost
as if he was reading Blair's  mind.  "A pity, really. General Taggart made a
mistake, committing her to his little project before  a  final  decision was
made.
     "When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.
     "The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry
Blair, we had  to  keep  our  sources  safe. It was  strictly  óneed-to-know
material. You understand."
     "What I understand,  sir, is that  you  and  General  Taggart have been
competing  over your damned  secret  projects  and  Angel got caught in  the
middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an  angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's
. . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me  any more, Admiral, but
I hope  you don't make these  other people pay the  same kind of price Angel
already shelled out  just to prove that  your damned gun  works the  way you
said it would."
     "Still the same old  Chris Blair," Tolwyn said  evenly. "Always tilting
at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the  fact
is that I get things  done. I first got involved with the early planning; of
Project Behemoth nearly ten  years ago. I  got pulled from my job as head of
Terran  Defense to bring it on-line and I'm  going to see it through  to the
end. And God help  anyone who stands in my way, even  a living  legend  like
yourself.  Son, I know you don  t  like some of the implications behind this
project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."
     "I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means
giving  you  the  credit  þ  and  a shot  at  being  the  next Confederation
President, no  doubt þ that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you
trample good  people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your
plans for him? Are you planning  on usurping command  of this ship  the same
way you did on Tiger's Claw?"
     "I'd  be careful regarding my choice of words if I  were you, Colonel,"
Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition,  do not  usurp command. Captain Eisen
retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period."
He  turned away from Blair. "I  had hoped that  we  would finally achieve  a
measure of respect  for one another  after all this time, Colonel. I am  the
first to admit that I once misjudged you, back  at the start of your career,
with  the Tiger's Claw  incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me.  Still,
you'll obey  your  orders,  like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter
where they end up taking you."
     Blair  studied the slender,  elegant back for a long moment  in dawning
understanding. "All  that  guff Kevin handed  us about warning shots  .  . .
We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ."
     The Admiral turned back to him.  "What would you aim for if you had the
biggest gun  in the universe? When are  you  going to realize, Colonel, that
we're  playing  for keeps here?  I would have thought  you, if anyone, would
approve . . . after what happened to Angel."
     He had  trouble framing a  reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed
with  Tolwyn. After what happened  to Angel,  he wanted  nothing  more  than
revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . .
     But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part
in the destruction of an entire race.
     The  door  buzzed  before  he could come up with an answer.  As  Tolwyn
admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair
found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all
that really mattered, in the end, was winning.
     He was very quiet over dinner that evening.

     Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Torgo System

     The atmosphere in the ready  room was tense  as  Blair entered.  It was
strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while
Tolwyn presided in the captain's  accustomed place. The sight sent  a little
shiver down  Blair's  back,  making  him think  of  Tiger's Claw and Captain
Thorn, all those years ago.
     Commander Gessler  and Colonel Ralgha were also  present,  as was Kevin
Tolwyn and another of  the  admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing
the carrier's intelligence  department. They watched the admiral expectantly
as  he settled into his seat  and  switched  on the map  table's holographic
projector.
     "Gentlemen," he said, smiling  with  the pride  of a  father displaying
photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest  achievement
. . . the Behemoth."
     The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped  monstrosity that
dwarfed  the  Confed  dreadnought shown alongside it for scale.  A few dozen
ships the size of  Victory could have fit in the  enormous maw at one end of
the  barrel. Behemoth  might well  have  been  the  largest spacecraft  ever
constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.
     "This  device is the product of a decade of research and development by
some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued.
"It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all."
     The  view  changed  from  an external shot to a  computer schematic  as
Tolwyn continued. Taking up a  laser pointer, he used its narrow light  beam
to  highlight  features  as  he  spoke.  "Behemoth is  a  series  of  linked
superconducting energy amplification  conduits,  focusing  an output of five
hundred  million  gigawatts into one  lancing point. A  target at the end of
that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact
is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the
energy beam  itself would  destroy an entire planet, but they do agree  that
the  resultant  seismic  stresses  should  be  enough   to  tear  it  apart,
particularly  a  world like Kilrah which  is  already  highly  unstable. The
upshot,  gentlemen,  is this.  Behemoth  can  destroy  worlds,  and properly
employed it can  knock the Kilrathi  Empire  out of the war in a  few  short
strokes."
     Some  of the others  made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained
silent. He was still thinking  over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the
weapon's capabilities.
     "We would have liked another year or two for testing  and development,"
Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon
to be deployed now." He gave Blair  a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of
suffering  attacks  similar to the  biological  devastation on Locanda Four,
perhaps against more vital targets."
     "Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.
     "The truth  is, Colonel, that even without the  biological  attack, the
Confederation is in  trouble." Tolwyn  looked around the room, speaking more
softly  now. "This  is  not for public  consumption,  of course.  It remains
classified. But  the Kilrathi are winning on just  about every front, and if
the  worst-case  scenario  were to come true  they would be in a position to
land troops  on Terra  herself within  another six months.  We have  to  use
Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."
     Once  that  information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of
the accelerated  deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat
incomplete. There  are a few, shall we say  .  . . soft spots . . .  located
here  . . .  and here . . . where the  shields are thin and there's been  no
time to complete  keel mounts  or add extra  shield  generators or defensive
laser turrets.
     "Those soft spots could spell real  trouble, Admiral," Blair commented.
"Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."
     Tolwyn gave him a stern look.  "That  is why your flight wing is  being
assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to
be  especially  aware of the vulnerable points.  Make  sure your people know
what must be  protected, under any circumstances. Make  no mistake, Colonel,
gentlemen. This weapon  is our last hope. Nothing must be  permitted to  get
through to threaten it."
     "Protecting the  weapon will  be a  large  task, Admiral," Hobbes  said
slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target."
     "Hmmph." Tolwyn  looked at Ralgha for  a moment, as if trying to decide
if  he  was  being  sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth
will  be made available to  your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also
assist you in programming  a series of simulations so that they can practice
before we begin the actual deployment."
     "Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting  some
new blood to bring us up to strength?"
     "We're damned short-handed as it  is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two
carriers  just passed through last week and pretty well  cleaned out Torgo's
replacement  pilot  pool.  However,  I  did arrange to  rotate  your  bomber
squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron.
Victory won't be called upon to perform  offensive operations this time out,
and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth."
     Blair  frowned.  Something  told  him   that   behind  Tolwyn's  smooth
explanation  there were  other problems he  wasn't willing  to  discuss. The
admiral had  more  than his  share of  political  enemies  within  the  High
Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of
toes  to  get his Behemoth  project approved.  Not  everyone would share his
belief that this overgrown cannon could bring  the war  to an end, and Blair
could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to
give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he  snagged Victory
because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation.
     That  raised  other  questions  about  the  whole  affair.  Tolwyn  was
convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what  was the  High
Command  really  planning,  at  this juncture?  If  they  didn't  agree with
Tolwyn's threat  assessments, they might be looking  for the admiral to fall
on his face.
     "Now. . . as  to operational planning.  Behemoth  is  undergoing  final
power-up  tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours  standard tomorrow
evening, we will leave the  Torgo  Proving Area and  proceed in company with
the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's
plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the
weapon.  Luckily,  Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely
target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane,  so we
will pass  directly  between  jump points  in the  Blackmane System and then
transit to Loki."
     Fairfax cleared  his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ
on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six  is a fairly minor  Kilrathi outpost.
Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to
serve  as a  sort  of  advanced base  for raiders passing through the  Ariel
System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send
the Kilrathi  by destroying  the outpost. A larger facility would have  been
better. The Empire may not take the hint if all  they lose is a  second-rate
base."
     Tolwyn gave  him  a stern look. "If Loki  doesn't  give them the  right
message, we'll give them  something bigger to think about." He shot  Blair a
glance.  "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or
another, Behemoth is going to end this war."
     On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform  were replaced
by a chart of  the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here
. . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim
from  the gas giant's atmosphere. Then  we  will move to this position, near
Loki  Six,  and   begin  the  firing  sequence.  Throughout  the  operation,
gentlemen,  we  will  be  accompanied  by  a  small escort  squadron,  three
destroyers.  They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support
vessels. But  Victory and her fighters  will have the primary responsibility
of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to  be clear on this. The
mission stands or  falls on this  ship's ability  to  protect that  weapon."
Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"
     There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel
Ralgha, I would like you  to work with Commander  Fairfax and  my staff over
the next several days. You're the closest thing we  have to a genuine expert
on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like  you to help us develop some likely models of
how  the Empire  will  react. To  the destruction of Loki Six, and  to other
measures  we  may be forced to take if that doesn't bring  them to the peace
table."
     Hobbes inclined his head.  "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I  warn
you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades
. . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be .
. . imperfect at best."
     "It  will do, Colonel. It  will  do." Tolwyn  glanced around  the  room
again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation.
You'll each  be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're
dismissed.
     Blair  took a  last look  at Tolwyn  before  he left  The  admiral  was
studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one
of anticipation and  undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure  he cared for the
look in the  man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground,
and no room to adapt to circumstances.

     Flight Control. TCS Victory Torgo System

     "Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation."
     Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad
at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
     "It could've  been better," Blair  grumbled. He  switched  on  the mike
again.  "Cobra, Vagabond, if that  had been the real thing there  would have
been a fifty-fifty  chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off
a shot  at the Behemoth. You were  lucky  the computer called it the way  it
did, but you're going to have to tighten  up next time, okay? The  defensive
specs  are  in the tactical database. Study them. We  can't afford to  leave
those weak spots uncovered."
     "You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
     "Not now," Blair  told him. "We'll  run another set  tomorrow  morning,
after  the new  point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get  some rest.
And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
     You're starting  to  sound  like  my uncle,"  Tolwyn said  with a grin.
"Don't tell me you've become a convert."
     "Hardly. Matter of  fact, I  have a feeling you've been  holding out on
me,  Kevin.  The admiral as much as  admitted he's  planning  to  take  that
monstrosity to  Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think  he'd stop if  the
Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for
the ink!"
     Tolwyn shrugged. "I told  you everything I know, Maverick. But you know
the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if
he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
     "Yeah  .  . ."  Blair trailed off.  He looked hard into Tolwyn's  eyes.
"What  do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have  the
chance?"
     "I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After
what you  said the last  time, I started doubting the whole  project. At the
Academy they taught us we were serving  a higher purpose, and a  weapon this
devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on
the verge of losing  everything? If  it's us  or them . . ." He  met Blair's
eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
     Blair shook his head. "Not  . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it
was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In
front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians.  Part of  me would
like  to wipe them all out, Kevin. But  another part of me says it's wrong."
He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to  pull the trigger  on  that
thing. I'm  not sure I could do that. And  if I did, I would never know if I
did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
     Tolwyn  nodded  slowly.  "Yeah.   And  could  you  live  with  yourself
afterward, whichever course you took?"

        CHAPTER XXIV

     Communication Center, TCS Victory Torgo System

     The intruder  entered the  compartment silently,  moving  with complete
confidence  among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen
through a bully night vision device, the room  glowed with an eerie greenish
light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the  Communications  center  except
when the ship was  at General  Quarters, and the intruder was confident that
no one would notice this stealthy foray.
     Gauntleted  hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on  one of the
consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed
as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
     ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
     The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been
easier under the  circumstances, but it was  more difficult  to  cover one's
tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
     IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
     It  took  a  moment  to  identify  the proper selection and key  it in.
Another console came to life across the room.
     TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
     Consulting  a personal  data  pad  for  the required  information,  the
intruder entered a short alphanumeric  string through  the keyboard. A green
light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
     COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
     The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into  the chip receptacle below  the
monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
     DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
     The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views  and
schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on
the screen.
     TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
     The  intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again
the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
     WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
     The screen went blank, and  the intruder powered  down the console  and
collected the  PDP and the data  cartridge, tucking them into a  pocket. One
last quick sweep  using  the light  intensification headset, and the job was
done.
     Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the
intruder had ever been present.

     Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai Torgo System

     "Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."
     Khantahr   Tarros  nar  Poghath  turned  in  his  chair   to  face  the
communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
     His monitor lit up with a series of images,  transmitted at  high speed
from  the stealth  fighter  that had penetrated  the  Terran defenses around
Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully.  It  seemed that
Prince Thrakhath's  plan was unfolding  perfectly. The Kilrathi  spy in  the
Terran  fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information
the Prince  required to the  waiting  fighter,  and now the  data was  being
relayed  to  Sar'hrai. Soon  the  carrier  would  be on its  way  to  rejoin
Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
     The  transmission  ended  with charts  detailing  a star system and the
operational plans for  a  Confederation  incursion. Tarros leaned forward in
his  seat.  "Navigator,  plot  a  course  to the  jump point. Communications
Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to
rendezvous  with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to
relax again.
     They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once
the Terrans had fallen into his trap.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     The  view from the  rec  room was impressive, Blair had  to  admit that
much.  As  he walked in, his  eyes were drawn to the massive  shape  of  the
Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier  as they  cruised slowly  through the
Blackmane  System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow
þ  apparently  the weapons  platform  didn't  carry  its full  allotment  of
engines,  either þ but they had made the transit  to  Blackmane  and were on
their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.
     He found  himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at
this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was
a restlessness in the  air, a feeling of mingled  excitement and tension. It
wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new
Confederation weapon, and for  many on board the Victory the war was already
as good as over.
     Vaquero looked up  from a  table by the door as Blair  stood  there and
watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
     "To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face.  He, at  least,
seemed pleased.
     "Opening night party  at  my  cantina," Lopez told  him, grinning  more
broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la
vista  a  los gatos. And I  figure on  filing for retirement pay  about  two
minutes after that.  I've  got  enough to  make the  down payment  on a nice
little place . . ."
     "Don't  start  calculating your  profit margins just  yet, Lieutenant,"
Blair  said  quietly. "Even  that monster might not be  enough to  shut  the
Kilrathi down overnight."
     He turned away, leaving Vaquero to  frown over the words. Blair spotted
Rollins and  Cobra sitting together in a  remote corner, well away  from the
rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
     "So  .  . . how's the  espionage business today?" he asked  flippantly.
"Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
     Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously,
Colonel."
     "No, Lieutenant, you're  wrong.  I  take you  both very  seriously. But
you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it?
I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
     Rollins  looked up at  him. "Don't be so  sure, Colonel," he said. "Two
nights back, after  we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one
of my  computer  commo logs. And  I  can  t account  for it.  I think it was
sabotage."
     "It could  also have been  a computer glitch," Blair pointed out.  "You
might  have  noticed that the systems on  this  ship  are not exactly up  to
snuff."  He  paused. "Or, if it  wasn't  the  computer, it  might have  been
something to do with the admiral. He  might've  ordered a message sent, then
had the record wiped."
     "Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
     "Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet.
You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And
the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his
chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can  be  a  good thing, but  make
sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every
time the computer hiccups or the  admiral decides  to keep  his laundry list
classified."
     "Yeah, maybe  so," Rollins  said. "But I've also  been  analyzing  that
original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild,
Colonel." He produced a  personal  data  pad  and called up  a file  on  the
screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
     "I'm no expert  in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said.  "To  me,
you've got  a bunch of spikes on  a  graph. You  want  to tell  me what they
mean?"
     "I'm not  sure  yet," Rollins  admitted. "But I've seen these  kinds of
signals  somewhere before  .  . . something outside of normal communications
use.  If I  could  just  figure out  where . .  ." He trailed  off,  looking
apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess  I still  have a ways to go before I can
deliver. But it isn't for  want  of trying, or for a  lack of things to look
into, either."
     Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport.  "I have to
admit, if there was  a  spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing.
But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
     "Hobbes is working with the  staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you
noticed?"
     Rollins stood up, looking  uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a
little  while. I'll catch you both  later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat
in the chair he'd vacated.
     "It never stops with you, does it,  Lieutenant?"  he asked. "An endless
program loop."
     "You'd never understand, Colonel,"  she said, looking weary.  "You just
don't have a clue."
     "'Maybe  that's  because  you've  never  tried to explain it," he  said
bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
     "It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she
spoke again. "I'm sure  you've heard the rumors. Some guys from  the  Hermes
spread  a lot of stories  around.  I  used  to have  these . . . nightmares.
People talked, you know how it is."
     "Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
     "The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me
when I was ten . . ."
     "The Kilrathi?"
     She  nodded "I ended up in a slave labor  camp. Escaped during a Confed
attack ten years  later. Most of  the  camp  was destroyed  in the fighting.
Might have been  the Navy's  fault, might have been the cats,  I don't know.
But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
     "It must have been þ "
     "You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I
saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
     "So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
     "The Psych guys spent a  couple of years  wringing me  out," she  said.
"First it was  debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find
out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for
Intelligence.  Then they started on  the  therapy."  She  paused.  "But they
couldn't wipe it all  out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I
wouldn't  let  them  do that. I'm Laurel Buckley,  by  God,  and if the cats
couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
     "You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that
. . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
     "It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance  to kill  cats. And that's
what I'm still doing today."
     He gestured toward  the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the
war? What then?"
     She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep
myself human." She gave a short,  grotesque laugh, an unnerving  sound  that
reminded  Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact  is, Colonel, there's a little
bit of the  Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out.
Every day, I can  feel  it getting a little bit stronger . .  . and one day,
there won't be any human left inside me any more."
     He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough
credit, Lieutenant. You survived  a horror most people  could  never handle.
You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
     Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . .
. well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
     He thought of Angel,  of the  raw emotion that had  surged  through him
when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in  his  ears. "Maybe I do  understand,
Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
     She  raised  an eyebrow.  "Cracked? You?  I  can't imagine  you  giving
anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
     Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System

        "COUNTDOWN TO JUMP, ONE HOUR, FIFTEEN MINUTES."
     Blair glanced up  at the  digital readout below the Flight Control Room
window  to confirm the time remaining.  Activity was reaching  a fever pitch
aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki
System. No  one really  expected the Kilrathi to  have much  in  the way  of
defenses at  their  Loki outpost, but  the preparations in hand assumed they
would be  jumping into a combat  zone. With so much riding  on the Behemoth,
nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
     Technicians prepped the fighters for  launch working quickly but with a
care  born of long experience and  a  respect for  the dangers of the flight
deck.  Red-shirted  ordinance  handlers  busily  fit  missiles  and  checked
fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the
topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put  through their  final  checks. The
huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and  Blair felt like
an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
     Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her
coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and
arms.  She looked,  in fact, almost  regulation,  a  far cry from her  usual
go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry
glare.
     "Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic
probe up your nose."
     "Heard you got  chewed out by the  admiral himself," Blair said. "But I
never thought it would actually take."
     "Sloppy dress  means  sloppy  work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp
British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change
my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
     Blair shrugged. "He's  got a real thing for  the  regs. But you  should
wear  the  reprimand  as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week  if I
don't get at least  one  chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from  him,
myself."
     "After the war,  I'm going to make it  my personal  mission  in life to
loosen the screws  on  all the moving  parts  on  guys like  him."  She  was
smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
     "Save a  screwdriver for  me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the
word on the launch?"
     "Pretty good,  this  time  out,"  she  said.  "Only three down-checks."
Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
     "What's the problem?"
     "Power surge fried half  his electronics  when we  went  to  check  his
computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
     Blair frowned. "Damn, bad  timing. But I guess  his bird was about due.
What about the others?"
     "Reese and Calder. One interceptor,  one Hellcat.  There's  an  outside
chance we can  get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't  count
on it."
     "Do what you can," Blair told her.
     "Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she
caught his sleeve.  "Look . .  .  after the  mission  . .  . what say we get
together?"
     He  looked into her  eyes, read the emotion  behind them. Everyone  who
served on the flight deck knew that  each mission  might  be  the  last one.
"I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since .
. .  ever since I found out  about Angel, I've felt  like you were there for
me. It's . . . made a big difference.
     Someone  called  for  her, and Rachel turned back to her  work  without
another  word.  Blair watched her hurrying  away.  She wasn't  anything like
Angel Devereaux,  but  there was  a  feeling between  them that was just  as
strong, in  its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate,
less intense,  yet it was a more comfortable  and familiar feeling,  exactly
what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.

     Bridge, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up."
     Eisen  acknowledged the Sensor  Officer's  report with  a curt  nod and
studied  the  tactical display  with  a critical eye. This was the period of
greatest  danger  in  any squadron  operation,  when ships  performed  their
transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and  prayed they wouldn't
be emerging in the middle of an enemy fleet.
     They  weren't taking any  chances this time. Coventry would  go through
first,  ready  to engage anything waiting  near  the other end of  the  jump
point.  The  destroyer that followed  her  would jump at  the first  sign of
trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.
     That  would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how  Jason Bondarevsky
felt  about flying  point  on  this mission. He was  supposed to be  one  of
Admiral  Tolwyn's  shining  young proteges,  but  apparently  the  admiral's
patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.
     Eisen glanced  uneasily at the admiral.  He was  dressed to perfection,
uniform  starched  and  crisp, every hair  in  place.  But Tolwyn  did  look
nervous, pacing  restlessly  back  and  forth  behind  the Sensor  Officer's
station. For all the man's air of  confidence, it was clear that he  had his
share of worries.
     "Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported.
"Jump field forming . . . there she goes!"
     Tolwyn  glanced at the  watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the  final
countdown, Captain," he ordered.
     For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on
board he'd interfered in routine  ship's operations: barking  orders, taking
over briefings, dressing down  crew members  who didn't live up to his image
of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and
everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that
could guarantee the success of the mission.
     But  perhaps  Tolwyn had  good  reason  to  be concerned. Eisen  leaned
forward in his chair and  repeated the Admiral's  order.  Commander  Gessler
slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.
     "NOW, JUMP  STATIONS,  JUMP  STATIONS," the  computer  announced. "FIVE
MINUTES TO JUMP SEQUENCE START."
     The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn
them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this operation
would go by the numbers after all. . . .
     "Remember,  Captain, Behemoth  will be  five  minutes behind us all the
way," Tolwyn said. "I expect  response times to be  tight. We can't afford a
screw-up. Not now."
     "Yes,  Admiral,"  Eisen said. They'd  been over it  all  a dozen  times
before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking
about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.
     And nothing would ever be the same again.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Loki System

     "And five . . . and four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."
     Jumpshock!
     Blair's  guts  twisted   and  churned   as  the  carrier  went  through
transition. No  matter how often he experienced it, he could never  get used
to the sensation. The  physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there  was
always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness  that left him
confused, numb.
     He blinked and shook his head, trying to  get his bearings. Everyone in
the  wing had gone  through  this transit  strapped  into their  cockpits, a
standard  precaution  when jumping into hostile space. They  had the  flight
deck  to themselves.  Force fields and gravity generators sometimes faltered
during jump, and technicians stayed clear of the  flight deck for  fear of a
catastrophic failure.  So  the pilots were alone,  lined up at their  launch
tubes, as ready for action as anyone could be in the aftermath of jumpshock.
     Blair's eyes came back  into  focus,  and he checked his  readouts  and
control settings automatically.
     A  voice crackled  in  his  headphones.  "Jump  complete," Eisen  said.
"Welcome to Loki System."
     There was a pause before  Rollins took over. "According to sensors, the
area  is  clear," the  communications  officer  announced, still sounding  a
little groggy. "And Coventry says the same. Sorry to disappoint you,  ladies
and gents, but it looks like an all clear."
     Blair let out a long sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
They had  cleared the first hurdle, but they weren't finished yet,  not by a
long shot.
     The  admiral's voice  came  over  the  channel,  clipped  and  precise.
"Colonel Blair, you will relieve yourself from launch stations  immediately.
All flight wing personnel remain on alert status until further notice."
     He still disagreed with the admiral's  decision  to suspend all  flight
ops from the  carrier  until  they  had to deploy to  protect  the Behemoth.
Coventry's  four  fighters  and  the destroyers  flying  escort  would  give
adequate cover, but Blair didn't  like keeping all of  his people on standby
alert for hours on end  without relief. Better to  let them fly patrols, get
some down-time, and  take the risk that the wing might be a few hands  short
when things hit the fan. But Tolwyn had overruled him.
     He  started  to unstrap himself from the Thunderbolt's cockpit.  If all
went well, Blair thought hopefully, this interlude would soon  end. And then
. . . ?
     It  was difficult to picture what peace would be like, after a lifetime
dedicated to the war.


        CHAPTER XXV

     Bridge. TCS Victory Loki System

     "God,  that sucker sure is thirsty," Rollins commented. "Good thing you
don't have to pay for a fill-up when you're skimming hydrogen."
     "Eyes on  your board, Lieutenant," Eisen growled. "And put the mouth in
neutral."
     "Yes,  sir," Rollins replied quickly. The edge in Eisen's voice made it
clear that the captain was dead serious.
     The Terran squadron  had proceeded from the jump  point to their  first
destination,  the