gas giant  Loki  VIII,  without encountering any  sign of
Imperial resistance. Victory remained close by while the Behemoth moved into
a tight, hyperbolic orbit around the huge ball of  gas. The cruiser and  her
consorts stood  further  off to give warning of  any enemy interference, but
there  was nothing.  The weapons platform  dipped  into the atmosphere  long
enough to  top off the depleted tanks of liquid hydrogen needed as  reaction
mass to move her ponderous bulk toward the target world.
     "Sensors are still reading  clear, sir," the  Sensor  Officer reported.
"Looks like we're home free."
     A red light flashed on the Communications board and Rollins called up a
computer analysis of the  stray signal locking onto his computer. "Captain .
.  ." he  began,  hesitating a moment.  "Sir, I've got some  kind of lowband
transmission here. Seems to be coming from one of the gas giant's moons."
     "What  do you make of it, Mister Rollins?" Admiral Tolwyn cut in before
Eisen could respond.
     "I'm  not sure, sir .  . . uh, Admiral. I don't think  its a ship. More
like an automated feed . . . from an unmanned relay station  or sensor buoy.
But powerful. A very strong signal . . ."
     "Any idea what it's saying?" Tolwyn asked.
     "No, Admiral. It's scrambled. Could be almost anything." Rollins looked
up at him, apologetic, but Tolwyn had already turned away.
     "Colonel Ralgha? What do you think?"
     Hobbes had been scratched from the fighter  roster with a down-gripe on
his Thunderbolt,  so  Tolwyn  decided he should join  other members  of  the
admiral's staff  at  supernumerary positions  on  the  bridge. The  Kilrathi
renegade shook his head, a curiously human gesture.
     "I am sorry, Admiral. I do not know."
     "Well,  I do," Tolwyn said. "It  means we've been noticed. And the cats
will be organizing a welcoming committee for us."
     "Any orders, Admiral?"  Eisen  asked. Rollins had never heard him sound
quite so stiff and formal.
     "The squadron will continue as before," Tolwyn ordered.  "Have Behemoth
secured from fueling  stations and  fall  into  formation. Coventry  to take
station ahead." He paused, almost seeming to strike a heroic pose. "Maintain
your vigilance, gentlemen. And be ready for anything."

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Loki System

     "Lord Prince," Melek said, approaching the dais and bowing deeply.  "We
have a  report from one  of the  sentinel  stations  near the eighth planet.
Terran  ships  have  been detected. Their  movements conform to a wilderness
refueling  operation, and one  of the  vessels appears to be their  Behemoth
weapon."
     Thrakhath leaned forward on his  throne, his eyes gleaming in the harsh
red light. "Ah  . . . so it  begins." He showed  his fangs. "You see, Melek,
how well our agent has performed? Not only the design specifications of  the
weapons platform,  but also the  intended Terran movements. Refuel at planet
eight,  then a  crossing  to six. Exactly  as  specified  in the report from
Sar'hrai."
     "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed. Behind his mask, he allowed himself a
moment's  impatience.  As   the  plan  unfolded,  the  Prince  was  becoming
increasingly filled with a sense of his  own self-importance.  The arrogance
of  the Imperial Family was one of the  major sources of disaffection  among
the  great nobles  of  the  realm, and  Melek  was finding it  difficult  to
maintain his pose of sycophancy  as Thrakhath's posturing grew more blatant.
"It seems we will indeed have a battle here, and soon."
     Thrakhath's gesture  called for  silence.  "The strength of the  Terran
force?" he asked.
     "Five capital ships,  Lord  Prince," Melek replied. "Plus  the  weapons
platform itself.  Only one carrier .  . . Victory. The others-a cruiser, and
three destroyers. Nothing to challenge our force significantly."
     "Excellent. They assumed  the outpost  here  was  not  worth  a  larger
squadron." Thrakhath paused. "How are our preparations proceeding?"
     "Nearly completed, Lord  Prince. The  Terrans  will find  their planned
firing  position difficult to reach. Our own forces will be deployed by  the
time they  realize the threat." Melek  paused. "There is  still  time,  Lord
Prince,  to order more  capital ships  into  the battle zone, to ensure  the
Terrans are destroyed."
     The  Prince gestured  denial. "No,  Melek. Fighters  will have the best
chance to penetrate the defenses of the weapons  platform. We do not want to
scare the enemy away with too great  a . .  . detectable show  of  strength.
Even if some of their ships escape, we will have the Behemoth. And with it .
. . the war."
     "As  you wish, Lord Prince." Melek  bowed and retreated, but  a part of
him wished he could  see Thrakhath  lose some  of  that arrogant  assurance.
Perhaps then the prince would finally come to  understand the true nature of
the dangerous game he played with the future of the Empire.

     Gold Squadron Ready Room, TCS Victory Loki System

     It took hours to cross  interplanetary distances, and the  flight  wing
settled into a grim routine of waiting, with two squadrons on watch in their
ready rooms  and the  other two snatching  downtime while they could.  There
were only six  of them in the Gold Squadron ready room,  with  Hobbes on the
admiral's personal  staff, but it  seemed unpleasantly cramped after  nearly
four hours of boredom waiting for an alarm that never came. No one wanted to
take  up Vagabond's challenge at  cards any more, and talk lagged.  Most  of
them sat quietly, enveloped in their own thoughts.
     Blair wasn't sure how much longer his staff could wait.
     "Man, I'd almost rather the cats would try to stop us," Maniac Marshall
said suddenly.  "Anything would beat sitting here  on our asses with nothing
to do."
     "Hey, get used to it, Vaquero told  him. "If that Behemoth thing works,
and we get peace, then we're history. No  more magnum launches, no more long
patrols . . ."
     "I'll believe it when I see it," Cobra said. "I figure we'll still have
to keep the  fleet ready, peace  treaty or  no. You can't trust the  cats to
keep to any treaty. Just look at what they did  the  last time we signed  an
armistice with them!"
     At  that moment  an alarm siren  cut off  all talk.  "LAUNCH  STATIONS,
LAUNCH STATIONS, the computer announced. ALL FIGHTERS UP. MAGNUM LAUNCH."
     The Gold Squadron pilots scrambled to their feet,  snatching up helmets
and gauntlets and heading for the door.
     "Thanks a  lot, Maniac," Blair said  as the two  nearly collided at the
door. "Looks like you're getting your wish."
     Marshall  grinned,  a  wolfish, uncanny  smile  similar  to  Paladin's.
"What's the  matter, Colonel, sir? You'd  rather  sit here and collect  dust
than get out on the firing line again?"
     He ignored the comment and followed the others down the corridor to the
entrance to the hangar area. Just inside he stopped at  an intercom  station
and punched for the bridge.  "This is Blair," he said as Rollins appeared on
the screen. "What's the scoop, Radio?"
     Rollins looked flustered. "Wait one minute, Colonel," he said.
     A moment  later Admiral Tolwyn's  face filled the  monitor. "Coventry's
hit a mine," the  admiral said. "She's falling behind, with heavy  damage to
her  shield  generators.  Looks like a Kilrathi mine field right across  our
planned course, and I don't like it one little bit. So I'm putting your boys
and girls out there until we see what else  the cats might have waiting  for
us."
     "So we  don't have anything definite yet . . . except the mines?" Blair
wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned. If this was just a false alarm,
it would sap the wing's  morale  even  more. But  the  Hermes survey  hadn't
reported any mine fields on the approaches to Loki VI. Blair didn't like any
coincidence this suspicious. Not here, not now.
     "Finding a  bunch of mines this close to the planned firing point . . .
I don't  like it, not one bit."  Tolwyn's words  echoed  Blair's uneasiness.
"Your  job is simple, Colonel. Cover  the Behemoth until it's ready to  open
fire."
     "Sounds simple  enough,  Admiral," Blair  replied.  "But  sometimes the
simple jobs are the real killers."
     Tolwyn broke the circuit.  Blair  retrieved  his flight gear and turned
back to the bustle in the hangar deck. Four of the Thunderbolts were already
rolling into place in front  of  their launch tubes, while  four Arrows from
Denise Mbuto's  squadron were in place on the opposite side. By the time the
two ready squadrons launched,  preparations were well  in hand for the other
two:  the  point-defense  fighters.   By  then  their  pilots,  roused  from
much-needed rest, would be ready to fly.
     Rachel Coriolis  hurried to him.  "Better  get saddled up, Colonel,  or
you'll miss the party," she said.
     He  smiled. "They can't do that. Didn't you hear? I'm  the Heart of the
Tiger. Can't have a party without the Heart of the Tiger, you know."
     Her  look  was serious.  "Take care of yourself out  there,"  she  said
quietly. "I wouldn't like it if . . . someone else I cared about didn't come
back."
     "I'll be back.  Now that I  know I have something worth coming back to,
they won't get to me again." He turned away and hurried toward his  fighter,
drawing on his  helmet and gauntlets as he  strode briskly across  the broad
metal deck.

     Stalker Leader Loki System

     Flight  captain Graldak  nar  Sutaghi studied  his  sensor  screens and
wished  his pressure gauntlets had  room for him  to unsheathe his claws  in
anticipation. The  Terrans had discovered the mine field  and were beginning
to  deploy  their  fighters. It  was  unfolding  just  as  Prince  Thrakhath
outlined. with  the mines across  their intended course occupying  all their
attention for  a  critical few  minutes,  there was a  perfect  opening  for
stealth fighters lying in wait to launch a devastating attack.
     The huge blip on his screen had to be the weapons platform, the primary
target. It  had come to  a dead stop  while the  carrier edged closer to the
mine field and began  to launch its fighters. For the moment, at  least, the
Behemoth  was actually closer to the waiting  Kilrathi ships than  the enemy
carrier.
     Now was the time to strike.
     "Stalker Flight, this is Leader," he said aloud. "Stand by to disengage
cloaks and attack on my mark.  Three . . . two . . . one. . . mark!  Attack!
Attack!  Attack!" As he spoke,  he  cut the power to  the  Strakha's stealth
device  and  brought  his shield and  weapons  power  on-line. He rammed his
throttles full forward  and felt the fighter surge, a predator eager to seek
out the prey.
     "All  fighters,  concentrate attack on  the  weapons platform," Graldak
ordered. "Remember the briefings . . . attack the weak points."
     "And the enemy fighters?" someone asked.
     "Do not  let  them  interfere  with  you," Graldak said. "But do not be
drawn into a dogfight until  the  primary  mission  is achieved." Inside his
bulky flight helmet, he  was showing his fangs. Graldak was eager to get the
first phase finalized so his squadron could engage the Terran  fighters.  In
the fighting at Locanda, it had been  galling to avoid combat and  run under
cloaks. This time they would show the apes how warriors fought.
     And  today  there were  no limits  on  engagement, no fighters declared
off-limits to attack Any enemy pilot  who wanted to fight, even the Heart of
the Tiger or the Kilrathi renegade, was fair prey to the hunters today.
     The Kilrathi attack group, four squadrons strong drove straight  toward
the daunting bulk of  the enemy planet killer.  Graldak's blood  sang within
his veins.

     Thunderbolt 300 Loki System

     "Targets! Targets! Targets!"
     Blair's eyes  shifted  instinctively to  his sensor screen  as  Rollins
chanted the  warning. Suddenly the monitor  was crawling with the red-orange
dots representing  enemy  fighters, four distinct  swarms of Kilrathi  craft
arranged in a rough half-globe. But they  were close,  too close  . . . well
inside the range of Terran sensors. And on the far side of the Behemoth from
Victory.
     Cloaked Strakha, then. They had lain  in wait while the Terran squadron
passed by, striking  only now when the mine field cut  off their advance and
the Behemoth was momentarily uncovered and vulnerable.
     The Kilrathi  must have known the significance  of  the weapon and  the
Terran plan of attack. It  was blatantly clear that  all the  talk  about  a
possible  spy  giving  away  secrets  to  the  Empire  was  more  than  just
speculation.
     Blair pushed the thought aside. Time enough to worry about that  later.
Right now, the Kilrathi were closing fast with the Behemoth.
     "Red and White Squadrons!"  he snapped.  "Double  back  and  engage the
enemy as quickly as possible." That  would send the point defense ships into
action directly, but it wouldn't provide much cover to the weapons  platform
itself "Blue Squadron, Gold Squadron, follow me!"
     He banked sharply, lining up on the Behemoth's looming mass and opening
up  his  throttles  to full  power.  With  afterburners blazing, Blair  dove
straight  toward  the  huge weapon.  The  others trailed  him, only thirteen
fighters  in all.  A  part  of Blair's mind dwelt idly  on  the  question of
whether or not the number of ships was significant. An ill omen, perhaps?
     "Skipper. . ." Denise  Mbuto  roused  him from his reverie. "Don  t you
think . . . ?"
     "Comm silence!" he snapped. "Follow my lead, damn it!"
     And  still they  dove,  until the  weapons platform  filled the  entire
forward  cockpit  view  and  he  could  make out  individual  structures and
projections on the hull of  the gigantic device. As they  swept  down toward
the metal surface, Blair suddenly pulled up, skimming within fifty meters of
the  Behemoth.  He  had  a maniacal  grin  on his face  as  he  pictured the
reactions in the other fighters behind him.
     "Whooeee!  What a ride!" Marshall  shouted, and Blair didn't  reprimand
him for breaking communications silence. The man's reaction was something he
could understand perfectly. He wanted to shout out loud himself.
     Instead  he  forced himself  to think  about the  battle  as  a  whole.
"Watchdog,  Watchdog,  this  is  Guardian  Leader," he said  on the  command
channel. "Come in, Watchdog."
     Again it  was Tolwyn, and not Rollins, who answered his call. "Damn it,
Blair, get in there!'' he snapped. "You have to protect the Behemoth!"
     "We're on  it,  Admiral,"  Blair  replied. "But  some support from  the
destroyers would be a good idea. Coventry, too, if she's able."
     "Negative  on that," Tolwyn replied. "We've  just spotted a flotilla of
Kilrathi cap  ships  closing on us.  They're at extreme range but coming  in
fast. Sheffield is moving to delay them. And Ajax is trying to clear a route
through the minefield."
     "She'll never make it," Blair said. "You know the odds against spotting
every mine when you're in something as big as a destroyer."
     "Coventry's  launching  her  fighters,  but  she's  in  bad  shape. And
Bondarevsky's  been  wounded. . ." The  Admiral was  struggling to  maintain
control. He stopped, visibly gathering his composure before he  spoke again.
"Just do your job, Blair. Tolwyn clear."
     The channel went dead, and Blair cursed under his breath. Tolwyn was so
concerned  with finding a way around  or  through those  mines  that  he was
throwing away valuable assets just when they needed them most.
     Blair dismissed  the thought. Tolwyn would fight  this battle  his  own
way. What mattered now was the flight wings part in it all.
     Still  skimming low over  the curved  body of the Behemoth,  the Terran
fighters flashed past the pressurized section of the hull where  the control
center and  crew's quarters were housed. Beyond  lay the battle zone,  where
the  two  squadrons  of Hellcats were  already making their  presence  known
against the Strakha. Blair pulled up sharply as  his sensors registered  the
fighting, climbing steeply away from  the weapons platform. His maneuver had
placed the two  squadrons, Arrows and Thunderbolts, between the Kilrathi and
their target Now all they had to do was make the move count for  something .
. .

     Stalker Leader Loki System

     Graldak  let out  a Kilrathi oath as he  spotted  the  Terran  fighters
forming  near the hull of the weapons platform. He hadn't  expected the apes
to fly so recklessly  close to the surface of the  huge weapons platform. It
was a daring  move. A  warrior's move.  He recognized  the  hand  of the one
Thrakhath had dubbed the Heart of the Tiger, the same one who had so  nearly
defeated the attack force off Locanda IV. That was one ape  who knew  how to
fight. . . .
     "So, Heart of  the  Tiger," he  said over the  comm channel. "You would
stand in my way? You will not stand long, I assure you."
     The Behemoth was the primary target, but that did not preclude swatting
aside any resistance  that sought to stop his attack run. With  all  weapons
armed,  Graldak switched on  his targeting computer  and  drove the  Strakha
straight toward the Terran fighters.

     Thunderbolt 300 Loki System

     "Here they come!"
     Blair saw the leading Strakha accelerating toward  them just  as  Flint
gave  her warning cry. The  Kilrathi fighters were no longer spread out, but
formed a wedge behind their leader. They were keeping tighter formation than
usual,  probably  hoping to bore  through  the  Terran  defenses  and  reach
Behemoth through sheer numbers and concentrated firepower. A quick glance at
the  sensor screen revealed the other Kilrathi ships now thoroughly engaged.
The  two Hellcat squadrons tied  up most  of the  enemy, while the rest were
being  pursued by  the half-squadron  off  of Coventry.  The cruiser  itself
limped in closer. Apparently Tolwyn was wrong about the situation aboard the
capital ship. . . .
     "Close up," Blair  ordered. These  were the  only Kilrathi  ships  in a
position to hit Behemoth for the  moment, but unless  the Terrans shifted to
meet the unexpected  Imperial formation their advantage would be lost. "Form
on me."
     But  the cats were driving in  too fast.  An Arrow flashed  past Blair,
blasters  firing wildly, but  three of the Strakha hit  the interceptor with
massed fire. Blair  tried to catch up to support the Arrow,  but  he was too
late. The Terran fighter's shields went down,  and  in seconds  the Kilrathi
blasters chewed through armor  and hull,  boring into the reactor. The Arrow
went up in a blaze of raw energy.
     It was only then that Blair realized it was Denise Mbuto's fighter.
     Now  the  leader was  almost on top of him,  and the rest of  the wedge
close behind. Blair set  his crosshairs on the lead Strakha and opened fire.
Several Kilrathi  ships  began to return his volley,  but  Cobra and Vaquero
appeared from nowhere  to engage on their flank, and in their haste  to meet
the new threat, the Kilrathi did little more than graze Blair's shields.
     He  maintained fire on the leader, looping to follow as  the wedge shot
past him. Fingers dancing over  the fire controls, Blair called up a pair of
dumb-fire  missiles. They  were simple  unguided rockets, without any of the
sophisticated homing systems common in other weapons in the  Terran arsenal,
but  in this situation they were exactly what Blair needed. If he  fired any
of  the other  types, they were  apt to be confused  by  the sheer number of
available targets. And Blair wanted the leader.
     He  kicked in his afterburners  once more, driving right into the enemy
wedge. His targeting reticule  centered over the  lead Strakha  and flashed,
and Blair's  fingers stabbed  at the fire  controls. The two  missiles leapt
from their launch rails almost as one, speeding straight toward the Kilrathi
ship.  His opponent,  realizing  what  was happening  at  the  last possible
moment, started to swerve, but it  was too late. The missiles detonated, and
the Kilrathi shields began to fluctuate wildly.
     Blair locked on his blasters and opened fire.
     The Kilrathi pilot continued  his maneuver even as the  armor was being
ripped off his stern section. The Strakha was changing course, but no longer
in  an  evasive turn. He was lining up on a vector only  slightly  different
from his previous heading . . . straight toward the Behemoth.
     With  a  shock,  Blair realized that  the  pilot's new course  had  his
fighter aimed directly at one of the exposed shield generator  housings that
Tolwyn had indicated as a weak point in the weapons platform's defenses. The
Kilrathi pilot had decided to make his death count. . . .
     The Strakha came apart, but hurtling chunks of debris stayed on course,
raining on the surface  of the Behemoth. A ripple of explosions erupted from
the huge vessel's hull. A moment later, two nearby Kilrathi ships  let loose
missile  barrages to take  advantage  of collapsing  shields on the weapons'
platform. Flint and Maniac  accounted for the two cats,  but the damage  was
already done.
     Blair could  see lifepods and shuttles detaching from the  Behemoth  as
the  explosions  spread  and swelled.  He  pulled up sharply,  steering back
through a gauntlet of Kilrathi Strakha,  knowing he had to put some distance
between his fragile fighter and the doomed planetkiller.
     The final explosion, when it came, overwhelmed his sensors and external
cameras.  For a moment  he was  flying  blind, buffeted by  spinning bits of
metal and stray shots from enemy fighters. Kilrathi  jeers and  taunts  were
loud on the comm channel, a demonic cacophony of hate and glee.
     Behemoth was gone. . . .
     Elsewhere,  the  Kilrathi  fighters  were   turning  away.  The  Terran
resistance had been stiff, and with the  destruction of the weapons platform
their mission  was  accomplished. As the Kilrathi  began to withdraw  in the
direction of their capital ships, Blair ordered the  flight wing  to regroup
near Victory. No one offered to pursue the retiring foe.
     Tolwyn's face appeared on Blair's comm screen. "I'm  ordering the fleet
to withdraw,  he said, shock and pain etched plainly on his face. "Ajax will
stall the enemy fleet as long as possible. Land your fighters, Colonel." The
admiral's shoulders seemed to sag. "It seems we've lost  our last chance . .
."


        CHAPTER XXVI

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     The retreat from Loki had cost  the  flight  wing five more pilots, and
the  destroyer Ajax was destroyed while attempting to hold off the  enemy so
the rest of the squadron could  withdraw through  the jump  point. Still, it
might  have been  considered  a victory  of  sorts,  extracting  the  Terran
squadron from the trap at Loki VI . . .  if it  hadn't been for the loss  of
Behemoth.
     The last hope for mankind. . . that was how the Behemoth was described.
Now it was gone. And it was Christopher Blair who had failed in his duty  to
protect the weapon from the Kilrathi attack.
     The bitter thought  gnawed at Blair  as  he stood  on the flight  deck,
surrounded  by  other senior ship's officers. The failure had been his . . .
but   right  now,  it  was  Admiral  Geoff  Tolwyn  who  was  suffering  the
consequences of that failure. The orders came in two days after the squadron
retreated to the Blackmane System. They were conveyed by a fast courier ship
that had carried Tolwyn's report to sector HQ and then  returned. Tolwyn was
relieved of  command  over  the erstwhile Behemoth Project. He was to strike
his flag aboard Victory and return to  Torgo immediately to face  an inquiry
into his handling of the entire operation.
     Victory, meanwhile, was to maintain position and complete field repairs
pending the arrival of a new squadron commander. No one aboard was sure what
that portended
     Tolwyn  dressed as  precisely as  ever, but  defeat was  plain  in  his
carriage as  he stepped onto the flight deck, his staff trailing behind him.
The admiral  did  not  seem surprised  to  note that the turnout to see  his
departure was smaller and less  impressive than upon his  arrival. His  star
fell, and  he  with  it. Tolwyn was  well aware of  the fact.  He stopped to
return Eisen's crisp salute.
     "I relieve you, sir," the captain said quietly.
     "I stand relieved," Tolwyn replied. "Permission to leave the ship?"
     "Granted, Admiral." Eisen saluted a second time.
     "A word of warning," Tolwyn said, again returning the salute. "The cats
knew exactly where we were going, and when. They even knew exactly where  to
strike." He paused, running a sour eye over  the  assembled  officers behind
Eisen. His gaze seemed to come to rest on Blair. "I believe  you may  have a
leaky ship, Captain."
     "With  all  due respect, sir,"  Eisen responded stiffly. "I  resent any
such  suggestion  regarding  my  people.  They've  served  this ship and the
Confederation with honor, one and all. There are  never  any guarantees when
it comes to battle, Admiral. And no such thing as certain victory, no matter
how awesome your weapon may be."
     Tolwyn's expression was bleak. "Victory is certain enough now, Captain,
for the Kilrathi. I hope  the honor of your crew is  enough, in the fighting
that lies ahead. It will only get worse from here."
     He turned away  and stalked toward the  shuttle without  another  word.
Climbing  the ramp, he turned back to look at the flight deck one last time,
and again Blair felt that the admiral's gaze singled him from the rest. Then
Tolwyn boarded the craft, and  the door swung shut behind him. The assembled
officers and men withdrew as the shuttle powered up.
     The hangar area was empty by the time the shuttle rolled  onto the open
deck beyond the force field curtain, rising slowly away from the carrier and
into the black void.

     Bridge, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Captain, we've got a ship coming  through the Torgo jump  point. Looks
like a big one . . ."
     "On the main monitor," Eisen ordered, leaning forward in his chair. The
viewscreen showed a computer-enhanced view  of open  space, with no  outward
sign of the jump point or the disturbance the sensors picked up indicating a
ship in transit.
     Four  days had passed since Tolwyn's departure, and aboard  Victory and
the other ships in the ill-fated Behemoth Squadron,  the passage of time was
starting to weigh heavily on crew morale. Being driven back with the loss of
the  weapons  platform þ not to mention Ajax þ  was bad  enough. But to wait
here, useless, without a word of the war from other quarters .  . . that was
even worse.
     A ship took form on the  viewscreen,  slightly larger  than Victory but
similar in configuration. It was one of the latest models of escort carrier,
but its sleek, modern lines were marred by battle damage.
     "Jesus,"  someone  muttered.  "Looks  like half  the  flight  deck  got
cooked."
     "Transponder code's on  line,  Captain," Rollins said a  moment  later.
"She's the Eagle. Captain Chalfonte."
     "Confirming," the sensor officer added a moment later.
     "Message  coming  in,  Rollins  reported.  "They're  sending  across  a
shuttle. No details,  sir. Just . . . sending a shuttle.  We're to  stand by
and await further communication."
     Eisen  nodded. "Very  well. Alert Flight Control  we  have  an incoming
shuttle.  Mr. Gessler,  you  have the bridge.  I'll be  in my ready room  if
there's anything further."

     Flight Control, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Victory, Victory, this is shuttle Armstrong. Request landing clearance
and approach vector.
     "Shuttle Armstrong, cleared to land," Blair replied.  He was standing a
turn as OOD in Flight Control, one more way to keep himself busy so  that he
wouldn't brood over recent events. He signaled to one  of the technicians to
activate the carriers approach beacon.
     The  shuttle skimmed low over the flight deck and allowed  the  tractor
beams to  lock on and pull it in. Blair monitored the landing,  and when the
stubby  little craft  was down,  he gave curt orders  to activate the  force
fields and revive pressure and gravity inside the hangar  area.  Behind him,
two of the techs were swapping speculations about the shuttle and its reason
for paying the ship a visit from Eagle, but Blair silenced them with a quick
look.
     The shuttle doors opened up, and a single stocky figure appeared at the
top of the ramp.  Blair stared, wide-eyed  as  the  man  glanced around  the
hangar deck and gave an approving nod of his graying  head. Rachel  Coriolis
appeared at  the bottom of the ramp, holding out a PDP so that the shuttle's
pilot could  log  in,  but  she  nearly dropped it as she  took  in the rank
insignia on the man's well-worn flight suit.
     It wasn't  often that  a  full general  visited  the flight  deck  of a
carrier.
     Blair wasted  no time in getting to the  flight deck to join Rachel. By
the time he reached the  shuttle, General James Taggart had descended to the
deck, taking the data pad  from the chief technician's hands. He was smiling
as he signed it and thrust it back at her.
     "There, now, lassie, ótis all legal and proper,"  the general said, his
thick  Scots accent a welcome reminder of better  days. He caught  sight  of
Blair  and his grin  broadened. "Och, lad, dinna hurry! I'm nae sae old that
ye maun rush tae see me before I keel over!"
     "Paladin!" Blair said, saluting the man who had been his first squadron
leader on the old Tiger's Claw. "Er . . . General . . .
     "Paladin I'll always be  tae my auld mates, laddie,"  Taggart told him,
returning  the  salute carelessly  and then seizing Blair's hand  in a  warm
handshake. " 'Tis aye good tae see ye again."
     "Why didn t someone  tell  us you were on the shuttle?" Blair demanded.
"We would  have  laid on a proper welcome." He was thinking of the  contrast
between Taggart's arrival and Tolwyn's just two weeks earlier.
     "Och, lad, I cannae be bothered with all the pomp  and circumstance. Ye
should ken that well enough by  now. The business I'm on doesna  allow  time
for all that folderol."
     "Business?"
     "Aye, lad."  Paladin stroked his salt-and-pepper beard and fixed  Blair
with a steely stare. "The business of putting right the mess Auld Geoff made
of  things, at Loki. I just hope ótis nae too late tae  salvage this  mess."
The general gave him another smile. "So,  if ye dinna mind,  lad, I need tae
see Captain Eisen as soon as may be. But I'll be  wanting tae talk to ye, as
well, soon enough."
     General  Taggart strode  briskly toward the door, leaving Blair behind.
Rachel exchanged glances with him.
     "That  was  General  Taggart?"  she  asked  as  Paladin's   broad  back
disappeared through the doorway.
     Blair nodded. "In the flesh."
     "Good God," the woman said  softly.  "I feel sorry for the Kilrathi who
gets in his way . . ."
     "The last  one who tried ended  up with  a  Paladin-sized hole in him,"
Blair agree. "I just wonder what the hell he's doing here. . .?"

     Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     The door buzzer made an irritating noise, and Blair swung his feet from
his bunk  and said "Enter" just to shut it off.  He  wasn't surprised to see
Paladin when the door slid open. "Come in, General," he said formally.
     Taggart  cocked  an eyebrow at him.  "General,  is it,  again? Have  ye
decided tae go all formal on me, lad?"
     Blair shrugged wearily. "It's hard to think of you as Paladin any more,
you know. It's been a long time."
     "Those  were the good days, though, laddie," Paladin told him, crossing
the cramped cabin to perch on the only chair. "I wish I was still out on the
firing line with you young lads and lasses, instead of flying a bloody desk.
     "I wish you  were out here,  too," Blair told  him. "A  few more pilots
like we had in the old gang and we might've saved Behemoth last week."
     "That bucket of bolts," Paladin said, making a face. "Auld Geoff really
thought that monster of his would work. He always  believed that  bigger was
better."
     "You had  a better solution, I take it? Kevin said you had some  scheme
cooked up,  over in  Covert Ops." Blair couldn't  help  letting  some of his
anger show in the comment.
     Taggart studied  him. "I hear you  . .  . heard  about Angel," he said,
answering  Blair's  tone  rather  than  his  question.  "In  a  tangle  with
Thrakhath, no less."
     "Yes, I did, you son of a bitch."
     "I'm sorry that ye had tae find out that way."
     "How long have you known?" Blair demanded.
     Paladin didn't  answer right away.  "Since. . . since before  Concordia
was lost," he admitted.
     Blair felt  the  anger surging  within,  his fists  clenching  with the
sudden desire  to strike  out  at the  man. "You  bastard," he said. "When I
asked, you stood there and lied to me."
     "Laddie, I had to do it. I was under orders myself. . . ."
     "All the missions we flew together þ they didn't mean a damn thing, did
they?" Blair demanded. "You out there on my wing, protecting me . . ."
     "Don't you  see  that's what I  was doing by  not telling you?" Paladin
said. "Look, ladie . . . look  what ye almost did out there, when ye learned
of it all. I was protecting you again . . . from yourself."
     Blair  looked away, at the holo projector  sitting  beside  his bed. He
hadn't played the message again since learning she was dead, but he heard it
in his dreams all too often. "You know what she meant to me."
     "Aye, lad,  I do indeed." Taggart paused. "But  we're  fighting  a war,
son. We've all lost someone close to us. It doesna make you special."
     "Yeah, right," Blair  said. "I've  heard  the whole routine  before. It
doesn't get better with repetition."
     Paladin shrugged. "I suppose not. But the fact is, lad, that we couldna
tell anyone about Angel. Not until now. Not without ruining the work she did
before she died."
     He didn't answer, but he met Taggart's eyes.
     "Her  last mission was a  part of my  project,  laddie.  Not sae grand,
perhaps, as  Auld Geoff and his Behemoth, But a way  tae end this  war, once
and  for all.  And  ótis  up tae  you, Chris Blair,  tae finish  what  Angel
started."

     Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     Like his arrival, the  briefing  Paladin gave  the  next morning was  a
low-key affair.  Instead  of an audience  of aides and ship's officers,  the
general limited  the  briefing  to Blair  and  Eisen.  He  wasted no time on
useless preliminaries or self-congratulation.
     "We've got a lot to cover, and damned  little time to do it in."  Blair
always  noticed  that  Paladin's  accent faded  as he focused  on  important
matters, and today was no exception.  "Covert Ops lost out to Admiral Tolwyn
when it came time for HQ to decide on a response  to the Kilrathi biological
threat, but like  him we've had an operation in train for several years. Its
a long shot, I'll grant you, but it can work. It has to."
     Blair  noticed a look  of distaste  on  Eisen's  face.  After Behemoth,
another long shot was the last thing any of them wanted.
     "You hae  already been briefed  on  the seismic instability of Kilrah,"
Paladin  went on. "It was central  to the whole Behemoth project, the notion
that even if the weapon wasn't able to bust a planet cold, it could at least
shake the place  apart when  applied against the right  target.  Our project
tackled the same concept from anither  angle,  one more in keeping  with the
philosophy of Covert Ops."
     He punched a code into the  keypad in  front of him  and the  map table
came to life,  projecting  an image of a torpedo-shaped device into  the air
between the  three men. "This is the Temblor Bomb," he said quietly. "It was
developed by  Doctor  Philip  Severin, one  of  the top research men  in the
Confederation. It's  been undergoing tests for some time now . .  . nearly a
decade, in fact."
     The  view changed to schematics. It brought back unpleasant thoughts of
Tolwyn's Behemoth  lecture, and  Blair  shifted  uncomfortably in  his seat.
Eisen's face was a study  in bland neutrality as he regarded the holographic
image
     "The  bomb operates  on the  principle of  seismic resonance,"  Taggart
continued. "Detonated in the right place, at the proper juncture of tectonic
fault lines,  it  will set  up a series  of  quakes which will  increase  in
intensity until Kilrah is  quite literally shaken apart." Paladin spread his
hands.   "Unfortunately,   the  weapon   doesna  lend   itself   to   pretty
demonstrations  on backwater worlds. There's  only  a handful  of planets we
know of where the Temblor Bomb  could do  its work, and Kilrah is at the top
of the list.  The High Command  wanted  something they could escalate up  to
gradually,  so  they  threw their  weight  behind  Admiral  Tolwyn  and  the
Behemoth."
     Blair frowned. "I've said all along that I'm against þ "
     "Laddie," Taggart said sternly. "I'd like nothing better than to find a
solution that didn't involve civilian casualties, but the simple fact is  we
do  not have one at hand."  He paused. "Right now we have to stop the Empire
cold. Not just a defeat, but a  final defeat. The Imperial hierarchy  is  so
centralized, so built around the idea of Kilrah as  the core of their entire
culture,  that the destruction  of the  planet  will bring the rest  of  the
Empire  to a halt. Even if there are a few warlords  who  want to fight, the
other  Kilrathi worlds will come apart  as clans  and factions  and splinter
groups  start fighting for a new  equilibrium.  And that's  our only hope of
bringing the war to a quick end."
     Eisen  looked  at  him.  "The  brass  must  have thought  a  negotiated
settlement  was possible," he commented. "They wanted Tolwyn  to demonstrate
Behemoth and make the Kilrathi come to the peace table."
     "Aye,  that  was the hope," Paladin  admitted  slowly. "Though you must
know  that the admiral had  no plans tae stop  with Loki. He knew, just as I
do, that Thrakhath and his Emperor willna stop fighting  as long as they see
a  hope  of winning.  And a balance of  power,  their bioweapons against our
Behemoth, would  have meant the advantage of numbers and  strategic position
was still with the Empire."
     "It sounds to me like there was never  any choice at  all,"  Blair said
quietly.
     "Laddie,  there wasn't." Paladin looked  grim. "Fact  is, even  if Auld
Geoff had decided tae hold off, I was  ready to launch a Temblor Bomb attack
on Kilrah on my ain authority."
     "What?" Eisen looked shocked. "You'd have been court-martialed six ways
from Sunday!"
     "Aye, true enough," Paladin  said. "But my career doesna mean much  set
against  the end of this  damned war. Our hope was that the cats would  hear
about Behemoth's attack on Loki and assemble the bulk of their reserve fleet
tae intercept it. I persuaded Captain Chalfonte tae take Eagle into Imperial
territory tae launch the Temblor Bomb strike on Kilrah while the  cats  were
chasing Behemoth. But they were a step ahead of us,  it seems. Thrakhath had
a strike force ready at Loki, and never touched the reserves. Eagle ran into
trouble before we got anywhere near Kilrah. We had tae break off and retreat
with heavy damage."
     "So it's over, then," Blair said bitterly.
     "Not  yet, it isn't,"  Taggart  said. "That's why I'm  here.  Now  that
Behemoth has failed, Sector HQ has authorized the Temblor strike. This time,
when we  go  in, we'll be  supported  by a fleet. If  we can  penetrate  the
defenses  that turned  Eagle  back, and  get a few fighters through, we  can
still drop the bomb and destroy the planet."
     "That doesn't sound like a long  shot,"  Blair said. "It sounds like no
shot at all. A fleet couldn't penetrate all the way to  Kilrah, and anything
less  than a fleet  would be  carved  up before  you could say here,  kitty,
kitty!
     "Dinna be sae sure, laddie," Paladin said with a wolfish  grin. "Covert
Ops didna gae into this thing blind. Fact  is, a squadron of fighters can do
what a fleet cannot hope to . . . thanks to Jeannette Devereaux."
     "Angel? Where does she come into all this?" Blair was still frowning.
     "Her  last mission was to  Kilrah, laddie,  aboard a  captured Kilrathi
freighter we  rigged up with  a  nice little cargo of goodies."  Despite his
almost bantering tone, his eyes were dead serious.  "You see, we kenned just
fine  that we  couldna  bull  our  way through  to Kilrah.  So instead we've
arranged for a  . . .  more stealthy approach." He manipulated his keyboard,
and  a  new schematic appeared. Blair  recognized  it. He  had  seen  Rachel
pouring over these same plans once.
     "An Excalibur?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
     "Aye. Eagle carries a squadron of them, the first operational squadron.
They have  a limited jump capability,  and a cloaking  device  þ which means
they can penetrate the Kilrah System  in secret, carry out the  mission, and
hopefully get clear again when it's over." Taggart raised  his  hand to ward
off the protests that sprang to  Blair lips. "Hear me out, laddie. You'll be
wanting to say yon fighter doesna have the range tae make a jump and proceed
all the way  in to  Kilrah. That's true  enough.  But Angels mission was  to
survey  a jump point that we didna previously  know about, and tae make some
stops along the  way in to Kilrah." A map appeared  over the  table, showing
the Kilrah System. "Here . . . here . . . and again, here. Asteroids  .  . .
the last of them Kilrah's outer moon, which barely merits the label. And  on
each one,  a  hidden  supply  cache hollowed out by Angel and  her crew. Big
enough  to take in a squadron of  ships, but well camouflaged. Each equipped
with  fuel, missile  reloads,  the  works.  And this one  þ  " He  indicated
Kilrah's tiny  second moon. "In this cache, a pair of Temblor Bombs, all set
and ready to load."
     "You  mean they're  already  out there?"  Blair demanded.  "But Angel's
people were caught. Interrogated. The Kilrathi could  have found them all by
now. . . ."
     Taggart  shook his head. "Nae, laddie.  These were Covert  Ops  people,
dinna forget. Conditioned  not tae  remember  anything  of the mission, once
they were caught.  Not  even Thrakhath's torturers  could hae pried anything
out of them."
     "So  the  caches  are still  there,"  Blair said  slowly. "Just  . .  .
waiting."
     "Aye. Waiting," Paladin said. "Angel did her job well. Those bombs  are
aye big, laddie, so big ye couldna carry any other missiles once you mounted
one. Planting them here was the best  solution. You go into the system fully
armed, so you can deal with any patrols you run into along the way. But when
you make  the bomb run,  it'll be from close  range. There's less chance  of
disaster this way. Even  if you lose ships going in, the  ones that are left
can still pick up the bombs and carry out the mission."
     "If   they're   hidden,   how  do   we  locate   them?"   Blair  asked.
"Transponders?"
     Paladin nodded.  "Aye. They'll respond on a very  high band,  and  only
when you fire a query at them. Believe me,  laddie, we've done everything we
can tae make this work."
     "You're sure  Colonel  Devereaux got all the way and set  up all  three
depots?" Eisen asked.
     "She  did,"  Paladin said quietly. "She  managed tae  send out  a coded
signal, before the cats took her ship. A scout ship posted in the Oort Cloud
monitored  it  and brought word tae  us." He  paused. " óTwas  frae them  we
learned of the capture. . . and the execution, as well. Then the cats put it
out on their propaganda broadcasts. . . ."
     "And you really think this plan can work?" Blair said quietly, changing
the subject. He didn  t  want to  think about  Angel's death, not now. "Aye,
laddie, it will work. Because it has to."

     Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Because it has to." The image on the screen was  too small to pick  up
details,  but  the voices had  been clear enough. It had  been  a good idea,
placing cameras where they might pick up important meetings.
     The spy  shut off the monitor as the briefing dispersed. It seemed that
the threat to  Kilrah  was  not  over  yet,  even  with the  destruction  of
Behemoth. Thrakhath's instructions  didn't cover this eventuality, and there
would be no ships lurking nearby to pick up another broadcast.
     If the spy was to alert the Prince  of this new danger it would require
careful preparation indeed. But it had to be done. . . .
     For the glory of Kilrah!


        CHAPTER XXVII

     Flight Control, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "That's  the last  of  óem,  Colonel. Eight  Excaliburs,  all ready for
action."
     Blair stared at the flight deck through the transparent  wall of Flight
Control,  studying the lines of the  last of  the new fighters as it  rolled
slowly to a halt inside the hangar area. On Paladin's orders, the Excaliburs
came from Eagle in exchange for Gold Squadron's Thunderbolts. They certainly
looked impressive  enough.  Blair hoped a few days of patrols would give the
pilots  a  chance  to  get used to  them before  they went  into  action  in
Paladin's crazy scheme to attack Kilrah. "I hope they're all they're cracked
up to be," he said quietly.
     "Believe me, skipper, they're  the  hottest birds that ever hauled jets
off a carrier deck,"  Rachel  Coriolis said. She wore an expression of sheer
joy  as she contemplated  the new  craft. "These beauties  are a  mechanic's
dream. At long last, I get to really show what I can do."
     "Oh, I don't know, Chief," Blair said,  glancing at her enraptured face
and giving her a smile. "I've been pretty impressed right from the start."
     "Yeah, but  you haven't seen everything, not by a long shot," she said,
flashing an answering grin. She moved a little closer to him and lowered her
voice.  "It might  not  be proper protocol to  make the  first move with  an
officer and all . .  . but how óbout we get together later  on and I'll show
you  the rest?  Sooner  or  later,  you and me, we've got  to  let go of the
ghosts. Figure out if the parts'll fit somewhere else . . . if you know what
I mean?"
     Blair hesitated, looking into her dark eyes. He couldn't now deny being
attracted  to Rachel, her quiet strength  and  her  irreverent humor. Always
before it seemed too much like a betrayal of Angel. . . .
     But  Angel was gone, and she would have been the first one to want  him
to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. Rachel had already helped him
over the first,  most difficult adjustment. It seemed  right, somehow,  that
they  travel  further down the  road she helped him find that led out of the
darkness.
     "You  think our  parts  might  mesh,  Chief?" he asked her,  his  smile
broadening.
     "You never know until you take a test run," she said. "Tonight, maybe?"
     "Tonight," he agreed quietly.
     He was almost surprised at the intensity of the emotion behind that one
simple word.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Got a minute, Colonel? Before I have to go on watch?"
     Blair looked up at  Lieutenant Rollins and gave him  a curt nod. "Sure.
Pull up a chair." He hesitated,  studying the young communications officer's
worried expression. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"
     Rollins  sat down, looking uncomfortable. "I think I've  finally turned
up  something  solid, Colonel. In  that .  .  .  matter Cobra and I've  been
looking into."
     "And that is?"
     "I  figured out where  I'd  seen that harmonic pattern before," Rollins
told him.  "It's been used a  time  or two in psychiatric work.  Personality
overlays . . ." Rollins hesitated.  "Sometimes, with a subject,  you want to
be able to switch  from  a substitute personality to  the original,  or back
again.  They use it in therapy, overlaying a well-adjusted behavior  pattern
over a personality that's got problems, but the  doctors want to  be able to
retrieve the original identity, locate the root of the problem."
     "Yeah, I've heard about it. You think it applies here?"
     "If I'm right, the Kilrathi might have used that message from Thrakhath
as a carrier for a personality trigger. When it  was played, it brought up a
different personality in a Kilrathi agent on board."  Rollins hesitated. "If
Cobra's right, it would have brought back an original personality in Hobbes,
something overlaid by the one we've known all along. Or . . ."
     "Or what?" Blair demanded.
     "I .  .  . was thinking about what you said. About Cobra.  She admitted
there was something familiar about the signal,  but she didn't say what. But
it  set  me  to thinking. What  if the  signal  was  supposed to bring up an
implanted personality in her .  . . something programmed by the  Kilrathi to
make her work as a spy. Hell, she might not even be aware of it any more, if
the work was sophisticated enough."
     Blair looked down at his drink. "Once again, there's no real proof," he
said  slowly. "We can hatch theories  until the sun goes  nova,  but without
real evidence . . .
     "I know, sir,"  Rollins said, biting his lower lip and looking worried.
"But  .  . . hell, I  don't know  what to think any more  or who to trust. I
think I've identified  another part of Thrakhath's transmission that carries
a low-frequency side message,  but it seems like it's a  pretty old code. It
was  discontinued  a while back, and is no longer in our current  files. I'm
still trying to reconstruct it. Maybe we'll know more  then.  But  meantime,
what do I do? Tell Cobra? If she's the spy . . .
     "Keep it to yourself, Lieutenant," Blair said. His wrist implant chimed
a  reminder. "Damn.  I've got a meeting with Paladin and  the  Captain."  He
stood up. "You  keep  working on  that  signal,  Lieutenant.  Crack  it fast
because  we have  to find out if  there really is a  leak  þ before we start
General Taggart's new mission.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     Lieutenant Laurel Buckley studied the sleek lines of the Excalibur  and
gave  a  low  whistle of  appreciation.  "Man,  oh  man, that  is a thing of
beauty,"  she said softly. Cobra was looking forward to trying the new craft
out, even if it was only a routine patrol.
     "I'll  say," Chief  Coriolis  said,  looking  up  from  where  she  was
kneeling, checking the locking mechanism on  the forward landing  gear "This
is one nice piece of machinery."
     "Where's Ski, Chief?" Cobra asked. Technician First Class Glazowski was
her usual plane captain, but he was nowhere in sight.
     "Had to put all the Gold Squadron plane captains through a crash course
on  how to care and feed these beauties," Rachel told her. "I'm the only one
who's up on the specs at the  moment. Don't worry, he'll be done by the time
your patrol gets back." She looked around. "Who's going out with you?"
     "Vaquero," Cobra said. "Except he's late, as usual."  She moved over to
the cockpit ladder. "I swear he'll be late to his own cantina opening."
     "I'll  have Flight Control  put out  a call for him," Rachel said. "You
need any help strapping on this baby?"
     "Nah. Looks like you're overworked as it is."
     "I'll say.  I'm  supposed to have five techs on every  bird. Today I've
only  got  three  to  get both you  guys  up and  flying." The  tech  looked
disgusted. "My watch roster looks thinner every day, seems like."
     "Well, I can  run through my checklist  just fine by myself. Just don't
forget  to send somebody out here to give me my  clearance when it's time to
launch!"
     Rachel chuckled and  turned away. Buckley paused at the bottom  of  the
ladder and cocked  her head to one side. Something . .  . someone was moving
around on the other side of the Excalibur.
     She set her helmet and gauntlets  down on the wing and ducked under the
fuselage  to investigate. From what  Rachel  just said there shouldn't  have
been any technicians working in that corner of the bay. . . .
     Something struck her  in the stomach as  she straightened, knocking her
backward against the hull of the fighter with such force that she banged her
head. As she shook  it, trying to clear her blurring  vision and the ringing
in her ears, she became  aware  of  the  pain in  her  abdomen. Her fingers,
clutching at the spot, came away sticky with blood
     And then her vision did  clear, for  a moment, as she  slumped  to  the
deck. The bulky figure standing over her might have stepped out of her worst
nightmare.
     "Hobbes . . ." she gasped. Then blackness took her.

     Flight Control, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     Rachel Coriolis entered the Flight Control Center and dropped into  the
nearest  vacant  seat.  "God, I'll be glad to get some sack time," she said.
She suppressed a grin as she remembered the plans she'd made with Blair. She
doubted  either one of them would get  much sack time tonight.  "They're all
yours, Captain. And good riddance."
     Lieutenant  Ion Radescu, the duty  Flight Controller, gave  her a grin.
"Come  on, Rachel, you know you  love  it. What  would your life  be without
fighters to work over, huh?'
     "A hell of a lot cleaner," she said, returning his smile. Since Admiral
Tolwyn's departure, she'd gone right back to her old habits of dress.
     Radescu chuckled and  turned to  his console.  "Okay, boys  and  girls,
let's  get  this show started." He thumbed a  mike switch. "Prowler  Flight,
this is Control. Radio check."
     "Prowler Two," Vaquero said. "Read you five by five."
     There  was  a  moment of silence  before  Cobra's  voice  came  on  the
speakers. "Clear signal."
     The FCO frowned.  "Prowler  One, I'm not getting anything on video from
you. You got a fault showing?"
     Again there was a pause. "Negative."
     "Damned thing ought to be working, Rachel said, joining  Radescu at the
console. Those birds are so new you can still smell the fresh paint."
     "Want to have a look?" Radescu asked.
     "It  ain't  enough  to get  a  down-gripe," Rachel told him.  "Long  as
audio's working, I don't see a problem." She  paused. "I'll take a look when
they get back in."
     "Okay, Chief," the FCO nodded. "Prowler Flight cleared to launch."
     Out on the flight deck below them, the fighters rolled into position in
their  launch tubes. Green lights flashed  on Radescu's board. "Launch  when
ready," he ordered.
     And the two Excaliburs hurtled into space.
     Rachel  turned away. "I'm gonna grab me a cup of something hot and then
check on my students in Ready Room Three," she said over her shoulder. "Yell
if you need me þ
     The intercom shrilled. "Flight Control, Bay Twelve," a hoarse voice was
loud over the speaker. "I just found Cobra down here. She's hurt . . .  real
bad!"
     "Cobra?" Rachel and Radescu spoke at the same moment.
     "What the hell . . . ?" the FCO added. "Rachel, get down there and find
out what's  going  on."  He was  already punching  in a  combination  on the
intercom "Bridge, this is Flight Control. We have a problem . . ."

     Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Our job,  then, is  tae remain clear of the fighting unless absolutely
necessary.  Let  the rest  of the fleet thoroughly engage the bloody moggies
and  then  slip  around to the  back  door,  the jump point to Kilrah. Then,
laddie, your squadron will launch."
     Blair nodded as Paladin finished. "With luck, the Excaliburs will cloak
before the cats see us out  there, and we can reach  the  jump point without
ever being noticed. Very pretty planning, General."
     Taggart  grinned.  "Another  fine  product of  the Covert Ops  planning
staff," he said. "Just remember, laddie, that the cloak's  nae good at close
range. It hides ye from sensors, but it doesna make you invisible."
     "I'm  still not very  happy about  sending the fighters through blind."
Eisen spoke up for the first time since  the briefing had  started. "They'll
have no support . . . and  if they  run into trouble before they refuel they
won't  be able  to  recharge  their jump generators and make  it  back  here
safely.  If this really is a  back door  into Kilrah,  wouldn't it be better
going in with them?"
     "We dinna ken how well defended the jump point might be," Paladin said.
"The  fighters will have  to  decloak to  jump,  of course,  and they'll  be
detected as they  enter the system. But if they cloak right away,  they  can
evade any reception  committees in the  neighborhood. Send a carrier in, and
we stir up a hornet's nest."
     "I appreciate the concern, Captain," Blair added, meeting Eisen's eyes.
"Fact  is, our chances of getting back aren't that good one way  or another.
I'm treating this as a one-way mission . . .  volunteers only. If we can get
back, great. But none of us will be under any illusions."
     "Laddie þ " Paladin  began. He was cut off by the ululation of an alarm
siren.
     "Flight deck. Emergency."  The voice on the tannoy belonged to Rollins,
but it was almost unrecognizable, choked with emotion. "We have a problem on
the flight deck!"
     "Blair,  get  down  there,"  Eisen rasped, pushing back  his chair  and
getting to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge . . ."
     "On  my way," Blair  said.  He was  already  halfway to the  door,  but
Paladin, despite his age and bulk,  was right behind him. They raced to  the
elevator, all pretense of officer s dignity forgotten.
     Rachel met them at the door to the hangar deck. "Bay Twelve," she said,
grim-faced. The two  men didn't wait for an explanation. They  hurried  down
the  row of fighter  bays  to the empty  space that had housed the Excalibur
assigned to Lieutenant Buckley.
     Cobra was  lying near  the  back of  the bay, half  hidden by a rack of
testing equipment. There was blood on the  deck where  she'd been dragged to
the niche, and  a  larger  pool  of  blood around her. Someone  had tried to
staunch her  wounds with a makeshift bandage, but it wasn't  controlling the
flow of blood. Blair knelt beside her and lifted it to examine her injuries.
Four deep slashes cut across her stomach, and the sight of those wounds made
Blair, hardened veteran that he was, turn his head away.
     He had  seen that  kind of  disemboweling  cut  before after the ground
fighting on Muspelheim a decade ago. The cuts could only have been made by a
Kilrathi's claws.
     Blair tried to  ignore  the nausea welling  up inside him. Cobra's eyes
fluttered open. "Colonel . . ." she gasped.
     "Hobbes?" he asked, knowing the answer.
     "He . . . hit me. Don't know why . . ."
     "I do," Paladin said grimly. He held up a holo-cassette. "He must  have
dropped this when he dragged her over here."
     Taggart pressed  a button,  and a small holographic image formed in the
air above  Cobra. It took Blair a  moment to recognize  the scene. It  was a
view of Eisen's ready room, shot from a high  angle. The three figures there
belonged to Eisen, Paladin, and Blair.
     "This is the Temblor Bomb,"  Paladin's image said. "It was developed by
Doctor  Philip Severin,  one of the top research men in  the  Confederation.
It's  been  undergoing  tests for some time now .  .  .  nearly a decade, in
fact."
     Taggart switched it off. "The briefing . . ."
     "All this time," Blair  said slowly, shaking his head. "All this  time,
he's had us bugged. . . .
     Rachel returned, with a team of medics running after her. Paladin moved
away to give  them room to work, while Blair cradled her  head and shoulders
in his arms. "We'll get you to sick bay," he told her.
     "Too late  . . . for me," she gasped out. "Get Hobbes.  You still  have
time . . ."
     He could  almost feel the life ebbing out of her as the awareness faded
from her eyes.  One of the medics  shook his head. "It's no  good,  sir," he
said. "She's gone."
     Blair  lowered her head to the  deck gently  and stood up. "What  about
Hobbes?" he asked Rachel, voice flat and harsh. "Any idea where he is?"
     "He took  Cobra's  fighter,"  she  said. "Launched with  Vaquero a  few
minutes ago.  He  must have had a tape  of  her voice to  answer  the  radio
check."
     Flint appeared at the mouth of the bay, running. She pulled up short at
the  sight of Cobra,  then  fixed her eyes on Blair. "Prowler One just broke
off the patrol route,"  she said,  breathing hard. "Fired on Vaquero when he
tried to intercept." She paused.  "The fighter's heading for the Freya  jump
point, maximum speed Vaquero's pursuing.
     Blair looked at Paladin. "Even without that holo, Hobbes can  tell them
about the plan. About the caches . . ."
     Taggart nodded. "If he makes it through the jump point, it's all  over,
lad," he said.
     "Not yet, it  isn't,"  Blair said.  He looked at  Rachel. Which  of the
Excaliburs is prepped for Alert Five?"
     "Three-oh-four," she said "Maniac's bird."
     "Get it on the line now. And get me a flight suit." He turned to Flint.
"You get  to Flight Control. Order Vaquero to  keep up the chase.  Stop that
bastard at all costs, or at least slow him down until I get there."
     He looked back down at  Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and
rage.  "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes  . .
."
     Blair  turned  away  and  started  toward  Maniac's  fighter,  grim and
determined. Hobbes  had betrayed them  . . . and now the renegade had  to be
stopped before he destroyed everything.

     Excalibur 304 Blackmane System

     "Victory, Victory, I need help out here! He s flying rings around me!"
     Blair  muttered  a curse  under his  breath.  Even with the Excalibur's
superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake  Vaquero
and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and keep him busy,
but it was an uneven match.  Hobbes had always  been a good pilot, but Blair
had never expected to see him matched against one of his own comrades.
     On his sensor screen, he  saw Hobbes  making a long slow loop, circling
back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already  taken damage to his engines, and was
having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.
     "He's coming in again . . ." Lopez said. "Firing . . ."
     A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It
must have been a  fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed  and
weaved in pursuit  of Ralgha's fighter.  Hobbes tried  to dodge it,  but  it
caught him  across  the port-side  shield. Lopez let  out a whoop and  dove.
Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.
     "All right!"  Lopez shouted.  "That one's for Cobra!  Get ready to  say
good-bye, Hobbes."
     "Not today,  I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathi's fighter
released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.
     "Cristos . . . I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos . . .
     And then he was gone.
     "God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."
     "Is  that you.  . . old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded
like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you
turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."
     "Deal with this . . . old  friend!"  Blair shouted. Ralgha's  Excalibur
was just coming into extreme range, and  Blair let loose a volley of blaster
fire. But Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.
     Ralgha turned  away,  as  if  to  run. Blair's  hands  clenched  on the
steering yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away .
. .
     But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too much
of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into the area
and since Hobbes could only be heading for  the Freya jump point to warn the
Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.
     Ralgha suddenly rolled up  and back,  a classic  Immelman maneuver that
almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again  as he dodged the  Kilrathi's
fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves. But he wasn't
flying quite the  way he usually did.  There was something different  in his
style, more reckless, more  aggressive. More like the Kilrathi Blair usually
met in battle.
     As Hobbes sped  past, Blair  checked  his sensor  readouts on the other
Excalibur.  Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If  the port shield
went  down, Ralgha  would be vulnerable, and he was sure  to be sensitive to
that  weakness. Hobbes had  used  all of his  missiles to knock  out  Lopez,
giving Blair a significant advantage.
     The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him.  He
let Hobbes  finish his turn,  then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a
charge right at the  other fighter, a  move he was  sure Hobbes  would never
expect  from  him.  Blaster fire raked across  his  forward shields,  but he
ignored it, even when  the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were
going down . . .
     Ralgha stopped  firing, his  weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi  swerved
sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire.  The
two fighters  were close  together now,  and Blair  had to kill his momentum
quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.
     The  Terran  allowed himself a  grim  smile  and  locked  on a pair  of
heat-seekers.  As Ralgha finished  his  turn and exposed his tail, Blair let
the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.
     "Impressive,  my  friend,"  Hobbes said as  the  barrage  struck  home.
"Impressive . . . I fear that you have bested me . . . Now I shall never see
Kilrah again."
     The missiles  detonated almost simultaneously as  the  Excalibur's rear
shields went down. The fighter came apart.
     Blair thought he heard  Hobbes  call out  his name before the  fireball
consumed his craft.
     "Excalibur three-o-four,"  he said, his voice sounding dead in  his own
ears.  He  couldn't  feel anything,  either sadness or  satisfaction, at the
knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes . . . is gone. I'm coming in."


        CHAPTER XXVIII

     Flight Wing Quarters, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly
inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to ask
questions, or to offer comments.  He didn't think he could  face anyone just
now, especially not here, in  the quarters  that had  belonged to Ralgha nar
Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on automatically.
They were set to the dim reddish hue  Hobbes favored, a reminder of Kilrah's
K6 star.
     A reminder of Ralgha's home . . .
     Ralgha . . . Hobbes . .  . It surprised Blair to realize how  deep this
wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas,
flown  with him,  loved him like a brother  over the better  part of fifteen
long years. When others had  raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in
Hobbes,  the  one being Blair would have trusted to  the bitter end. . . and
beyond.  Yet  Hobbes betrayed  him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge  of
that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.
     He  turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the  door, punching
for  Terra-normal  lights  and  lower  heat  and  humidity  than  Ralgha had
preferred. The  changes helped him push away the bitter  thoughts of Hobbes,
but not far enough for any real peace of mind.
     No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth
comb in hopes of  finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't
plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert  Ops. But it was one  of
his  duties, as  wing commander, to deal  with the personal property  of any
pilot who died while  under his command, and much as he wanted  to  delegate
it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least
take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had  no idea where it
would  go when  Paladin  was through with  it. Usually personal effects were
returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?
     He defected in the company of a retainer named  Kirha. Had the retainer
been another  agent? Or legitimate?  Blair  wasn't even  sure  if  the other
Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to
a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St.  John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't
heard anything of Hunter for a long time.
     Well, if  nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned
to the Empire  when the  war  was over, if it ever was  over. Perhaps Hobbes
still  had family  somewhere.  He  claimed  they  had all  died  before  his
defection, but that could have been yet another lie.
     Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more,
about Hobbes . . . or about anything else.
     A slender  box lying on  the bunk drew his  eye,  and Blair crossed the
room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector,  much like the one Angel
had sent him. Curious,  Blair sat  on the edge  of the bed  and  thumbed the
switch.
     A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.
     "Colonel  Blair,"  the  holographic figure  said in  Ralgha's  familiar
tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me
to provide an explanation for my actions."
     "You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct,
the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by  Imperial
Security at  the behest  of Prince  Thrakhath. You have  never met  the real
Ralgha nar Hhallas, nor  would you have become his friend, for he was and is
dedicated to the service of the Empire Only the construct-personality  could
become your comrade  and  friend.  I myself was  entirely unaware of my true
self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, the
message where you  were given your Kilrathi title,  the Heart of  the Tiger.
Embedded in  combination  with a  signal  embedded in that transmission, the
phrase  óHeart  of  the  Tiger'  was  the  trigger  that  awakened  my  true
personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages  within it
that  gave me  my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that
day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no  choice but to
act as  I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am
the Heart of the Tiger."
     The Kilrathi paused for a long  time. His expression  was one Blair had
never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in
two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi  do not surrender, my old friend, and
neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race
and obedient to my duty, I have been  forced  to betray you. For though I am
no longer the  same being you once named  Hobbes and  befriended when  I was
alone among strangers, I retain  a  full  memory of  everything  that Ralgha
thought and did. I remember  you, Colonel,  for  what you were and are,  and
know that  you are an  honorable warrior. If I could  have performed my duty
without betraying you, I would have done so,  but that was not possible. And
if we meet again .  . . we will have no choice but to perform our duties . .
. with honor."
     "I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in  battle.
But if we  do, I will salute you as a warrior . . . and I will mourn you, as
a friend lost to me forever."
     The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the
tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained  there a
long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.
     He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.
     It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you  here.  Captain called down to
Flight  Control  asking  after the final operations plan for this mission of
the General's." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning
out the cat's stuff, huh?"
     Blair shook  his head.  "Not yet," he  said. "Just  . . . an inventory.
Before the captain gets started with the investigation . . ."
     "Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into . . everything,
huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"
     Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.
     "Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across, Marshall said.
     Blair surged out of the  bunk and caught  him by the collar, raising  a
hand  to  strike  the man.  All his anger  had  came rushing out, and all he
wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.
     "Temper, temper,"  Marshall said.  "You shouldn't  start something  you
can't finish,  Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to  lose any more
wingmen. Not now.
     Blair dropped his hand and  let go of Marshall's collar. The major took
a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.
     "For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.
     "I am?"
     "Yeah.  Yeah, there's  precious few of us left, Major.  Two  Excaliburs
destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only  four of us left  in Gold
Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face.
"I'd deck  you right now, Maniac, and to  hell with the  consequences. But I
figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."
     Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right.  You never thought I was any good before.
So why would you want me this time?"
     "Simple," Blair  told  him. "Odds are none of us  are coming back  from
this  one, but I figure  you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down.  So
maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's
over and done with."
     Marshall looked at  him doubtfully, as if uncertain  how  serious Blair
was. "You're crazy, man," he said.
     Blair didn't answer him.  He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started
the inventory, ignoring  Marshall until the other man snorted again and left
the cabin.
     After  Maniac left, he took  time out to  use  the intercom  to pass  a
message to  Eisen,  identifying  the computer  file that held the  work  the
flight  wing  staff had  put  into  refining Paladin's attack  plan. Then he
finished up in Ralgha's cabin and  left,  locking the door behind him with a
security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.
     He still had  other unpleasant duties to take care of however. The next
one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing
officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold  Squadron. He halted
in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG þ LT. MITCHELL  LOPEZ and set
down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.
     Blair touched the buzzer  beside the door and stepped  back.  It took a
few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights  were out, but a  figure
was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.
     "Come  in,"  Vagabond  said. There  was  little of his usual  bantering
manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I
do for you?"
     Blair  kicked  the cargo  module  through the door and stepped  inside,
letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, he
said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced  this  part  of the job
alone, as he had in  Ralgha's  quarters. "I  just .  . . I came to round  up
Vaquero's  stuff.  Shuttle's heading back to  the Eagle later  today,  and I
figured  they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump .
. ."
     "In  case  we don't make  it,"  Chang finished  the thought for him. He
raised his voice slightly. "Lights."
     The  computer brought the light level up.  Under the  illumination, the
lieutenant's expression was bleak.
     "Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair  said quietly. "I know how  you
feel . .  . this mess is getting to all  of us. But we've all  got  to get a
grip. Bounce back."
     "The clichÝ of the week," Chang  said. He pointed to one of the lockers
on the  far wall. "That one's  Vaquero's.  Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot
paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."
     Blair nodded and crossed to the  locker, opening  it  with  a  security
magnakey  that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy. Evidently
Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions in the
short time he'd been aboard Victory.
     "Tell  me  this much,  Colonel," Vagabond said from  behind him. "Rumor
mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it
true?"
     Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah.  A shot . . . a  pretty damned long
one, but a shot."
     "Good." Chang gave a  curt nod. "Good.  óCause  I want a  piece  of the
bastards."
     "Are you sure?  You  were the one who had doubts about  Behemoth, as  I
recall. And  the new mission's  also designed to knock out  Kilrah.  No ifs,
ands, buts, or maybes . . ."
     Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it, the
kid didn't have to die like that. He was going  to retire, open his cantina.
He  had it all  planned out,  and that bastard  Hobbes  snuffed him out. And
Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line, but this
. . . it's just wrong."
     Blair fixed  him with  a level stare. "I  hear you, Vagabond. I've been
there myself, and not  just  this cruise, either.  But you can't let it  eat
away at you." He pointed to the locker. "Do  you  know how much  I hate this
ritual? As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm  to Vaquero s family
. . . you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son
and the way  he died. What  am  I supposed to tell them? That my best friend
turned  traitor and killed him  in a sneak attack? That I might have stopped
it  if I hadn't been so  convinced that Hobbes was one of the good guys?" He
shook his head.
     Vagabond  shrugged and  sighed.  "I used to think I  could  keep myself
apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional  on duty, and the squadron
clown  in the rec room. But for the first  time, here on Victory, I actually
felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real friends . .
. Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is  to  see
the end of it all . . . one way or another."
     Blair  didn't  reply  right  away. Vagabond's  words struck a  familiar
chord. "The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang,"  he said
at last. "It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage
you  to  opt out of  it,  since you  were pretty  well  set  against bombing
civilian targets.  Now  .  . . hell, I  don't  have  enough  pilots in  Gold
Squadron as it is.  If  you really want in, I'll be  glad to have you there.
But  if  you're not sure, speak  up now.  So I can try  to  get someone else
checked out on the Excalibur from one of the other outfits."
     Vagabond shook his head. "Don't bother. I'm in."
     "It's nice to know you can count on . . . people." Blair turned back to
the  locker, saw Vaquero's  prized  old  guitar. He  picked  it up, ran  his
fingers over  each string. "His family will want this, I  suppose . .  ." he
said softly.  Then, with another flash of anger, he went on.  "It just isn't
fair, Chang. That kid should never have been a pilot."
     "But he was," Vagabond told him. "A good  one, too.  We're all going to
miss him, before this thing is over."
     Together, they emptied out the locker  and packed Vaquero's gear in the
cargo module. When it was done, Blair tagged it and left it outside the door
for a  work  detail to  pick up later. He fetched a  second  module  from  a
storeroom nearby and headed for his last stop. He knew this one would be the
most difficult of all.
     Cobra had shared her quarters with Flint, and the lieutenant opened the
door at Blair's signal. She saw the cargo module and nodded. "Cobra's stuff,
huh?"
     "Yeah." He followed her in. "Er . . . you knew her  pretty well, didn't
you?"
     "As  well  as anyone, I guess," she said. "Laurel didn't  make a lot of
friends."
     "I guess not." Blair looked away.  "Fact is,  I'm supposed  to send her
effects  to her  family, write a note, the usual  routine. But  I don't even
know if she has a family. Her file was pretty thin."
     "We were the only family she had," Flint said softly.
     "I didn't treat her  very well,  for family," Blair said, looking away.
"I trusted Hobbes, not her . . ."
     "You  had  your reasons," she replied. "Blaming yourself  won't  change
what happened . . . won't bring Cobra back, or Vaquero, either."
     "Maybe you're  right. I don't know any more. It seems like every choice
I've made, every turn I've taken since  I  came on board  this ship has been
wrong. I'm starting to second-guess myself on everything."
     Flint hesitated a moment before responding, her look intent,  searching
for  something in his face.  "Everything? Does that mean  your  romance with
your little grease monkey has fallen through?"
     "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He  was still  feeling bad
about  breaking  his  date  with  Rachel the  night  before,  but under  the
circumstances he hadn't felt like seeing anyone.
     She looked away. "I just  thought . . . you could do a lot  better, you
know?"
     "No,  I don't know," Blair told her. "Rachel's been a good friend to me
. . . more  than a friend." He  studied her. "I know you thought there might
be  something between you  and  me. I'm sorry if I gave  you the  wrong idea
about how I felt."
     "Just how do you feel?" she demanded.
     "You've been a  good  friend, too,  Flint. Hell, I probably owe  you my
life,  after Delius. And under other  circumstances, things  might have gone
further between us."
     "Other circumstances . . . ?"
     "Don't you get it,  Flint? Rachel's not a  pilot.  You are.  And  after
Angel þ I  just  don't think I  could  handle getting  involved with another
pilot. Especially one who might end up flying on my wing. "He paused. "Truth
is, it isn't fair to either  one of  you, now. When we hit  Kilrah, odds are
none of us  are coming  back.  So  any romance  I get  into now  is strictly
short-term."
     "Maybe that's all there is for any of us, now," Flint said quietly. "If
this next fight goes against us, there won't be time left for anyone."
     Blair nodded. "That's true enough. Look .  . . I'm sorry. I didn't want
to hurt you."
     "I'm grown up," she told him. "I can handle rejection. But I don't take
kindly to  losing  out  to some mechanic who smells  like synlubes  and uses
grease for make-up."
     He looked away, feeling helpless. "If it helps any, I doubt she  and  I
are going anywhere, now."
     Flints look was cold. "Do what  you  like, flyboy,'' she said. "Doesn't
matter  to me.  And like you said,  this next op's probably  going to be the
last, right? For all of us."
     "It's a volunteer mission, Flint. You don't have to fly it. Maybe you'd
be better off staying with the ship."
     She  shook her  head.  "You've  been telling  me not to put my feelings
ahead of my duty, and that's just what I'm going to do now. I  will be in on
the kill, all right. Just try and stop me." Flint paused. "But I'll give you
a word of  warning, Colonel. I may try  to keep  my  personal feelings  on a
leash, but I don't make any guarantees. And it might not be such a good idea
for you to pick a  wingman you've just  kicked in  the teeth. If you take my
meaning. . . sir."
     Blair had no answer  for that. He  left  Flint to pack up Cobra's gear,
and headed back to his office to think.
     Sometimes it was easier to face  the enemy than it was to deal with the
people he cared about most.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Freya System

     The carrier made the jump from Blackmane to the Freya System, where the
High Command ordered  the strike force to assemble  for the attack  that was
supposed to cover the raid on Kilrah. Through  the viewport in the rec room,
Blair could see a few of the ships of the Terran fleet, some close enough to
recognize shapes and configurations, others so far away  that they glimmered
as moving lights against the starfield.
     It was a powerful force, but nowhere near the  size of the  fleet  that
had held the Kilrathi at Terra. Yet this was supposed to be Earth's decisive
strike, the knockout punch that would end the war.
     Blair watched the other ships. and doubted.
     "You look like you  could use some company, Rachel  Coriolis said  from
behind him.
     Blair turned in  his  chair.  "Rachel . . .  I thought you had the duty
until seventeen hundred hours."
     "This is just  a break,"  she  said. We've still got a lot to get  done
before the jump to Hyperion tomorrow, so I'm grabbing a  bite to eat now and
then pulling a double shift." She mustered a weary smile. "So, are you going
to invite a girl to sit down, or what?"
     "Sure, sure," he said hurriedly. "Please. Sorry . . ."
     Rachel laughed. "So, the  rough,  tough  pilot  goes  to  pieces  under
pressure." She took the seat across from him,  her  eyes searching  his face
under a worried frown. "What's the matter? Is it . . . Hobbes?"
     He shook  his head. "Not  that  . .  . not really. Fact is . . .  it's,
well, it's us."
     "Us? As in you plus me equals us?"
     "Yeah. Look, Rachel, I started thinking some  things  over today, and I
realized  something. Yesterday  I  was all set  for  a nice little seduction
scene.  Dinner. Music. A quiet talk that could lead to . .  . whatever."  He
looked away. "After what happened . . ."
     "Hey,  I understood  then. I understand now. We'll  still have our time
together."
     "Maybe  it  was  best  that  we couldn't make it  happen,"  he  went on
doggedly. "It might be the best thing if we don't try to push it now . . ."
     "Are you backing out on me?" Her expression hovered between concern and
anger. "I thought . . ."
     "Look, Rachel, by this  time tomorrow,  God  only knows  where I'll be.
Even  if we carry  out  the  mission, the deck's stacked against any  of  us
coming back from Kilrah. It isn't fair  to start something with you  that  I
might not be able to finish. I wouldn't want you to have  to go through what
I did . . . with Angel."
     "Pilots . . ." She shook her head. "They'd rather crash and  burn  than
make  a commitment. Look, Chris, I've been there, remember? I know what it's
like. And I also know that if we keep putting our own lives aside because of
what  might happen  tomorrow, eventually  we'll  run out of tomorrows. We'll
never have  anything to look back at, anything  to remember  except the war,
just fighting and killing. I want something  else to remember . . .  whether
it's one night, or an eternity. Don't you?"
     "Do  you really mean that? You want to go ahead, even  knowing it might
not be more than one night?''
     She  met his  eyes and  nodded.  "I'd rather  we  had  just  one  night
together.  Especially  if the alternative is . . . never  having any time at
all."
     "Your shift . . ."
     "Ends at  midnight.  I'll  skip  the dinner and the music if  you'll be
there for me when I come . . ."
     "Midnight, then." She stood when he  did, and they came together  in  a
long, lingering kiss. "Midnight . . ."


        CHAPTER XXIX

     Excalibur 300 Hyperion System

     Acceleration pressed Blair  into his  seat as the Excalibur burst  into
open space. He  cut  in his engines  and  steered hard  to port,  toward the
unseen jump point that would carry him to the enemy homeworld.
     To the real Heart of the Tiger, he thought idly.
     "Excalibur three-zero-zero,  clear and  under power," Blair said aloud.
"Lancelot Flight, form on me and proceed as planned."
     The other three pilots acknowledged, closing around him. Four Excalibur
fighters,  to  attack the Imperial  homeworld.  It  still seemed  like sheer
madness. But this time it was truly mankind's last chance for victory.
     "Lancelot Flight, Lancelot Flight, this is Round Table," Eisen's  voice
crackled over the comm channel. "Good luck to you all . . . and Godspeed."
     Blair didn't reply. Instead he  checked his power levels, then spoke to
the other pilots. "Go to cloaks . . . now!" he ordered, switching on his own
cloaking  system.  There  was  no  apparent effect,  other  than the  sudden
increase  in  the fighter's  power  drain. Weapons  and shields were useless
while  the  shroud  concealed  the  craft,  but  detection would  be  nearly
impossible. Already the other  Excaliburs had vanished.  He was all alone in
an endless night.
     He checked the  range to  the jump point, and asked the computer for an
ETA. Ten minutes. . . .
     The timing  of this  phase of the operation was  critical. The Confed's
battle  fleet  had  jumped  into  the  Hyperion  System  from  nearby Freya,
challenging  the  local Kilrathi  garrison  forces with a  series  of strike
attacks by  fighters and  capital  ships.  Victory had  remained  in reserve
throughout  nearly a  week  of  combat ops,  keeping to  the fringes  of the
action. The Kilrathi were given every opportunity to commit  their forces to
the system, and they'd pumped in enough ships to  put the  Terran fleet at a
serious disadvantage. It  was all  a part of the plan, to encourage the cats
to  thin out their  home defenses and divert attention away from Kilrah. But
it had been a costly fight already, and it was likely to get worse.
     Today the admiral commanding  the fleet had passed the word  to General
Taggart aboard Victory. There was no guarantee that the fleet could maintain
the fight for more than a few more hours. Then they would have to break off,
or go down  fighting. Paladin had  given the  orders. The attack  was  on at
last.
     The  carrier edged  toward the jump  point, seemingly  to reinforce the
Terran battle group built  around  the Hermes and  the Invincible which  had
been  heavily   engaged  in  the   area  for  several  hours.  According  to
intelligence reports,  the Kilrathi  were unaware of the Terran survey  work
done around Hyperion, and thus thought the Confederation knew nothing of the
Kilrah jump point. But they  had to  be careful to keep from  tipping  their
hands too soon.
     As  it  was, they nearly ran  into trouble  when  a Kilrathi  destroyer
escort left the enemy fleet  on course for  the jump point, but Eisen turned
the situation to their  advantage by pretending to  pursue the  enemy  ship.
That ship had passed through the  jump point less than half an hour ago, and
that transjump became the main reason for Blair's present preoccupation with
the ticking countdown clock.
     If the escort  withdrew to  Kilrah to summon additional reinforcements,
the Terrans had to hope nothing  else was waiting close to the jump point on
the other side. Otherwise  they  might be blundering into trouble before the
mission was even fairly under way.
     He checked the ETA again. Three minutes . . .

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Kilrah System

     "Message  from  the escort  Ghordax, Lord  Prince.  From the  fleet  at
Hyperion."
     Thrakhath  allowed  his  throne  to swivel  past the viewscreen  he was
contemplating so he could look down on Melek. "What is their report?"
     "'The  battle  proceeds well,  Lord Prince,'' Melek  said bowing.  "The
Terrans cannot last long."
     "So there is no further need for reinforcements, then?"
     "No, Lord Prince. None."
     "Good," Thrakhath said. "I do not wish to further disrupt  our buildup.
Is there any word from the Logistics Masters on  the timetable for launching
the Grand Fleet?"
     "Six  eights of  hours, Lord Prince. The  bombardment missiles will  be
fully loaded by then, and the fleet can break orbit any time after that."
     "Excellent. Then  we will soon be on our way to the  Terran  homeworld.
This time they shall not  turn us  back." Thrakhath turned his throne again,
gesturing to the  screen. It showed a view of Kilrah's  orbital  yards, with
capital  ships  grouped  around  orbital  depots and swarms of smaller craft
moving among them, preparing  the  Grand Fleet for the last  great campaign.
"Victory, Melek," the prince continued. "It smells sweet, does it not?"
     "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek replied dutifully.
     "Still,  there is  one thing  missing,"  Thrakhath went  on, almost  to
himself. "I can only hope for one last chance to meet the Heart of the Tiger
in battle. It will make our triumph all the more complete . . ."
     Thrakhath continued to  study the viewscreen, the  light of victory  in
his eyes.

     Excalibur 300 Kilrah System

     Jumpshock  made  Blair  sluggish, but he forcing his body  to obey  his
will, he switched power from  the  transjump  drive to the cloaking  device.
Powering up  his  engines, he steered the  fighter  out of  the jump  point,
setting course inward, toward the Kilrathi homeworld.
     On his  sensor screen,  another blip flickered  into  existence astern,
then faded a few moments later. That  was Vagabond, acting as wingman on the
mission. Maniac and Flint followed  in succession, apparently  without being
noticed. There were  no Kilrathi ships in the  immediate  area,  though  the
escort they  had  trailed in the  Hyperion System  was  at  the very edge of
detection range,  also  on course toward Kilrah.  Hopefully, if they spotted
anything suspicious at all they wouldn't  be able to react until the cloaked
Terran ships were well clear of the area.
     Blair's comm  monitor came  alive  with  an image  of Paladin. The  old
warrior had warned  him that the computers  aboard all  four fighters  would
trigger periodic briefings as they headed in  toward their goal.  This tape,
for Blair, had been personalized. Taggart smiled out at him.  "Laddie, we've
covered  this  ground backwards  and  forwards waiting  for  the mission  to
launch, but I'll give you the  straight dope one more time now. Since you're
seeing  this,  you've made the jump successfully, and you're in the Kilrathi
System  now." The screen changed to show a chart of the Kilrah star  system,
with navpoints glowing brightly.  "Your first  job, now that you're through,
is  tae bring  your fighters in tae  the first asteroid  depot. There you'll
find a stock of fuel, spares, and missiles, everything you'll need tae carry
you all the way in tae the outer moon of Kilrah." The first depot faded, and
another  more  distant  asteroid was  indicated.  "Should  ye find the first
position compromised, laddie, there  is a second choice. But remember, if ye
canna keep one depot in  reserve, there'll nae be enough fuel in  your birds
tae  get  you through  the jump  point after the mission's done.  The second
depot is supposed  to be for  the trip back but I ken well you'll do what ye
have tae if the mission depends upon it."
     Paladin's face appeared on the screen again. "Good luck, laddie. You'll
need it.
     The screen went blank.
     Blair  set his course for  the nearer depot,  knowing that  the  others
would be doing the same. They were maintaining absolute comm silence, hoping
to avoid  any detection by the Kilrathi. Surprise was their only hope  . . .
surprise sheer flying skill and pure, unadulterated good luck.
     He hoped it would be enough.

     Excalibur 302 Kilrah System

     A  warning alarm  beeped  for attention,  and Lieutenant Winston  Chang
checked  his sensor board. There was something  ahead, a powered target that
glowed amber on his screen as the computer tried to identify it as friend or
foe. A moment later,  it changed to  a reddish orange.  An enemy, then . . .
no,  two enemies, a  pair of  Darket fighters,  evidently making  a  routine
patrol sweep.
     Vagabond muttered an old  Chinese curse under his breath  and cut power
to  his engines.  The  two Darket  were dead  ahead  and only  a few hundred
kilometers  beyond  lay  the  large  asteroid  where  the  first  depot  was
established. In order  to reach their  destination,  transmitters aboard the
Excaliburs were programmed to send out  short-burst signals  to activate the
locator transponders in  the depot.  As long as those two Darket were in the
neighborhood, the  Terrans were stuck.  The  depot  might as well be  around
Sirius.
     Meanwhile, there was  another danger. If  the  Kilrathi got too  close,
they would spot the Terran ships, cloaked or not.
     The two  light fighters  were  making  a slow, graceful  turn. Vagabond
warily watched them, alert for any signs of their detecting the  location of
one  of the  Terran fighters. He wondered  about the others. Their  original
tight formation had become tenuous  en  route to the asteroid, and he was no
longer sure where any of his comrades might be.
     The Darket  were  going to pass close to him  . . . too close. Vagabond
engaged his engines again and started to bank  away,  but it  was  too late.
Suddenly the  two  Kilrathi ships  were  picking up speed, swinging  around,
pointed directly at  him. Cloaked, he had no shields.  A few shots would  be
enough to knock him out.
     He cut the cloak, shunting  power to the weapons and  shield generators
and  cutting back on his own course with a sharp pull on the steering  yoke.
Maybe  if he disposed of these two  fast enough there  would be no  time for
them to summon help.
     One of the  Darket opened fire just  as the green  light on  his shield
status display  appeared. Blasters  pounded at  the  shields,  but to little
effect.  He returned fire with blasters and a  pair of heat-seekers, closing
the range fast. The Darket's  shields crumbled  beneath the  heavy pounding,
and a moment later his beams  bored through armor and  set  off the missiles
slung under the Kilrathi crafts wings. He was  close enough now to  actually
be caught  in  the  fireball, and  the  energy release  and spinning  debris
overloaded his own shielding.
     In  that moment, the second Darket  engaged. He didn't  have to look at
the  damage control  panel  to  know  that he was  losing  armor  around his
reactor.  Desperately,  Vagabond  tried to  dodge,  but  the  controls  were
sluggish.
     He  broke comm  silence. "I  can't shake him! I'm going  up."  And just
before  the Darket fired again,  he managed to add a final plea. "Don't give
up, Colonel. You've got to take them down . . . for all  of  us  who  didn't
make it!"
     He slammed the switch to trigger his ejection system, praying he wasn't
already too late.

     Excalibur 300 Kilrah System

     Blair  saw Vagabond's Excalibur go up in  flames of fury. He let out  a
cry of rage and  grief. The Chinese pilot's last  words echoed in his  mind,
and he made a grim, silent vow that Chang's last effort wouldn't be in vain.
     Then Maniac's fighter appeared on  his sensors  swooping in from beyond
the expanding fireball. Blair spotted the Excalibur a moment later as Maniac
opened fire, battering through the Darket's shields. The fighter exploded.
     His  satisfaction  was short-lived, though.  Flint broke comm silence a
moment later. "We've got trouble, boys," she said. "Heading our way."
     Two  more Darket appeared from beyond  the bulk of the asteroid, moving
slowly  but gathering  speed as  they came. Blair's comm monitor picked up a
transmission from one of them. They were summoning help.
     "Lancelot Flight, break off  action," he ordered  sharply. "Recloak and
head for the backup rendezvous."
     It  galled him to run,  but  they didn't  have much  choice. Though the
Excaliburs could deal with  these two  fighters easily enough, they couldn't
count  on being able to  refuel and  rearm  at this  depot before a swarm of
additional Kilrathi ships turned up. A thorough search of the asteroid would
turn  up the  depot, and  if  they were  caught inside the  result  would be
disastrous.
     He  hit  his  afterburners  and  punched in the  new  course. Paladin's
warning ran through his mind. With  this depot compromised and the secondary
one depleted, the Terrans were on a one-way trip to Kilrah.
     if they made it that far.

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Kilrah System

     The Audience Hall was  empty except for  the  Crown Prince, brooding on
his throne.  Melek hastened to  the foot of  the dais, bowing low. Thrakhath
raised his head at the retainer's approach.
     "I left orders that I was not to be disturbed," the Prince rumbled.
     "An urgent message,  Lord Prince," Melek told him.  "One of our patrols
reported  engaging Terran  fighters. Here  in  our own system . . . and they
escaped using cloak technology."
     "Ape ships  . .  .  here?"  Thrakhath  straightened, eyes flashing with
anger. "Cloaked . . . spies, seeking word of our fleet, then."
     "We cannot say, Lord Prince," Melek said. "But . . . we intercepted one
exchange of  messages between  them. And our computers  have identified  the
voice of the apparent leader." He paused. "It was . . . the one named Blair.
The Heart of the Tiger."
     "Him . . ." Thrakhath stood slowly, drawing himself to his full height.
"That one would not come on a mere spy mission. Could it be . . .  could the
Terrans be planning a strike? Perhaps they plan to attack our fleet while it
is still taking on  armaments  . . .  to break up our attack  before we  can
leave orbit."
     "It is possible, Lord Prince. But we cannot be  sure." Melek hesitated.
"The cruiser Kheerakh discovered  a hidden supply cache  in an asteroid near
where the encounter took place . . .  but I  fear the  fools destroyed it by
bombardment rather than investigating."
     "I trust Kheerakh has a new captain now?"
     "Yes, Lord Prince. One who is . . . less impulsive
     "We  must look to our defenses, Melek. I do not believe the Terrans can
mount a serious threat, b