chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you
find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves.
Have you talked with anyone else?"
"No, sir.' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but
Cobra wanted to come to you first."
"I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this
thing, sir," she amplified.
"Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets
embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"
"Yes, sir," Rollins said.
Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.
"All right. Dismissed, then."
They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister
Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round
them up, if you please."
"Yes, sir," he responded.
Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a
long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much
stock do you put in all this?"
"Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."
"How much of this is your idea?"
Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I
thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She
made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some
suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with
any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all
this, Colonel?"
Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if
I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go
along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together,
Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about
him now."
"She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."
"True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running
Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the
spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one
he could talk to, under these circumstances. СThere s another possibility I
can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any
of that from your sources?"
"Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe,
but nothing solid."
"I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need
to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is
this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the
Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough
time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a
Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are
pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got
through debriefing so they were Сrescued' and brought back to Terran space."
"You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell,
Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"
"As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi
signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in
there somewhere? Maybe there were Ч orders, for instance. But a clever spy
might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in
an acceptable direction."
"Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it,
Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra
than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an
actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."
"It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't
want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But
Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."
"Why are you telling me this, sir?"
"I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You
two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to
make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like
Ralgha's cabin, for example."
"So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"
"I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our
side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it.
Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make
the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand.
"And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could
believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . .
it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this
whole mess objectively."
"I'll. .. do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant.
"But I'm not sure I'll like it."
"You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite
the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to
admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and
for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I
don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be
done."
"Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Torgo System
"Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"
Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little
uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging
at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in
some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best
efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself.
He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused
fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.
He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers
faults, to think of the ship as his home?
The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was
unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck,
gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.
The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing
to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him,
Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought
up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer,
the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.
Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have
you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.
Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving
eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."
Blair saluted, saying nothing.
He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous
campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured
toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his
staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he
headed for the bridge. Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a
reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up
to that reputation now.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Torgo System
"Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double."
"Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming
toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?"
As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look
was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better . . . like being
out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."
She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and
Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?"
For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown in
his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . . ." she said. "That was
stupid of me. I should have realized . . ."
"Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit,
I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right
at the top of the list."
"I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie too. One
minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go."
"Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you
for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back
and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget
it."
"You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just
looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel Ч Colonel Devereaux Ч
tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"
Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was
common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you been
cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"
She laughed. "Neither one. Just . . . a student of history. I try to
make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it,
you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."
"Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in
his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts
lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."
"I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and
forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
"Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to
that time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the
flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against
overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces
could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the
ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in
the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving
with the old man ever quite forgot the day.
There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I
was serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk
about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener."
Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do. But. . ." He
shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone."
At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting
him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.
"I see. I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you moved quite that fast.
Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond.
Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory Torgo System
Admiral Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one deck
below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with a table
able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive, and Tolwyn greeted him
with a hearty smile and a handshake.
"Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last
cruise together."
Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted
several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was
revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.
Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there
was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the general
air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that
we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front line. The
Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the government is now
saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the
human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!"
Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered.
Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.
"She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good
captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi
have been keeping us busy.
"Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've
been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our
old friend Thrakhath, I hear."
"Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked
away, thinking about Angel again.
"I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost
as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a
mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was
made.
"When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.
"The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry
Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly Сneed-to-know
material. You understand."
"What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been
competing over your damned secret projects and Angel got caught in the
middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's
. . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more, Admiral, but
I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind of price Angel
already shelled out just to prove that your damned gun works the way you
said it would."
"Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting
at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact
is that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning; of
Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of
Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the
end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like
yourself. Son, I know you don t like some of the implications behind this
project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."
"I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means
giving you the credit Ч and a shot at being the next Confederation
President, no doubt Ч that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you
trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your
plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship the same
way you did on Tiger's Claw?"
"I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel,"
Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain Eisen
retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period."
He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally achieve a
measure of respect for one another after all this time, Colonel. I am the
first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your career,
with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me. Still,
you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter
where they end up taking you."
Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning
understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots . . .
We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ."
The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had the
biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel, that
we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone, would
approve . . . after what happened to Angel."
He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed
with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than
revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . .
But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part
in the destruction of an entire race.
The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn
admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair
found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all
that really mattered, in the end, was winning.
He was very quiet over dinner that evening.
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Torgo System
The atmosphere in the ready room was tense as Blair entered. It was
strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while
Tolwyn presided in the captain's accustomed place. The sight sent a little
shiver down Blair's back, making him think of Tiger's Claw and Captain
Thorn, all those years ago.
Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was Kevin
Tolwyn and another of the admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing
the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the admiral expectantly
as he settled into his seat and switched on the map table's holographic
projector.
"Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying
photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest achievement
. . . the Behemoth."
The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that
dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen
ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of
the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever
constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.
"This device is the product of a decade of research and development by
some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued.
"It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all."
The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as
Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light beam
to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked
superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five
hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of
that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact
is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the
energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that
the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart,
particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The
upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly
employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short
strokes."
Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained
silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the
weapon's capabilities.
"We would have liked another year or two for testing and development,"
Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon
to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of
suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation on Locanda Four,
perhaps against more vital targets."
"Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.
"The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the
Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking more
softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains
classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if
the worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to
land troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use
Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."
Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of
the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat
incomplete. There are a few, shall we say . . . soft spots . . . located
here . . . and here . . . where the shields are thin and there's been no
time to complete keel mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive
laser turrets.
"Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented.
"Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being
assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to
be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people know
what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no mistake, Colonel,
gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must be permitted to get
through to threaten it."
"Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said
slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target."
"Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide
if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth
will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also
assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can practice
before we begin the actual deployment."
"Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some
new blood to bring us up to strength?"
"We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two
carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out Torgo's
replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your bomber
squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron.
Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive operations this time out,
and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth."
Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth
explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The
admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High
Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of
toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share his
belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and Blair
could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to
give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he snagged Victory
because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation.
That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was
convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the High
Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with
Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall
on his face.
"Now. . . as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final
power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard tomorrow
evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in company with
the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's
plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the
weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely
target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane, so we
will pass directly between jump points in the Blackmane System and then
transit to Loki."
Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ
on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost.
Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to
serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel
System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send
the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have been
better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a second-rate
base."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right
message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a
glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or
another, Behemoth is going to end this war."
On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were replaced
by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here
. . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim
from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this position, near
Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the operation,
gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron, three
destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support
vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary responsibility
of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be clear on this. The
mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect that weapon."
Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"
There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel
Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and my staff over
the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a genuine expert
on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some likely models of
how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six, and to other
measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them to the peace
table."
Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn
you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades
. . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be .
. . imperfect at best."
"It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room
again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation.
You'll each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're
dismissed.
Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left The admiral was
studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one
of anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the
look in the man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground,
and no room to adapt to circumstances.
Flight Control. TCS Victory Torgo System
"Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation."
Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad
at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
"It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike
again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have
been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off
a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it
did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive
specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave
those weak spots uncovered."
"You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
"Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning,
after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest.
And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin.
"Don't tell me you've become a convert."
"Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on
me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that
monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the
Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for
the ink!"
Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know
the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if
he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
"Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes.
"What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the
chance?"
"I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After
what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the
Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this
devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on
the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's
eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it
was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In
front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would
like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong."
He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that
thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I
did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself
afterward, whichever course you took?"
Communication Center, TCS Victory Torgo System
The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete
confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen
through a bully night vision device, the room glowed with an eerie greenish
light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the Communications center except
when the ship was at General Quarters, and the intruder was confident that
no one would notice this stealthy foray.
Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the
consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed
as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been
easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's
tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in.
Another console came to life across the room.
TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the
intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green
light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the
monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views and
schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on
the screen.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again
the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and
collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One
last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was
done.
Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the
intruder had ever been present.
Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai Torgo System
"Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."
Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the
communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed
from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around
Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that
Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the
Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information
the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being
relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin
Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the
operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in
his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications
Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to
rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to
relax again.
They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once
the Terrans had fallen into his trap.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System
The view from the rec room was impressive, Blair had to admit that
much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the
Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the
Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow
Ч apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of
engines, either Ч but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on
their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.
He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at
this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was
a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It
wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new
Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already
as good as over.
Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and
watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least,
seemed pleased.
"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more
broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la
vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two
minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice
little place . . ."
"Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant,"
Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the
Kilrathi down overnight."
He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted
Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the
rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
"So . . . how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly.
"Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously,
Colonel."
"No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But
you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it?
I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two
nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one
of my computer commo logs. And I can t account for it. I think it was
sabotage."
"It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You
might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to
snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been
something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then
had the record wiped."
"Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
"Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet.
You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And
the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his
chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make
sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every
time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list
classified."
"Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that
original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild,
Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the
screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
"I'm no expert in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said. "To me,
you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they
mean?"
"I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of
signals somewhere before . . . something outside of normal communications
use. If I could just figure out where . . ." He trailed off, looking
apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess I still have a ways to go before I can
deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look
into, either."
Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to
admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing.
But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
"Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you
noticed?"
Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a
little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat
in the chair he'd vacated.
"It never stops with you, does it, Lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless
program loop."
"You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just
don't have a clue."
"'Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said
bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
"It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she
spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes
spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these . . . nightmares.
People talked, you know how it is."
"Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
"The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me
when I was ten . . ."
"The Kilrathi?"
She nodded "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed
attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting.
Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know.
But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
"It must have been Ч "
"You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I
saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
"So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
"The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said.
"First it was debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find
out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for
Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they
couldn't wipe it all out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I
wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats
couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
"You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that
. . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
"It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's
what I'm still doing today."
He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the
war? What then?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep
myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound that
reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact is, Colonel, there's a little
bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out.
Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger . . . and one day,
there won't be any human left inside me any more."
He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough
credit, Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle.
You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . .
. well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him
when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do understand,
Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving
anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System
Blair glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room
window to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch
aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki
System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of
defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they
would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the Behemoth,
nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
Technicians prepped the fighters for launch working quickly but with a
care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight
deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked
fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the
topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The
huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and Blair felt like
an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her
coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and
arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual
go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry
glare.
"Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic
probe up your nose."
"Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I
never thought it would actually take."
"Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp
British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change
my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should
wear the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I
don't get at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him,
myself."
"After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to
loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was
smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
"Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the
word on the launch?"
"Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks."
Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
"What's the problem?"
"Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his
computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due.
What about the others?"
"Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside
chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't count
on it."
"Do what you can," Blair told her.
"Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she
caught his sleeve. "Look . . . after the mission . . . what say we get
together?"
He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who
served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one.
"I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since .
. . ever since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for
me. It's . . . made a big difference.
Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without
another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like
Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as
strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate,
less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly
what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.
Bridge, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up."
Eisen acknowledged the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and
studied the tactical display with a critical eye. This was the period of
greatest danger in any squadron operation, when ships performed their
transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't
find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves.
Have you talked with anyone else?"
"No, sir.' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but
Cobra wanted to come to you first."
"I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this
thing, sir," she amplified.
"Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets
embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"
"Yes, sir," Rollins said.
Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.
"All right. Dismissed, then."
They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister
Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round
them up, if you please."
"Yes, sir," he responded.
Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a
long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much
stock do you put in all this?"
"Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."
"How much of this is your idea?"
Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I
thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She
made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some
suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with
any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all
this, Colonel?"
Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if
I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go
along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together,
Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about
him now."
"She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."
"True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running
Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the
spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one
he could talk to, under these circumstances. СThere s another possibility I
can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any
of that from your sources?"
"Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe,
but nothing solid."
"I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need
to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is
this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the
Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough
time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a
Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are
pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got
through debriefing so they were Сrescued' and brought back to Terran space."
"You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell,
Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"
"As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi
signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in
there somewhere? Maybe there were Ч orders, for instance. But a clever spy
might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in
an acceptable direction."
"Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it,
Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra
than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an
actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."
"It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't
want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But
Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."
"Why are you telling me this, sir?"
"I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You
two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to
make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like
Ralgha's cabin, for example."
"So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"
"I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our
side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it.
Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make
the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand.
"And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could
believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . .
it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this
whole mess objectively."
"I'll. .. do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant.
"But I'm not sure I'll like it."
"You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite
the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to
admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and
for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I
don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be
done."
"Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Torgo System
"Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"
Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little
uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging
at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in
some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best
efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself.
He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused
fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.
He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers
faults, to think of the ship as his home?
The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was
unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck,
gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.
The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing
to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him,
Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought
up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer,
the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.
Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have
you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.
Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving
eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."
Blair saluted, saying nothing.
He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous
campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured
toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his
staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he
headed for the bridge. Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a
reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up
to that reputation now.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Torgo System
"Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double."
"Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming
toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?"
As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look
was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better . . . like being
out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."
She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and
Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?"
For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown in
his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . . ." she said. "That was
stupid of me. I should have realized . . ."
"Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit,
I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right
at the top of the list."
"I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie too. One
minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go."
"Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you
for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back
and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget
it."
"You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just
looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel Ч Colonel Devereaux Ч
tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"
Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was
common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you been
cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"
She laughed. "Neither one. Just . . . a student of history. I try to
make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it,
you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."
"Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in
his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts
lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."
"I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and
forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
"Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to
that time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the
flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against
overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces
could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the
ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in
the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving
with the old man ever quite forgot the day.
There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I
was serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk
about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener."
Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do. But. . ." He
shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone."
At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting
him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.
"I see. I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you moved quite that fast.
Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond.
Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory Torgo System
Admiral Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one deck
below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with a table
able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive, and Tolwyn greeted him
with a hearty smile and a handshake.
"Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last
cruise together."
Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted
several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was
revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.
Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there
was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the general
air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that
we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front line. The
Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the government is now
saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the
human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!"
Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered.
Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.
"She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good
captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi
have been keeping us busy.
"Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've
been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our
old friend Thrakhath, I hear."
"Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked
away, thinking about Angel again.
"I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost
as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a
mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was
made.
"When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.
"The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry
Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly Сneed-to-know
material. You understand."
"What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been
competing over your damned secret projects and Angel got caught in the
middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's
. . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more, Admiral, but
I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind of price Angel
already shelled out just to prove that your damned gun works the way you
said it would."
"Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting
at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact
is that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning; of
Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of
Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the
end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like
yourself. Son, I know you don t like some of the implications behind this
project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."
"I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means
giving you the credit Ч and a shot at being the next Confederation
President, no doubt Ч that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you
trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your
plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship the same
way you did on Tiger's Claw?"
"I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel,"
Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain Eisen
retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period."
He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally achieve a
measure of respect for one another after all this time, Colonel. I am the
first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your career,
with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me. Still,
you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter
where they end up taking you."
Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning
understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots . . .
We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ."
The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had the
biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel, that
we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone, would
approve . . . after what happened to Angel."
He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed
with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than
revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . .
But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part
in the destruction of an entire race.
The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn
admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair
found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all
that really mattered, in the end, was winning.
He was very quiet over dinner that evening.
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Torgo System
The atmosphere in the ready room was tense as Blair entered. It was
strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while
Tolwyn presided in the captain's accustomed place. The sight sent a little
shiver down Blair's back, making him think of Tiger's Claw and Captain
Thorn, all those years ago.
Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was Kevin
Tolwyn and another of the admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing
the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the admiral expectantly
as he settled into his seat and switched on the map table's holographic
projector.
"Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying
photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest achievement
. . . the Behemoth."
The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that
dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen
ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of
the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever
constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.
"This device is the product of a decade of research and development by
some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued.
"It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all."
The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as
Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light beam
to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked
superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five
hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of
that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact
is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the
energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that
the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart,
particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The
upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly
employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short
strokes."
Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained
silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the
weapon's capabilities.
"We would have liked another year or two for testing and development,"
Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon
to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of
suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation on Locanda Four,
perhaps against more vital targets."
"Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.
"The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the
Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking more
softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains
classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if
the worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to
land troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use
Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."
Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of
the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat
incomplete. There are a few, shall we say . . . soft spots . . . located
here . . . and here . . . where the shields are thin and there's been no
time to complete keel mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive
laser turrets.
"Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented.
"Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being
assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to
be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people know
what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no mistake, Colonel,
gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must be permitted to get
through to threaten it."
"Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said
slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target."
"Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide
if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth
will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also
assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can practice
before we begin the actual deployment."
"Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some
new blood to bring us up to strength?"
"We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two
carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out Torgo's
replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your bomber
squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron.
Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive operations this time out,
and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth."
Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth
explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The
admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High
Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of
toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share his
belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and Blair
could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to
give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he snagged Victory
because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation.
That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was
convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the High
Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with
Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall
on his face.
"Now. . . as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final
power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard tomorrow
evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in company with
the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's
plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the
weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely
target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane, so we
will pass directly between jump points in the Blackmane System and then
transit to Loki."
Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ
on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost.
Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to
serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel
System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send
the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have been
better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a second-rate
base."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right
message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a
glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or
another, Behemoth is going to end this war."
On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were replaced
by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here
. . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim
from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this position, near
Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the operation,
gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron, three
destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support
vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary responsibility
of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be clear on this. The
mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect that weapon."
Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"
There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel
Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and my staff over
the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a genuine expert
on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some likely models of
how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six, and to other
measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them to the peace
table."
Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn
you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades
. . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be .
. . imperfect at best."
"It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room
again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation.
You'll each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're
dismissed.
Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left The admiral was
studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one
of anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the
look in the man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground,
and no room to adapt to circumstances.
Flight Control. TCS Victory Torgo System
"Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation."
Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad
at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
"It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike
again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have
been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off
a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it
did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive
specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave
those weak spots uncovered."
"You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
"Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning,
after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest.
And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin.
"Don't tell me you've become a convert."
"Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on
me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that
monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the
Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for
the ink!"
Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know
the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if
he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
"Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes.
"What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the
chance?"
"I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After
what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the
Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this
devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on
the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's
eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it
was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In
front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would
like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong."
He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that
thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I
did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself
afterward, whichever course you took?"
Communication Center, TCS Victory Torgo System
The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete
confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen
through a bully night vision device, the room glowed with an eerie greenish
light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the Communications center except
when the ship was at General Quarters, and the intruder was confident that
no one would notice this stealthy foray.
Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the
consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed
as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been
easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's
tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in.
Another console came to life across the room.
TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the
intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green
light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the
monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views and
schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on
the screen.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again
the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and
collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One
last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was
done.
Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the
intruder had ever been present.
Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai Torgo System
"Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."
Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the
communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed
from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around
Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that
Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the
Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information
the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being
relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin
Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the
operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in
his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications
Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to
rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to
relax again.
They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once
the Terrans had fallen into his trap.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System
The view from the rec room was impressive, Blair had to admit that
much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the
Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the
Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow
Ч apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of
engines, either Ч but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on
their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.
He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at
this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was
a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It
wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new
Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already
as good as over.
Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and
watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least,
seemed pleased.
"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more
broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la
vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two
minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice
little place . . ."
"Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant,"
Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the
Kilrathi down overnight."
He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted
Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the
rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
"So . . . how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly.
"Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously,
Colonel."
"No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But
you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it?
I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two
nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one
of my computer commo logs. And I can t account for it. I think it was
sabotage."
"It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You
might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to
snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been
something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then
had the record wiped."
"Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
"Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet.
You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And
the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his
chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make
sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every
time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list
classified."
"Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that
original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild,
Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the
screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
"I'm no expert in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said. "To me,
you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they
mean?"
"I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of
signals somewhere before . . . something outside of normal communications
use. If I could just figure out where . . ." He trailed off, looking
apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess I still have a ways to go before I can
deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look
into, either."
Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to
admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing.
But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
"Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you
noticed?"
Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a
little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat
in the chair he'd vacated.
"It never stops with you, does it, Lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless
program loop."
"You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just
don't have a clue."
"'Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said
bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
"It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she
spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes
spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these . . . nightmares.
People talked, you know how it is."
"Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
"The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me
when I was ten . . ."
"The Kilrathi?"
She nodded "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed
attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting.
Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know.
But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
"It must have been Ч "
"You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I
saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
"So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
"The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said.
"First it was debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find
out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for
Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they
couldn't wipe it all out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I
wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats
couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
"You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that
. . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
"It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's
what I'm still doing today."
He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the
war? What then?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep
myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound that
reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact is, Colonel, there's a little
bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out.
Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger . . . and one day,
there won't be any human left inside me any more."
He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough
credit, Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle.
You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . .
. well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him
when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do understand,
Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving
anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System
Blair glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room
window to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch
aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki
System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of
defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they
would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the Behemoth,
nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
Technicians prepped the fighters for launch working quickly but with a
care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight
deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked
fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the
topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The
huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and Blair felt like
an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her
coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and
arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual
go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry
glare.
"Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic
probe up your nose."
"Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I
never thought it would actually take."
"Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp
British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change
my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should
wear the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I
don't get at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him,
myself."
"After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to
loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was
smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
"Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the
word on the launch?"
"Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks."
Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
"What's the problem?"
"Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his
computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due.
What about the others?"
"Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside
chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't count
on it."
"Do what you can," Blair told her.
"Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she
caught his sleeve. "Look . . . after the mission . . . what say we get
together?"
He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who
served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one.
"I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since .
. . ever since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for
me. It's . . . made a big difference.
Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without
another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like
Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as
strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate,
less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly
what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.
Bridge, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up."
Eisen acknowledged the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and
studied the tactical display with a critical eye. This was the period of
greatest danger in any squadron operation, when ships performed their
transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't