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 Ч 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 Ч " 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. " СTwas 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!
Flight Control, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"That's the last of Сem, 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 Сbout 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 Ч 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 Ч
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 Ч " 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."
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 СHeart 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 Ч 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 clichщ 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. СCause 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 Ч 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
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 Ч 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 Ч " 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. " СTwas 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!
Flight Control, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"That's the last of Сem, 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 Сbout 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 Ч 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 Ч
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 Ч " 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."
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 СHeart 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 Ч 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 clichщ 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. СCause 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 Ч 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