one of them was dedicated to Davie's memory, so he'd have a proper escort of
cats to join him in the afterlife. They said . . . they said he died trying
to nail number twenty-two, which would have matched Davie's age, but Dad
didn't make it." Her voice was flat, level, but Blair could see a hint of
tears in her eyes. "I've made eighteen kills since I left the Academy. Four
more for Davie, and then I start racking them up for Dad. Maybe I won't
score fifty-seven for him, but I'm damned well going to try."
Blair didn't say anything for a long time. He wasn't sure what bothered
him most, the woman s preoccupation with vengeance or the cold,
matter-of-fact way she talked about it. It was almost as if she was so
wrapped up in her quest that she had lost touch with the emotions that set
her on the path in the first place.
Finally he changed the subject, gesturing toward the viewport. "Which
one was home?"
She pointed to a distant gleam of blue-green, barely showing a disk.
"Locanda Four. The main colony world." She paused. "It's a pretty world . .
. or it was. Dark purple nights, with bright moons that chased each other
across the sky. The insects would sing . . . different serenades, depending
on the closeness of the moons. Davie and I would sit up late together, just
listening . . ."
"I could try to get you some planet leave, while we're here," Blair
offered. "You must have some family left? Or friends, at least?"
"Just my uncle's family," she said. "I haven't been in touch with any
of them for years." Flint hesitated, still staring at the distant point of
light that had been her home. "No, thanks, Colonel. I appreciate the offer,
I really do, but I've got too much I need to do here with the rest of the
wing. I can't be on the sidelines if the cats are really planning a fight.
Not here of all places. I need to be a part of whatever comes down."
Blair studied her with a penetratingly probing gaze. "Look, Flint," he
said at last, "I know something about the way you feel. Lord knows I've lost
many people who were important to me over the years. But when we climb into
our cockpits and get out there in space, I'm not sure I can afford to be
with both you and your brother on my wing. I need you fighting for yourself,
for the Wing, for the ship . . . not for a memory, not for vengeance. It
cost your father his life. I don't want you to have to pay the same price."
She looked at him, the tears in her eyes catching the light. "I just
can't give up now, Colonel," she told him. "It's too much a part of who I am
and what I've become. You've seen me fly; seen me fight. You know I can get
the job done. Don't take it away from me. Please . . ."
Blair took a long time to answer, sipping his drink to give himself
more time to think. "All right," he said at last. "I guess you're not
carrying around any more baggage than the rest of us. Maniac's still trying
to prove he's the best, Hobbes is trying to live down being from the wrong
damned species, and Cobra just . . . hates cats. You're in pretty good
company, all things considered."
"What about you, Colonel? What baggage is Maverick Blair carrying
around after a whole lifetime spent fighting in the war?" Flint's eyes held
a glint of interest that made her whole face seem more alive.
He thought about Concordia . . . and about Angel, still out there
somewhere on her secret mission. "Classified information, Lieutenant," he
said, trying to muster a smile. "One of the privileges of being a colonel is
never having to let the troops know you're human."
"And are you?" she asked.
He let out a sigh. "All too human, Lieutenant. Believe me, I am all too
human."
They stood side by side and watched the stars for a long time in
silence.
Flight Wing Briefing Room, TCS Victory Locanda System
"Okay, people, let's get down to business," Blair said. "I'd like to
conclude this briefing sometime before peace is signed, if you don't mind."
A few scattered chuckles greeted his sally, and the ready room quieted.
Blair glanced at the faces grouped around the table: the squadron
commanders, deputies from each of the four squadrons, and representatives
from the Wing's technical and maintenance staff and from Victory's
Intelligence Office. Rollins was there as well, still functioning as Blair's
aide and liaison between the flight wing and the bridge crew
"Okay," Blair went on. "Here's the drill. For those of you who don't
pay attention to the daily shipboard news, we've jumped into the Locanda
System. It's been on or near the front lines for years now, and subjected to
repeated raids by the Kilrathi Empire." He pushed a stray thought of Flint
and her family from his mind and continued. "Until sometime early last
month, there was an Imperial base deep in the asteroid belt on a fairly
large rock designated Felix on our charts."
He activated a holographic projector to display the star system. "But
three weeks ago, a patrol out of Locanda Four discovered that the Empire was
no longer maintaining perimeter patrols around Felix, so a well-equipped
force was sent to check it out a destroyer, a heavy fighter escort, and a
transport carrying a company of Marines. They met no resistance, and they
discovered that the Kilrathi base was completely abandoned. Everything had
been cleaned out. That base supported at least three squadrons of fighters
and a depot large enough for a carrier to do a field refit. But they gave it
up Ч lock, stock, and fighter bay."
"But I heard there was supposed to be all this activity here." That was
Denise Mbuto, callsign Amazon, the major commanding the interceptors of Blue
Squadron. "Everybody said there was going to be some kind of big push.'
Blair nodded. "Yeah. Felix was abandoned while reports were received
concerning increased Kilrathi ship activities in these parts, such as
several capital ships, including three carriers. One was the Sar'hrai, which
launched that strike on us at Tamayo. There was also a report placing Crown
Prince Thrakhath's brand-new flagship here. Certainly there have been a lot
of little dustups involving Kilrathi fighter patrols and a few light cap
ships, destroyers and such.
"It would make little sense to abandon a well-defended base while
building up the fleet presence," Ralgha said slowly. "Thrakhath is many
things Ч arrogant, ambitious, ruthless Ч but I have never considered him to
be a fool. There is something here which we cannot see as yet."
"Maybe the local boys are just seeing things," Marshall said. "One
carrier passes through on the way to hit us at Tamayo, and it turns into a
whole damned fleet with the head kitty-cat in person commanding."
Blair shook his head. "No. Most of the reports are too well supported
by evidence. We have tracking and sensor data that bears out the notion of
three carriers and maybe eight smaller capital ships. That's a pretty fair
sized force to be hanging around a backwater like Locanda. And Hobbes is
right. The asteroid base would have been a useful adjunct to operations . .
. too useful to be abandoned casually."
"Perhaps the fleet was sent to cover the withdrawal of the base
contingent," Warlock Whittaker suggested. "It would take a lot of transports
to dismantle a base that size, and if they thought we had enough ships to
interfere with them, they would have a powerful escort in place."
"They might even be moving the base," Major Luigi Berterelli, commander
of Green Squadron, added. "If they were looking to expand their facilities,
or if they just thought our patrols had learned too much about the post on
Felix, they might have decided to set up something bigger and better
elsewhere. That would require an escort, too, while the new base was still
getting up and operating . . . and if they had a new base, it could be
supporting whatever else the cats have planned for that flotilla of theirs."
Berterelli had an anticipatory gleam in his eyes, as if he could already see
this new base lined up in his bombsights. Green Squadron had not seen much
active service lately, but a Kilrathi base would give the bombers a chance
to show what they could do.
"Those are possibilities," Blair agreed, "but by no means the only
ones." He nodded toward Commander Thomas Fairfax, Victory's senior
intelligence officer. "Commander?"
"Headquarters has been monitoring Kilrathi radio transmissions
regarding Locanda for several weeks now, trying to discover just what their
intentions are with regard to the system. A courier in from Torgo this
morning brought a summary of the most recent findings." Fairfax paused,
consulting a portable computer terminal. "First of all, it is believed that
their original timetable for whatever is happening at Locanda has been
rendered inoperative, possibly due to problems which have arisen in related
missions elsewhere."
"Tamayo, maybe?" Mbuto suggested with a savage smile.
"Uncertain," Fairfax said seriously. "At any rate, we believe them to
be behind schedule already, which means the action could get heavy any time
now.
"The real question is, what action?" Major Ellen Pierce, Whittaker's
Exec, put in.
"Linguistics are relating trouble with certain intercepted Kilrathi
broadcasts." The Intelligence Officer plunged ahead as if she hadn't spoken.
"One message in particular definitely refers to Kilrathi intentions for the
Locanda System . . . it uses a word we've never seen before.
Trav'hra'nigath."
"Bless you," Maniac said with a grin.
Blair glared at him. "Hobbes . . . does that mean anything to you?"
Ralgha was giving the Kilrathi equivalent of a frown. "The nearest
English translation, my friend, would be literally to grant the prize
without struggle." He paused. "Surrender? That is not a concept my people
embrace. Struggle is the one constant in life."
"They are planning to surrender the system?" Blair asked. "That doesn't
explain the buildup, though it would at least account for abandoning the
base."
"The implications of the messages we've intercepted suggest that the
Empire intends some gesture at Locanda," Fairfax said. "A demonstration of
power . . . or of intentions. Again, we're not entirely sure about the exact
meaning of all that we've intercepted."
Whittaker was nodding. "I could see that. Even if they're starting to
think in terms of giving up real estate, the cats aren't likely to just
quietly turn tail and run That wouldn't fit into their system of honor,
would it, Colonel?" He was looking at Hobbes.
"Ceasing to struggle for a prize one deems worthwhile is not honorable
at all," Hobbes said slowly. "A tactical retreat, yes, especially if there
is duty to one's followers involved, but the ultimate object is never
abandoned."
"Well, I say they feel the need for a parting shot," Whittaker
insisted. "Something to salve their pride when they withdraw. Three carriers
could deliver a real punch and flatten the colony facilities before anybody
knew what hit them. Then they sail away toward their real target."
"Perhaps," Fairfax said He looked down at his terminal again. "The only
other possibility Intelligence can release to us right now is what appears
to be a code name for the Kilrathi operation here. Krahnakh Ghayeer . . ."
"Unseen Death," Ralgha said.
Blair exchanged a quick glance with Rollins. Nobody spoke for a many
moments.
"Unseen Death," Maniac repeated at last. He sounded unusually
thoughtful. "I don t like the sound of that. It reminds me of something I
heard back at Torgo . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "Yeah, that was it. I
remember a guy telling me about some backwater system the Kilrathi raided a
few months back. Only instead of just dropping in for a quick loot'n'scoot,
they cleaned the place with some kind of new bioweapon. Pandemic, he called
it."
"I heard about that, too," Pierce said with a nod. "Rumor has it that
Confed HQ slapped a blackout on the whole thing and quarantined the system."
Rollins was about to speak until he caught the look in Blair's eye.
"The war's bad enough without listening to all the rumors flying around,"
Blair said sharply. "If the cats have a bioweapon, we'll locate it soon
enough, you can count on that. In the meantime, we have to concentrate on
what we do know Ч and on learning what we don't know. Isn't that right,
Commander Fairfax?"
The intelligence officer nodded, looking unhappy.
"Right, then," Blair went on. "For the moment the name of the game is
recon. We know there's a Kilrathi squadron in these parts, and we think
they're planning something nasty. If Major Berterelli is right, we need to
look for signs of a new base. At the very least, we need to pinpoint areas
of enemy activity and try to estimate both their intentions and their exact
strength."
"So it's back to patrols, then," Amazon Mbuto said.
"Unless one of you has a crystal ball that can show us where they're
hiding," Blair said. "We're drawing up a full schedule of recon ops. I'm
doubling the shifts by putting more fighters out at any given time, so I'm
afraid we'll all be contracting extra duty for a while. Major Berterelli, I
would like an assessment from you on whether we can adapt Green Squadron to
take over point defense work. That would give us the Hellcats for other
patrol ops."
"Range would be pretty short on Hellcats," Whittaker said. "They were
never meant for long-duration patrol work."
"After our little scrap back at Tamayo, I started thinking about
in-flight refueling," Blair told him. "A refueling shuttle with an escort of
Thunderbolts could allow your whole squadron to operate over a normal patrol
route. He shrugged. "We'd better see if the bombers can replace them before
we talk about it further. At any rate, people, we've got to find out
everything we can about the Empire's plans before they spring them. So make
sure your pilots are sharp and ready for anything. When this thing goes
down, whatever it is, we'll need to be ready. Dismissed."
Command Hall. KIS Hvar'kann Locanda System
Thrakhath lounged in his chair, his thoughts far away. The war was
entering its final stage now, and soon the Terrans would be brought down
like prey caught in an open field. That would be his doing, Thrakhath, Crown
Prince, victor over the Terran prey, hero of Kilrah . . .
And some day soon his grandfather would be dead and Thrakhath's claws
would grasp the Empire with a grip that would draw blood.
"Lord Prince . . ." It was Melek, his closest retainer bowing as he
approached the throne.
"Your report, Melek," he said mildly.
"Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has been identified as the Victory. As
you predicted . . . the ship that carries the renegade."
"The ship Sar'hrai failed to neutralize," Thrakhath added, showing his
fangs. "It is of small consequence. The forces we are mustering now will
guarantee the success of Unseen Death, no matter what attempts the apes make
to intervene. But be sure to emphasize that all pilots must avoid contact
with the renegade. I want no repetitions of the incident with Arrak."
"Understood, my liege," Melek said with a bow. "Lord Prince . . . we
know that the new weapon will work. The field tests revealed that. Why do we
not simply mount a raid on Earth now? It need not be a full-scale attack.
All that is necessary is a single ship, a single missile, and the Terran
homeworld is infected and wiped clean. That would shatter the apes, making
them helpless prey under our talons."
"Not quite, Melek," Thrakhath said quietly. "Do not forget, we have
attacked their homeworld before, to devastating effect, and yet done them
only minor harm in the greater scheme of things. Our agents claim they have
powerful new weapons in preparation now, weapons capable of destroying
entire planets . . . even golden Kilrah itself. These weapons are not
deployed around Terra, so a strike on their homeworld will only trigger
massive retaliation. We cannot allow that to happen. I will not trade one
homeworld for another, Melek. That would be disaster."
"But the loss of Terra . . ."
"Would mean less to the apes than the loss of Kilrah would to us,"
Thrakhath said, leaning forward. "You have not studied the humans as I have.
You do not grasp their nature. If Kilrah was lost to us, we would suffer
great harm. The Emperor, the heads of the great Clans, the ancient landholds
and monuments of our people . . . these are what tie our race together,
separate us from the animals. Take those things away and the Empire withers.
But the apes are savages. Terrans would mourn the loss of their home, but it
would not destroy them. They would continue to swarm in their multitudes,
disorganized but still determined."
"Then can we truly win this war?" Melek asked. "If we are so much more
vulnerable than they, do we have any choice but a glorious death?"
Thrakhath smiled. "We know only a little of their doomsday weapon, this
. . . Behemoth, as they call it. Our agents say it is untested, but they
have not been able to penetrate its secrets as of yet. We must draw out the
apes; force them to commit their new weapon before it is fully ready, in a
way we can control and manipulate. Unseen Death will be the first stage. By
demonstrating our bioweapon and proving our willingness to use it, we will
leave the Terrans no choice but to deploy the Behemoth."
"Against . . . against Kilrah?" Melek's look was one of horror and
fear, but Thrakhath didn't reprimand him for his shameful display.
"Not at once," the Prince told him. "They will test it first. We will
learn where the weapon is to be tested and we will discover its weaknesses.
For this purpose we keep the Heart of the Tiger in readiness. And when we
have destroyed their one hope of retaliation, leaving their Navy demoralized
and confused . . ."
"Then Terra dies," Melek said softly.
"Then Terra dies," Thrakhath agreed. "The first of many human worlds .
. . until their race is gone forever."
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
It felt strange to be in the cockpit of a fighter and yet drifting
free, without acceleration or preprogrammed destination. Blair had never
thought of flying a Thunderbolt as a claustrophobic experience, not with all
of space in full glory around him . . . but he was ready to admit that it
could be cramped, constricted, and more than a little bit boring.
They had been in the Locanda System now for three days, operating
frequent recon flights in search of some sign of the Kilrathi fleet. Today
was the first time they had put up the Hellcats in a recon role, and Blair
had elected to fly escort on the refueling shuttle with Flint rather than
assign the job to one of the other Gold Squadron teams. The entire force,
four Hellcats, the two Thunderbolts, and the shuttle, had flown together to
this prearranged rendezvous point at the edge of the point defense fighters'
maximum range. They topped off their tanks and set out in two patrols to
sweep a wide arc before they returned. Then they would refuel and make the
return trip to the Victory together.
Everything went like clockwork Blair hoped their luck would continue to
hold.
The worst part of being alone in deep space for long amounts of time
was the scope it provided for brooding. The lack of specific information on
Kilrathi intentions and dispositions made for a game of hide and seek
extending over an entire solar system, and it was a game where the Kilrathi
had all the advantages. The idea that they might be planning a biological
attack on Locanda bothered Blair more than he cared to admit. It suggested
that the Empire was upping the ante by introducing the prospect of mass
slaughter, possibly escalating to an all-out genocide. Blair had felt that,
before, both sides had agreed on what "winning" meant. And now the Kilrathi
might be trying to change that definition. If the Kilrathi turned to weapons
of mass destruction on any major scale . . . the Confederation would have no
choice but to answer them in kind.
But something else troubled Blair; something he hadn't shared with
anyone, not even Hobbes. Given that the Kilrathi had this new weapon, and
given the rumors that it had already been tested elsewhere, why Locanda? The
system was practically worthless in any strategic or material sense,
although its long-time position on the front lines gave it a certain
sentimental and media prominence the place hardly merited. It was as if the
Kilrathi had picked a place to wield their terror weapon which was most
likely to attract Confed attention. It would be much more difficult for the
High Command to seal off the system and black out the news, because Locanda
was so well known to the Confederation at large.
A bioweapon attack here would be like a gauntlet thrown at the feet of
the High Command; a challenge. . . but why hadn't the Empire chosen some
system where they would win more than just a propaganda stroke? Tamayo, with
its high population and important shipyard facilities, or the Sector HQ at
Torgo, or any of a dozen other systems nearby would have made far more
logical choices than Locanda. There had to be something more behind the
Kilrathi campaign, but Blair couldn't fathom it.
He wasn't even sure that he was working from anything more than rumor,
speculation, and fear.
"Hey, Colonel, tell me again how we're contributing to the success of
the mission," Flint's voice crackled on the radio channel. She sounded
bored.
"They can't all be free-for-alls, Flint," he told her, glad of the
interruption. He didn't like the depressing turn his thoughts were
following.
"You really think this latest sighting's going to pan out? I'll lay you
ten to one that freighter captain was drunk when he logged that sensor
echo."
The current reconnaissance effort had started after a report from a
tramp space freighter of multiple sensor readings at the edge of his scan
range two days back. It wasn't much to go on, but it was the only solid lead
they had just now.
"No bet, Flint," Blair said, checking his sensor screen as he spoke. "I
know better than to believe in elves, goblins, or reliable tramp skippers."
"You want to know what I think, sir?" Flint said. "I think some
Kilrathi cap ships might've shown themselves to that freighter just to get
us away from the colony. Know what I mean?"
"Any special reason, or are you just getting good at reading Kilrathi
minds? I can get you a cushy job with Intelligence if you can tell what the
cats are thinking." Blair caught a flash on his sensor screen. "Hold on . .
. "I'm reading contacts at two o'clock, low, outer ring. Check me."
There was a pause before Flint responded. "Yeah, I got Сem. Three . . .
no, four bogies, inbound. And I don't think they're our buddies from Red
Squadron."
"Shuttle, power up and get the hell out of here," Blair ordered, "we'll
cover your withdrawal. But keep in mind our guys will need a drink when they
get back here, so don t go too far unless the bad guys break through us."
"Roger that," the shuttle pilot replied. Blair saw the twin flares as
the boxy little craft accelerated away, gathering speed. "We'll relay word
to Victory, too."
"Okay, Flint, let's welcome our guests," Blair said, bringing the
fighter around and firing up the engines. "Keep close formation as long as
possible, but remember the top priority is to screen the shuttle. You see
somebody breaking past and heading his way, you nail the bastard, and don't
stop to ask for permission."
"Don't worry, Colonel," she replied. "I hardly ever ask permission
anyway."
Bloodhawk Leader Locanda System
"I read three targets, two fighters, the other . . . a utility vessel
of some kind. It is moving off. The other two are turning our way."
Flight Lieutenant Kavark nodded inside his bulky helmet. The report
matched what his own sensors detected. His patrol, four Darket off the
Imperial carrier Ras Nakhar, was near the end of its scheduled pattern when
the targets suddenly appeared at the edge of their sensor range. He promptly
ordered a course change to investigate.
"This confirms my readings," he said. "Target computer says the
combatants are Thunderbolt class: heavy fighters. We have the advantage of
numbers even though they are better armored than us."
"Then the greater glory accrues to us for fighting them!" Flight
Lieutenant Droghar responded eagerly. Kavark felt a surge of pride. The
pilots in his section were warriors, one and all, and it only enhanced his
honor to command them today . . . even if it was a hopeless fight. "What of
the other vessel?"
"It is an unarmed shuttle, of no importance. We may safely deal with it
after the escort is defeated . . . if anyone feels the need for target
practice."
There were harsh laughs from the other three pilots. Kavark showed his
fangs under his flight helmet, wondering briefly if any of them ever doubted
their place in this war. "Ghairahn, you may have the honor of the first
challenge, if you wish."
"Yes, Leader," Ghairahn replied. He was a young pilot, newly assigned
to the section, but a distant member of Kavark's Clan. This would be his
chance to earn his first blood in combat. "Thank you, Leader."
"Remember the instructions. If the renegade is detected, we break off
the action. There will be no arguments, no loss of honor." Kavark paused. He
knew they faced almost certain destruction by engaging, but honor demanded
they fight. He would go through the motions, do all that was expected of him
. . . embrace death with talons unsheathed, if that was what Sivar, the War
God, demanded. "Now . . . for the glory of the Empire and the honor of
Kilrah . . . attack!"
He forced himself to bare his fangs again in a savage smile as
Ghairahn's Darket fighter broke formation and accelerated toward the enemy.
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
"Here they come!"
The first Darket was at maximum thrust, bare seconds away from the
Thunderbolt's weapon range. A second fighter supported close behind, but the
other two, true to Kilrathi practice, had not yet broken their formation to
join the battle. This gave the Terran pilots a brief advantage, since a
Darket was no match for a Thunderbolt in a stand-up, one-on-one fight.
They made use of this advantage quickly. To cripple or destroy the
first two fighters before the other Kilrathi ships joined the fray was the
plan. If the enemy started swarming around either Terran ship with superior
numbers, the odds could quickly turn against Blair and Flint.
Energy weapons blazing, the lead Darket dived directly toward Blair,
not even trying to use evasive tactics. The pilot was either very confident
or very inexperienced, Blair thought. He held off returning fire. Instead,
he kept a target lock on the Darket while allowing it to approach so he
could achieve the maximum effect from his weaponry.
"For the honor of my noble race," a computer-generated voice translated
the Kilrathi pilot's radio call. "My claws shall grasp your throat today,
human."
Blair didn't respond. He watched the Darket streak in, keeping one eye
on the shield readouts. His forward screen took the full brunt of the
Kilrathi attack, and the power level was dropping fast . . . maybe too fast.
He rolled sideways, killing his forward speed with a hard reverse thrust
that wrenched his gut. As the fighter slowed, he used his maneuvering
thrusters to put the fighter into a fast spin just as the Darket, surprised
by the maneuver, darted past with weapons now probing uselessly into space.
For a few brief moments, the Kilrathi's vulnerable stern was visible in
Blair's sights. Smiling grimly, he powered up his engines again and opened
fire with full blasters, adding a heat-seeking missile for good measure.
"Curl your claws around this, furball," he said.
The volley cracked the Imperial fighter's rear shields and the missile
flew right up the tailpipe. It exploded, and the fighter came apart in a
spectacular ball of raw energy.
"You really nailed him, Colonel," Flint said. "Now it's my turn . . ."
She drove her Thunderbolt right into the guns of the second Darket,
ignoring the withering fire her opponent was laying down. A moment later she
spoke again. "Bye bye, kitty," she said. Missiles and beams leapt from her
fighter's underbelly, and the Darket went up in a second brilliant fireball
that momentarily dimmed the stars. "Never mess with a gal on her home turf!
That makes nineteen, Davie . . . and more to follow!"
Bloodhawk Leader Locanda System
Kavark watched he destruction of Ghairahn's fighter with a curious lack
of emotion, showing neither anger nor blood lust, nor even pride in the
warrior's sacrifice. The second Darket's loss was the same; just another
statistic in the long fight against the ape-spawn humans.
Sometimes it seemed that the conflict would go on forever. Once it
seemed a great thing, a glorious thing, to venture forth in battle for the
glory of Empire and Emperor and Clan. But the fighting continued endlessly,
and though the Kilrathi had the advantage of numbers and sheer combat
firepower, somehow the apes always managed to move from the brink of defeat
to rally and overcome the Emperor's forces. The Terran spirit embodied a
refusal to give in despite overwhelming odds. And their warriors, though
outnumbered and outgunned, were superb fighters.
"We must attack, Leader," urged his surviving pilot, Kurthag. He never
doubted. He saw everything in black and white, honor against dishonor,
victory against death.
"No, Kurthag," Kavark said. "One of us must report to the Fleet. They
must know where the Terrans are operating."
"I will fight, Leader, while you withdraw . . ."
"Sharvath!" Kavark snarled. "Would you have me abandon honor? I command
here. Mine is the honor of battle!"
There was a long pause. "Yes . . . Leader," Kurthag said at last. "I
obey . . . despite the dishonor."
" СThe warrior who obeys can never be dishonored,' " Kavark told him,
quoting from the famous words of the Emperor Joor'ath. "Now, go. And . . .
tell my mate my last battle song will be of her."
He cut the channel and changed course to place his fighter between the
Terrans and Kurthag's craft.
Sometimes the only way to deal with doubts was to face them . . . no
matter what the price.
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
"They're splitting up," Blair said, studying his sensor screen. "One of
them is making a run for it. Why is this other idiot sticking around?
Doesn't he know he's no match for two heavy fighters?"
"Who knows what a cats thinking?" Flint said sounding distracted.
"Let's get him before he changes his mind!''
"On my wing, Lieutenant. We'll take down this baby by the book . . ."
Blair continued to study the screen as he spoke. If that Kilrathi fighter
was heading for home, maybe he'd be able to lead the Terrans to the missing
Imperial fleet. Assuming they could track him somehow . . .
"I can get the one who's running, Colonel," Flint announced suddenly.
"Going to afterburners. I'll be back before you finish toasting the dumb
one."
She suited actions to words before he could respond, her fighter
streaking away at maximum thrust. Blair wanted to call her back, but at that
moment the remaining Darket opened fire and accelerated toward him. There
was no time to remonstrate with his headstrong wingman now.
He looped into a reciprocal course, trying to keep his sights framed on
the Kilrathi, but this pilot was no hotheaded amateur. His maneuvers were
unpredictable, and he knew just how to get the most out of his fighter..
The combination was dangerous, even in an uneven matchup like this one.
Before Blair could line up a shot, the Darket pulled a tight turn and passed
directly under his port wing, blasters firing. None of the hits pierced the
shield, but they weakened it. Then the Darket turned away to avoid the arc
of the Thunderbolt's rear turret.
Blair turned again at maximum thrust, the G-force pressing him firmly
into his seat. The enemy ship appeared on his HUD again, and he tried to
center the targeting reticule on the fighter despite the Kilrathi pilot's
evasive action. But the other pilot seemed to anticipate his every move,
weaving in under him a second time, unloading a full volley of beams and
missiles against the same weakened spot.
A red light flashed on his console. "Burn-through, port shield. Armor
damage. Structural fatigue at ten percent." The computer's flat, unemotional
report was incongruous, and Blair didn't know if he wanted to scream or
laugh.
The Kilrathi fighter spun in a tight turn and started another run. "Not
this time, my friend," Blair muttered under his breath.
The weakness on the port side of the Thunderbolt would be a real danger
now; another good hit in the same area could seriously damage the fighter.
Ironically, it gave Blair an opportunity. There was little doubt as to what
the Kilrathi pilot would do this time. He would be drawn to repeat that same
attack a third time . . .
Blair initiated a turn before the attack developed, letting his nose
swing down and left. The enemy pilot opened fire, but the shots caught the
forward shields, not the port side. Simultaneously, Blair triggered his own
weapons, and the Kilrathi ship flew right into the firing arc. A pair of
missile launches exhausted Blair's stocks, but they were sufficient.
The pilot had time for one last transmission before the end. "There
must be . . . something more . . . than Death without end . . ."
And then the fighter was gone.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Locanda System
Blair scrambled from the cockpit as soon as the environmental systems
in the hangar were restored, brushing past the technicians and ignoring
Rachel's grinning "Looks like you took a real pounding out there" comment.
Seething, he crossed to Flint's fighter and waited for the woman to come
down.
By the time he'd dealt with the Darket, Flint had already engaged the
fleeing ship. She had dealt with it quickly and competently, taking none of
the damage Blair had suffered in his engagement. Her target had turned into
expanding gases in a matter of seconds.
Before Blair could read her the riot act, though, the shuttle had
returned, and the sensors registered the approach of the four Hellcats on
the return leg of their patrol. He refused to dress down another pilot over
an open channel. But all the way back. his anger had been building. Flint
had blown their best chance to track the enemy.
She let go of the ladder halfway down and dropped to the deck beside
him, pulling off her flight helmet to reveal a grin. "Score's twenty now,
Colonel," she said. "Davie'll have his escort soon enough."
"Only if you're flying, Lieutenant," he said, his voice low but harsh.
"And I'm not sure how long that's going to be, after what I saw out there
today."
"But Ч "
"You talk when I say you can talk, Lieutenant," he cut her off. "First
you listen. I gave you a direct order to stay on my wing when I engaged that
second Darket. Instead, you went charging after the other one. I expect that
kind of attitude from Maniac or even a rookie like Flash but not from the
pilot I pick as my wingman."
"But, Colonel, you didn't need me to deal with a Darket," she
protested, looking stricken, "and I was able to make it a clean sweep."
"A clean sweep," he repeated. "That's what it was, all right. Of
course, if there had been one survivor running for cover we might have been
able to lie back at extreme sensor range and track him back to his mother
ship. Maybe we'd find the whole damned Kilrathi fleet. But a clean sweep . .
. that's certainly worth passing up a result like that for, isn't it?"
She took a step back. "Oh, God . . . Colonel, I never thought . . ."
"No, you didn't," he said. "You never thought. Well, Lieutenant, think
about this. Intelligence thinks the cats are planning an all-out attack on
Locanda Four, not just a raid but something big and nasty. And if we don t
find their fleet and pinpoint it pretty damned soon they will have a clear
shot. So when your pretty purple skies are filled with Kilrathi missiles,
you think about whether we could have nailed them today if you had just
obeyed orders instead of playing your little revenge game."
She looked down. "I . . . I don't know what to say, sir," she said
slowly. "I'm sorry. Were you serious . . . about yanking my flight status, I
mean?"
He didn't answer right away. "I don't want to," Blair finally told her.
"You're a damned good pilot, Flint, and you know how to make that
Thunderbolt dance. But I told you before that I need a wingman I can trust."
He paused. "Consider this a final warning. You screw up again, Flint, and
I'll have your wings. You get me?"
"Yes, sir." She met his angry eyes. "And. . . thanks, Colonel, for
giving me a second chance."
As she turned and walked slowly away, Blair hoped he wouldn't regret
the decision later.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Locanda System
Blair paused at the entrance to the rec room and glanced around. This
evening the lounge was fairly busy, the Gold Squadron particularly well
represented. Vagabond, Maniac, Beast Jaeger, and Blue Squadron's Amazon
Mbuto were playing cards. Judging from the stack of chips in front of
Lieutenant Chang, he was ahead. Vaquero was alone at another table with
headphones over his ears, his eyes closed, and his hands tapping out a beat
as he blissed out on his rockero music. Hobbes and Flash were talking
earnestly at a table by the viewport, and Sandman was sharing drinks with a
blonde from the carrier's weaponry division.
Lieutenant Buckley, alone at the bar with a drink in her hand and a
half-empty bottle on the counter in front of her, looked up at Blair. She
stood with exaggerated care and walked over to him.
"I hear you're down on Flint," she said, the words slurring a little.
"What's the matter, Colonel, you only like pilots who've got fur?"
He looked at her coldly. СYou've had too much to drink Lieutenant," he
said. "I think you'd better head back to your quarters and get some rest."
"Or what? You'll ground me? Like you threatened Flint?" She jabbed a
finger at him. "You save your high-and-mighty Colonel act for the flight
deck or the firing line. I'm on down-time now . . ."
He grabbed her shoulder as she staggered, steering her back to the bar.
"I don't know what set you off, Lieutenant, but. . ."
"What set me off? I'll tell you what set me off, Colonel, sir. Flint's
one of the best damned pilots on this tub, and you treat her like dirt. Just
like you treat all the pilots, Сcept your furball buddy over there. After
she came off the flight deck this afternoon, she was ready to find an
airlock and cycle herself into space. I spent the whole damned afternoon
trying to straighten out the damage you created, chewing her out that way."
"She screwed up," Blair said softly. "And we can't afford any
mistakes."
"Can t you let her be human once in a while? Do you have any idea what
kind of strain Flint's under? This is her home system, you know . . . and
everybody's talkin' about the cats planning to use bioweapons here."
"There have been stories about bioweapons," he said guardedly. Inwardly
he wondered who had been talking. Probably not Rollins; he'd sounded sincere
when he promised not to spread the story. But everyone at the squadron
commanders' briefing knew about the rumors now, and some of them Ч Maniac,
for example Ч wouldn't think twice before sharing the stories with the rest
of the crew. "Right now they're just that: stories. Whoever's been
circulating them probably wouldn't know a bioweapon from a biosphere."
"Oh, come off it, Colonel," Cobra said. "The cats've been working on
these kinds of weapons for years. They use human test subjects from their
slave camps. They've tried their bugs out on other human planets already.
It's only a matter of time before they start using them routinely. If the
grapevine says it'll be here, I wouldn't argue with it.
"You know a hell of a lot about what the Kilrathi are doing,
Lieutenant," Blair said "Maybe you should spend more of your time talking to
Intell, and a little less on telling me how to run my Wing."
"Intell! I've had enough of Intell people and their questions!" She
shook her head. "Anyway, you're just trying to change the subject. The
simple fact is, Colonel, that there are some damn fine people on this ship
who deserve better than what you're givin' Сem. Flint's jus' the worst case.
But if I was you, I'd start treating people right, or you just might find
out what friendly fire's all about sometime Ч " She broke off and started to
stagger to another seat but ended up sitting down heavily where she was and
putting her head down on the bar next to her bottle.
"Should I call Security to give her an escort to her quarters, sir?"
Rostov asked from behind the bar. Blair wasn't sure how long he'd been
there.
He shook his head. "Let's keep this in the family," he said, looking
around. He caught Flash's eye and summoned him with a wave. "Major, I need a
favor. Could you help lieutenant Buckley back to her quarters please? She's
had a little too much to drink . . ."
"Sure, Colonel," Flash said with a grin. "I was starting to wonder how
much booze she was going to be able to put away before she pulled a
crash-and-burn." He helped Cobra to her feet, wrapped one of her arms around
his shoulders. "Come on, Cobra, let's get you home."
Blair watched them leave, then let out a sigh. "Give me a drink,
Rosty," he said, feeling suddenly weary. "A double anything. It's been that
kind of a day."
He took the glass from the one-armed bartender, but didn't drink it
right away. Instead he stared into the amber liquid, his mind a whirl of
conflicting emotions. From the very start he was an outsider here, unable to
pass the barriers his pilots held against him. Sometimes it felt as if he
was flailing the air. Most of these pilots had been through a lot together
and felt the same type of comradeship he had shared with the men and women
of the Concordia. They resented him, resisted him, and everything Blair did
only seemed to make things worse.
At least there were a few people he could still trust. Blair picked up
the glass and took a sip, then walked to the table where Ralgha was still
sitting, alone now. "Mind if I join you, Hobbes?" he asked.
"Please, my friend," the Kilrathi said, gesturing courteously toward
the chair Flash had relinquished. "It would be good to spend some time with
someone who . . . truly understands what this war is about."
"I take it you and Flash don't see eye to eye?" Blair sat down across
from his old comrade.
"That cub!" Ralgha was uncharacteristically vehement. "He sees
everything through the eyes of youth. No judgment. No experience. No concept
of the truth of war."
"When he gets to be our age, he'll know better," Blair said. "If he
lives that long. But I know what you mean. Things sure have changed since
the old days."
Ralgha gave him a very human smile. "Maybe not so much," he said. "I
can recall times when I thought I was immortal . . . and when you would get
drunk and tell off a superior officer."
Blair shot him a look. "You heard all that?"
"My race has better hearing than yours," Hobbes reminded him. "And the
lieutenant was not exactly concerned with keeping her voice low. Alcohol may
cause some people to speak and act in very strange ways, my friend. I do not
think there was any serious intent behind her words."
"In vino veritas," Blair said.
"I am not familiar with those words," the Kilrathi said, looking
puzzled.
"It's Latin. A dead Terran language. It means Сthere is truth in wine.'
"
"I do not think Cobra would actually fire on you," Ralgha said.
"Perhaps me, given the intensity of her dislike. But despite her anger
tonight, I believe she respects you as a pilot. . . and even as a leader.
Unfortunately, she also has a high regard for Lieutenant Peters, who saved
her life in the last battle before the ship refitted at Torgo. And you
cats to join him in the afterlife. They said . . . they said he died trying
to nail number twenty-two, which would have matched Davie's age, but Dad
didn't make it." Her voice was flat, level, but Blair could see a hint of
tears in her eyes. "I've made eighteen kills since I left the Academy. Four
more for Davie, and then I start racking them up for Dad. Maybe I won't
score fifty-seven for him, but I'm damned well going to try."
Blair didn't say anything for a long time. He wasn't sure what bothered
him most, the woman s preoccupation with vengeance or the cold,
matter-of-fact way she talked about it. It was almost as if she was so
wrapped up in her quest that she had lost touch with the emotions that set
her on the path in the first place.
Finally he changed the subject, gesturing toward the viewport. "Which
one was home?"
She pointed to a distant gleam of blue-green, barely showing a disk.
"Locanda Four. The main colony world." She paused. "It's a pretty world . .
. or it was. Dark purple nights, with bright moons that chased each other
across the sky. The insects would sing . . . different serenades, depending
on the closeness of the moons. Davie and I would sit up late together, just
listening . . ."
"I could try to get you some planet leave, while we're here," Blair
offered. "You must have some family left? Or friends, at least?"
"Just my uncle's family," she said. "I haven't been in touch with any
of them for years." Flint hesitated, still staring at the distant point of
light that had been her home. "No, thanks, Colonel. I appreciate the offer,
I really do, but I've got too much I need to do here with the rest of the
wing. I can't be on the sidelines if the cats are really planning a fight.
Not here of all places. I need to be a part of whatever comes down."
Blair studied her with a penetratingly probing gaze. "Look, Flint," he
said at last, "I know something about the way you feel. Lord knows I've lost
many people who were important to me over the years. But when we climb into
our cockpits and get out there in space, I'm not sure I can afford to be
with both you and your brother on my wing. I need you fighting for yourself,
for the Wing, for the ship . . . not for a memory, not for vengeance. It
cost your father his life. I don't want you to have to pay the same price."
She looked at him, the tears in her eyes catching the light. "I just
can't give up now, Colonel," she told him. "It's too much a part of who I am
and what I've become. You've seen me fly; seen me fight. You know I can get
the job done. Don't take it away from me. Please . . ."
Blair took a long time to answer, sipping his drink to give himself
more time to think. "All right," he said at last. "I guess you're not
carrying around any more baggage than the rest of us. Maniac's still trying
to prove he's the best, Hobbes is trying to live down being from the wrong
damned species, and Cobra just . . . hates cats. You're in pretty good
company, all things considered."
"What about you, Colonel? What baggage is Maverick Blair carrying
around after a whole lifetime spent fighting in the war?" Flint's eyes held
a glint of interest that made her whole face seem more alive.
He thought about Concordia . . . and about Angel, still out there
somewhere on her secret mission. "Classified information, Lieutenant," he
said, trying to muster a smile. "One of the privileges of being a colonel is
never having to let the troops know you're human."
"And are you?" she asked.
He let out a sigh. "All too human, Lieutenant. Believe me, I am all too
human."
They stood side by side and watched the stars for a long time in
silence.
Flight Wing Briefing Room, TCS Victory Locanda System
"Okay, people, let's get down to business," Blair said. "I'd like to
conclude this briefing sometime before peace is signed, if you don't mind."
A few scattered chuckles greeted his sally, and the ready room quieted.
Blair glanced at the faces grouped around the table: the squadron
commanders, deputies from each of the four squadrons, and representatives
from the Wing's technical and maintenance staff and from Victory's
Intelligence Office. Rollins was there as well, still functioning as Blair's
aide and liaison between the flight wing and the bridge crew
"Okay," Blair went on. "Here's the drill. For those of you who don't
pay attention to the daily shipboard news, we've jumped into the Locanda
System. It's been on or near the front lines for years now, and subjected to
repeated raids by the Kilrathi Empire." He pushed a stray thought of Flint
and her family from his mind and continued. "Until sometime early last
month, there was an Imperial base deep in the asteroid belt on a fairly
large rock designated Felix on our charts."
He activated a holographic projector to display the star system. "But
three weeks ago, a patrol out of Locanda Four discovered that the Empire was
no longer maintaining perimeter patrols around Felix, so a well-equipped
force was sent to check it out a destroyer, a heavy fighter escort, and a
transport carrying a company of Marines. They met no resistance, and they
discovered that the Kilrathi base was completely abandoned. Everything had
been cleaned out. That base supported at least three squadrons of fighters
and a depot large enough for a carrier to do a field refit. But they gave it
up Ч lock, stock, and fighter bay."
"But I heard there was supposed to be all this activity here." That was
Denise Mbuto, callsign Amazon, the major commanding the interceptors of Blue
Squadron. "Everybody said there was going to be some kind of big push.'
Blair nodded. "Yeah. Felix was abandoned while reports were received
concerning increased Kilrathi ship activities in these parts, such as
several capital ships, including three carriers. One was the Sar'hrai, which
launched that strike on us at Tamayo. There was also a report placing Crown
Prince Thrakhath's brand-new flagship here. Certainly there have been a lot
of little dustups involving Kilrathi fighter patrols and a few light cap
ships, destroyers and such.
"It would make little sense to abandon a well-defended base while
building up the fleet presence," Ralgha said slowly. "Thrakhath is many
things Ч arrogant, ambitious, ruthless Ч but I have never considered him to
be a fool. There is something here which we cannot see as yet."
"Maybe the local boys are just seeing things," Marshall said. "One
carrier passes through on the way to hit us at Tamayo, and it turns into a
whole damned fleet with the head kitty-cat in person commanding."
Blair shook his head. "No. Most of the reports are too well supported
by evidence. We have tracking and sensor data that bears out the notion of
three carriers and maybe eight smaller capital ships. That's a pretty fair
sized force to be hanging around a backwater like Locanda. And Hobbes is
right. The asteroid base would have been a useful adjunct to operations . .
. too useful to be abandoned casually."
"Perhaps the fleet was sent to cover the withdrawal of the base
contingent," Warlock Whittaker suggested. "It would take a lot of transports
to dismantle a base that size, and if they thought we had enough ships to
interfere with them, they would have a powerful escort in place."
"They might even be moving the base," Major Luigi Berterelli, commander
of Green Squadron, added. "If they were looking to expand their facilities,
or if they just thought our patrols had learned too much about the post on
Felix, they might have decided to set up something bigger and better
elsewhere. That would require an escort, too, while the new base was still
getting up and operating . . . and if they had a new base, it could be
supporting whatever else the cats have planned for that flotilla of theirs."
Berterelli had an anticipatory gleam in his eyes, as if he could already see
this new base lined up in his bombsights. Green Squadron had not seen much
active service lately, but a Kilrathi base would give the bombers a chance
to show what they could do.
"Those are possibilities," Blair agreed, "but by no means the only
ones." He nodded toward Commander Thomas Fairfax, Victory's senior
intelligence officer. "Commander?"
"Headquarters has been monitoring Kilrathi radio transmissions
regarding Locanda for several weeks now, trying to discover just what their
intentions are with regard to the system. A courier in from Torgo this
morning brought a summary of the most recent findings." Fairfax paused,
consulting a portable computer terminal. "First of all, it is believed that
their original timetable for whatever is happening at Locanda has been
rendered inoperative, possibly due to problems which have arisen in related
missions elsewhere."
"Tamayo, maybe?" Mbuto suggested with a savage smile.
"Uncertain," Fairfax said seriously. "At any rate, we believe them to
be behind schedule already, which means the action could get heavy any time
now.
"The real question is, what action?" Major Ellen Pierce, Whittaker's
Exec, put in.
"Linguistics are relating trouble with certain intercepted Kilrathi
broadcasts." The Intelligence Officer plunged ahead as if she hadn't spoken.
"One message in particular definitely refers to Kilrathi intentions for the
Locanda System . . . it uses a word we've never seen before.
Trav'hra'nigath."
"Bless you," Maniac said with a grin.
Blair glared at him. "Hobbes . . . does that mean anything to you?"
Ralgha was giving the Kilrathi equivalent of a frown. "The nearest
English translation, my friend, would be literally to grant the prize
without struggle." He paused. "Surrender? That is not a concept my people
embrace. Struggle is the one constant in life."
"They are planning to surrender the system?" Blair asked. "That doesn't
explain the buildup, though it would at least account for abandoning the
base."
"The implications of the messages we've intercepted suggest that the
Empire intends some gesture at Locanda," Fairfax said. "A demonstration of
power . . . or of intentions. Again, we're not entirely sure about the exact
meaning of all that we've intercepted."
Whittaker was nodding. "I could see that. Even if they're starting to
think in terms of giving up real estate, the cats aren't likely to just
quietly turn tail and run That wouldn't fit into their system of honor,
would it, Colonel?" He was looking at Hobbes.
"Ceasing to struggle for a prize one deems worthwhile is not honorable
at all," Hobbes said slowly. "A tactical retreat, yes, especially if there
is duty to one's followers involved, but the ultimate object is never
abandoned."
"Well, I say they feel the need for a parting shot," Whittaker
insisted. "Something to salve their pride when they withdraw. Three carriers
could deliver a real punch and flatten the colony facilities before anybody
knew what hit them. Then they sail away toward their real target."
"Perhaps," Fairfax said He looked down at his terminal again. "The only
other possibility Intelligence can release to us right now is what appears
to be a code name for the Kilrathi operation here. Krahnakh Ghayeer . . ."
"Unseen Death," Ralgha said.
Blair exchanged a quick glance with Rollins. Nobody spoke for a many
moments.
"Unseen Death," Maniac repeated at last. He sounded unusually
thoughtful. "I don t like the sound of that. It reminds me of something I
heard back at Torgo . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "Yeah, that was it. I
remember a guy telling me about some backwater system the Kilrathi raided a
few months back. Only instead of just dropping in for a quick loot'n'scoot,
they cleaned the place with some kind of new bioweapon. Pandemic, he called
it."
"I heard about that, too," Pierce said with a nod. "Rumor has it that
Confed HQ slapped a blackout on the whole thing and quarantined the system."
Rollins was about to speak until he caught the look in Blair's eye.
"The war's bad enough without listening to all the rumors flying around,"
Blair said sharply. "If the cats have a bioweapon, we'll locate it soon
enough, you can count on that. In the meantime, we have to concentrate on
what we do know Ч and on learning what we don't know. Isn't that right,
Commander Fairfax?"
The intelligence officer nodded, looking unhappy.
"Right, then," Blair went on. "For the moment the name of the game is
recon. We know there's a Kilrathi squadron in these parts, and we think
they're planning something nasty. If Major Berterelli is right, we need to
look for signs of a new base. At the very least, we need to pinpoint areas
of enemy activity and try to estimate both their intentions and their exact
strength."
"So it's back to patrols, then," Amazon Mbuto said.
"Unless one of you has a crystal ball that can show us where they're
hiding," Blair said. "We're drawing up a full schedule of recon ops. I'm
doubling the shifts by putting more fighters out at any given time, so I'm
afraid we'll all be contracting extra duty for a while. Major Berterelli, I
would like an assessment from you on whether we can adapt Green Squadron to
take over point defense work. That would give us the Hellcats for other
patrol ops."
"Range would be pretty short on Hellcats," Whittaker said. "They were
never meant for long-duration patrol work."
"After our little scrap back at Tamayo, I started thinking about
in-flight refueling," Blair told him. "A refueling shuttle with an escort of
Thunderbolts could allow your whole squadron to operate over a normal patrol
route. He shrugged. "We'd better see if the bombers can replace them before
we talk about it further. At any rate, people, we've got to find out
everything we can about the Empire's plans before they spring them. So make
sure your pilots are sharp and ready for anything. When this thing goes
down, whatever it is, we'll need to be ready. Dismissed."
Command Hall. KIS Hvar'kann Locanda System
Thrakhath lounged in his chair, his thoughts far away. The war was
entering its final stage now, and soon the Terrans would be brought down
like prey caught in an open field. That would be his doing, Thrakhath, Crown
Prince, victor over the Terran prey, hero of Kilrah . . .
And some day soon his grandfather would be dead and Thrakhath's claws
would grasp the Empire with a grip that would draw blood.
"Lord Prince . . ." It was Melek, his closest retainer bowing as he
approached the throne.
"Your report, Melek," he said mildly.
"Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has been identified as the Victory. As
you predicted . . . the ship that carries the renegade."
"The ship Sar'hrai failed to neutralize," Thrakhath added, showing his
fangs. "It is of small consequence. The forces we are mustering now will
guarantee the success of Unseen Death, no matter what attempts the apes make
to intervene. But be sure to emphasize that all pilots must avoid contact
with the renegade. I want no repetitions of the incident with Arrak."
"Understood, my liege," Melek said with a bow. "Lord Prince . . . we
know that the new weapon will work. The field tests revealed that. Why do we
not simply mount a raid on Earth now? It need not be a full-scale attack.
All that is necessary is a single ship, a single missile, and the Terran
homeworld is infected and wiped clean. That would shatter the apes, making
them helpless prey under our talons."
"Not quite, Melek," Thrakhath said quietly. "Do not forget, we have
attacked their homeworld before, to devastating effect, and yet done them
only minor harm in the greater scheme of things. Our agents claim they have
powerful new weapons in preparation now, weapons capable of destroying
entire planets . . . even golden Kilrah itself. These weapons are not
deployed around Terra, so a strike on their homeworld will only trigger
massive retaliation. We cannot allow that to happen. I will not trade one
homeworld for another, Melek. That would be disaster."
"But the loss of Terra . . ."
"Would mean less to the apes than the loss of Kilrah would to us,"
Thrakhath said, leaning forward. "You have not studied the humans as I have.
You do not grasp their nature. If Kilrah was lost to us, we would suffer
great harm. The Emperor, the heads of the great Clans, the ancient landholds
and monuments of our people . . . these are what tie our race together,
separate us from the animals. Take those things away and the Empire withers.
But the apes are savages. Terrans would mourn the loss of their home, but it
would not destroy them. They would continue to swarm in their multitudes,
disorganized but still determined."
"Then can we truly win this war?" Melek asked. "If we are so much more
vulnerable than they, do we have any choice but a glorious death?"
Thrakhath smiled. "We know only a little of their doomsday weapon, this
. . . Behemoth, as they call it. Our agents say it is untested, but they
have not been able to penetrate its secrets as of yet. We must draw out the
apes; force them to commit their new weapon before it is fully ready, in a
way we can control and manipulate. Unseen Death will be the first stage. By
demonstrating our bioweapon and proving our willingness to use it, we will
leave the Terrans no choice but to deploy the Behemoth."
"Against . . . against Kilrah?" Melek's look was one of horror and
fear, but Thrakhath didn't reprimand him for his shameful display.
"Not at once," the Prince told him. "They will test it first. We will
learn where the weapon is to be tested and we will discover its weaknesses.
For this purpose we keep the Heart of the Tiger in readiness. And when we
have destroyed their one hope of retaliation, leaving their Navy demoralized
and confused . . ."
"Then Terra dies," Melek said softly.
"Then Terra dies," Thrakhath agreed. "The first of many human worlds .
. . until their race is gone forever."
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
It felt strange to be in the cockpit of a fighter and yet drifting
free, without acceleration or preprogrammed destination. Blair had never
thought of flying a Thunderbolt as a claustrophobic experience, not with all
of space in full glory around him . . . but he was ready to admit that it
could be cramped, constricted, and more than a little bit boring.
They had been in the Locanda System now for three days, operating
frequent recon flights in search of some sign of the Kilrathi fleet. Today
was the first time they had put up the Hellcats in a recon role, and Blair
had elected to fly escort on the refueling shuttle with Flint rather than
assign the job to one of the other Gold Squadron teams. The entire force,
four Hellcats, the two Thunderbolts, and the shuttle, had flown together to
this prearranged rendezvous point at the edge of the point defense fighters'
maximum range. They topped off their tanks and set out in two patrols to
sweep a wide arc before they returned. Then they would refuel and make the
return trip to the Victory together.
Everything went like clockwork Blair hoped their luck would continue to
hold.
The worst part of being alone in deep space for long amounts of time
was the scope it provided for brooding. The lack of specific information on
Kilrathi intentions and dispositions made for a game of hide and seek
extending over an entire solar system, and it was a game where the Kilrathi
had all the advantages. The idea that they might be planning a biological
attack on Locanda bothered Blair more than he cared to admit. It suggested
that the Empire was upping the ante by introducing the prospect of mass
slaughter, possibly escalating to an all-out genocide. Blair had felt that,
before, both sides had agreed on what "winning" meant. And now the Kilrathi
might be trying to change that definition. If the Kilrathi turned to weapons
of mass destruction on any major scale . . . the Confederation would have no
choice but to answer them in kind.
But something else troubled Blair; something he hadn't shared with
anyone, not even Hobbes. Given that the Kilrathi had this new weapon, and
given the rumors that it had already been tested elsewhere, why Locanda? The
system was practically worthless in any strategic or material sense,
although its long-time position on the front lines gave it a certain
sentimental and media prominence the place hardly merited. It was as if the
Kilrathi had picked a place to wield their terror weapon which was most
likely to attract Confed attention. It would be much more difficult for the
High Command to seal off the system and black out the news, because Locanda
was so well known to the Confederation at large.
A bioweapon attack here would be like a gauntlet thrown at the feet of
the High Command; a challenge. . . but why hadn't the Empire chosen some
system where they would win more than just a propaganda stroke? Tamayo, with
its high population and important shipyard facilities, or the Sector HQ at
Torgo, or any of a dozen other systems nearby would have made far more
logical choices than Locanda. There had to be something more behind the
Kilrathi campaign, but Blair couldn't fathom it.
He wasn't even sure that he was working from anything more than rumor,
speculation, and fear.
"Hey, Colonel, tell me again how we're contributing to the success of
the mission," Flint's voice crackled on the radio channel. She sounded
bored.
"They can't all be free-for-alls, Flint," he told her, glad of the
interruption. He didn't like the depressing turn his thoughts were
following.
"You really think this latest sighting's going to pan out? I'll lay you
ten to one that freighter captain was drunk when he logged that sensor
echo."
The current reconnaissance effort had started after a report from a
tramp space freighter of multiple sensor readings at the edge of his scan
range two days back. It wasn't much to go on, but it was the only solid lead
they had just now.
"No bet, Flint," Blair said, checking his sensor screen as he spoke. "I
know better than to believe in elves, goblins, or reliable tramp skippers."
"You want to know what I think, sir?" Flint said. "I think some
Kilrathi cap ships might've shown themselves to that freighter just to get
us away from the colony. Know what I mean?"
"Any special reason, or are you just getting good at reading Kilrathi
minds? I can get you a cushy job with Intelligence if you can tell what the
cats are thinking." Blair caught a flash on his sensor screen. "Hold on . .
. "I'm reading contacts at two o'clock, low, outer ring. Check me."
There was a pause before Flint responded. "Yeah, I got Сem. Three . . .
no, four bogies, inbound. And I don't think they're our buddies from Red
Squadron."
"Shuttle, power up and get the hell out of here," Blair ordered, "we'll
cover your withdrawal. But keep in mind our guys will need a drink when they
get back here, so don t go too far unless the bad guys break through us."
"Roger that," the shuttle pilot replied. Blair saw the twin flares as
the boxy little craft accelerated away, gathering speed. "We'll relay word
to Victory, too."
"Okay, Flint, let's welcome our guests," Blair said, bringing the
fighter around and firing up the engines. "Keep close formation as long as
possible, but remember the top priority is to screen the shuttle. You see
somebody breaking past and heading his way, you nail the bastard, and don't
stop to ask for permission."
"Don't worry, Colonel," she replied. "I hardly ever ask permission
anyway."
Bloodhawk Leader Locanda System
"I read three targets, two fighters, the other . . . a utility vessel
of some kind. It is moving off. The other two are turning our way."
Flight Lieutenant Kavark nodded inside his bulky helmet. The report
matched what his own sensors detected. His patrol, four Darket off the
Imperial carrier Ras Nakhar, was near the end of its scheduled pattern when
the targets suddenly appeared at the edge of their sensor range. He promptly
ordered a course change to investigate.
"This confirms my readings," he said. "Target computer says the
combatants are Thunderbolt class: heavy fighters. We have the advantage of
numbers even though they are better armored than us."
"Then the greater glory accrues to us for fighting them!" Flight
Lieutenant Droghar responded eagerly. Kavark felt a surge of pride. The
pilots in his section were warriors, one and all, and it only enhanced his
honor to command them today . . . even if it was a hopeless fight. "What of
the other vessel?"
"It is an unarmed shuttle, of no importance. We may safely deal with it
after the escort is defeated . . . if anyone feels the need for target
practice."
There were harsh laughs from the other three pilots. Kavark showed his
fangs under his flight helmet, wondering briefly if any of them ever doubted
their place in this war. "Ghairahn, you may have the honor of the first
challenge, if you wish."
"Yes, Leader," Ghairahn replied. He was a young pilot, newly assigned
to the section, but a distant member of Kavark's Clan. This would be his
chance to earn his first blood in combat. "Thank you, Leader."
"Remember the instructions. If the renegade is detected, we break off
the action. There will be no arguments, no loss of honor." Kavark paused. He
knew they faced almost certain destruction by engaging, but honor demanded
they fight. He would go through the motions, do all that was expected of him
. . . embrace death with talons unsheathed, if that was what Sivar, the War
God, demanded. "Now . . . for the glory of the Empire and the honor of
Kilrah . . . attack!"
He forced himself to bare his fangs again in a savage smile as
Ghairahn's Darket fighter broke formation and accelerated toward the enemy.
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
"Here they come!"
The first Darket was at maximum thrust, bare seconds away from the
Thunderbolt's weapon range. A second fighter supported close behind, but the
other two, true to Kilrathi practice, had not yet broken their formation to
join the battle. This gave the Terran pilots a brief advantage, since a
Darket was no match for a Thunderbolt in a stand-up, one-on-one fight.
They made use of this advantage quickly. To cripple or destroy the
first two fighters before the other Kilrathi ships joined the fray was the
plan. If the enemy started swarming around either Terran ship with superior
numbers, the odds could quickly turn against Blair and Flint.
Energy weapons blazing, the lead Darket dived directly toward Blair,
not even trying to use evasive tactics. The pilot was either very confident
or very inexperienced, Blair thought. He held off returning fire. Instead,
he kept a target lock on the Darket while allowing it to approach so he
could achieve the maximum effect from his weaponry.
"For the honor of my noble race," a computer-generated voice translated
the Kilrathi pilot's radio call. "My claws shall grasp your throat today,
human."
Blair didn't respond. He watched the Darket streak in, keeping one eye
on the shield readouts. His forward screen took the full brunt of the
Kilrathi attack, and the power level was dropping fast . . . maybe too fast.
He rolled sideways, killing his forward speed with a hard reverse thrust
that wrenched his gut. As the fighter slowed, he used his maneuvering
thrusters to put the fighter into a fast spin just as the Darket, surprised
by the maneuver, darted past with weapons now probing uselessly into space.
For a few brief moments, the Kilrathi's vulnerable stern was visible in
Blair's sights. Smiling grimly, he powered up his engines again and opened
fire with full blasters, adding a heat-seeking missile for good measure.
"Curl your claws around this, furball," he said.
The volley cracked the Imperial fighter's rear shields and the missile
flew right up the tailpipe. It exploded, and the fighter came apart in a
spectacular ball of raw energy.
"You really nailed him, Colonel," Flint said. "Now it's my turn . . ."
She drove her Thunderbolt right into the guns of the second Darket,
ignoring the withering fire her opponent was laying down. A moment later she
spoke again. "Bye bye, kitty," she said. Missiles and beams leapt from her
fighter's underbelly, and the Darket went up in a second brilliant fireball
that momentarily dimmed the stars. "Never mess with a gal on her home turf!
That makes nineteen, Davie . . . and more to follow!"
Bloodhawk Leader Locanda System
Kavark watched he destruction of Ghairahn's fighter with a curious lack
of emotion, showing neither anger nor blood lust, nor even pride in the
warrior's sacrifice. The second Darket's loss was the same; just another
statistic in the long fight against the ape-spawn humans.
Sometimes it seemed that the conflict would go on forever. Once it
seemed a great thing, a glorious thing, to venture forth in battle for the
glory of Empire and Emperor and Clan. But the fighting continued endlessly,
and though the Kilrathi had the advantage of numbers and sheer combat
firepower, somehow the apes always managed to move from the brink of defeat
to rally and overcome the Emperor's forces. The Terran spirit embodied a
refusal to give in despite overwhelming odds. And their warriors, though
outnumbered and outgunned, were superb fighters.
"We must attack, Leader," urged his surviving pilot, Kurthag. He never
doubted. He saw everything in black and white, honor against dishonor,
victory against death.
"No, Kurthag," Kavark said. "One of us must report to the Fleet. They
must know where the Terrans are operating."
"I will fight, Leader, while you withdraw . . ."
"Sharvath!" Kavark snarled. "Would you have me abandon honor? I command
here. Mine is the honor of battle!"
There was a long pause. "Yes . . . Leader," Kurthag said at last. "I
obey . . . despite the dishonor."
" СThe warrior who obeys can never be dishonored,' " Kavark told him,
quoting from the famous words of the Emperor Joor'ath. "Now, go. And . . .
tell my mate my last battle song will be of her."
He cut the channel and changed course to place his fighter between the
Terrans and Kurthag's craft.
Sometimes the only way to deal with doubts was to face them . . . no
matter what the price.
Thunderbolt 300 Locanda System
"They're splitting up," Blair said, studying his sensor screen. "One of
them is making a run for it. Why is this other idiot sticking around?
Doesn't he know he's no match for two heavy fighters?"
"Who knows what a cats thinking?" Flint said sounding distracted.
"Let's get him before he changes his mind!''
"On my wing, Lieutenant. We'll take down this baby by the book . . ."
Blair continued to study the screen as he spoke. If that Kilrathi fighter
was heading for home, maybe he'd be able to lead the Terrans to the missing
Imperial fleet. Assuming they could track him somehow . . .
"I can get the one who's running, Colonel," Flint announced suddenly.
"Going to afterburners. I'll be back before you finish toasting the dumb
one."
She suited actions to words before he could respond, her fighter
streaking away at maximum thrust. Blair wanted to call her back, but at that
moment the remaining Darket opened fire and accelerated toward him. There
was no time to remonstrate with his headstrong wingman now.
He looped into a reciprocal course, trying to keep his sights framed on
the Kilrathi, but this pilot was no hotheaded amateur. His maneuvers were
unpredictable, and he knew just how to get the most out of his fighter..
The combination was dangerous, even in an uneven matchup like this one.
Before Blair could line up a shot, the Darket pulled a tight turn and passed
directly under his port wing, blasters firing. None of the hits pierced the
shield, but they weakened it. Then the Darket turned away to avoid the arc
of the Thunderbolt's rear turret.
Blair turned again at maximum thrust, the G-force pressing him firmly
into his seat. The enemy ship appeared on his HUD again, and he tried to
center the targeting reticule on the fighter despite the Kilrathi pilot's
evasive action. But the other pilot seemed to anticipate his every move,
weaving in under him a second time, unloading a full volley of beams and
missiles against the same weakened spot.
A red light flashed on his console. "Burn-through, port shield. Armor
damage. Structural fatigue at ten percent." The computer's flat, unemotional
report was incongruous, and Blair didn't know if he wanted to scream or
laugh.
The Kilrathi fighter spun in a tight turn and started another run. "Not
this time, my friend," Blair muttered under his breath.
The weakness on the port side of the Thunderbolt would be a real danger
now; another good hit in the same area could seriously damage the fighter.
Ironically, it gave Blair an opportunity. There was little doubt as to what
the Kilrathi pilot would do this time. He would be drawn to repeat that same
attack a third time . . .
Blair initiated a turn before the attack developed, letting his nose
swing down and left. The enemy pilot opened fire, but the shots caught the
forward shields, not the port side. Simultaneously, Blair triggered his own
weapons, and the Kilrathi ship flew right into the firing arc. A pair of
missile launches exhausted Blair's stocks, but they were sufficient.
The pilot had time for one last transmission before the end. "There
must be . . . something more . . . than Death without end . . ."
And then the fighter was gone.
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Locanda System
Blair scrambled from the cockpit as soon as the environmental systems
in the hangar were restored, brushing past the technicians and ignoring
Rachel's grinning "Looks like you took a real pounding out there" comment.
Seething, he crossed to Flint's fighter and waited for the woman to come
down.
By the time he'd dealt with the Darket, Flint had already engaged the
fleeing ship. She had dealt with it quickly and competently, taking none of
the damage Blair had suffered in his engagement. Her target had turned into
expanding gases in a matter of seconds.
Before Blair could read her the riot act, though, the shuttle had
returned, and the sensors registered the approach of the four Hellcats on
the return leg of their patrol. He refused to dress down another pilot over
an open channel. But all the way back. his anger had been building. Flint
had blown their best chance to track the enemy.
She let go of the ladder halfway down and dropped to the deck beside
him, pulling off her flight helmet to reveal a grin. "Score's twenty now,
Colonel," she said. "Davie'll have his escort soon enough."
"Only if you're flying, Lieutenant," he said, his voice low but harsh.
"And I'm not sure how long that's going to be, after what I saw out there
today."
"But Ч "
"You talk when I say you can talk, Lieutenant," he cut her off. "First
you listen. I gave you a direct order to stay on my wing when I engaged that
second Darket. Instead, you went charging after the other one. I expect that
kind of attitude from Maniac or even a rookie like Flash but not from the
pilot I pick as my wingman."
"But, Colonel, you didn't need me to deal with a Darket," she
protested, looking stricken, "and I was able to make it a clean sweep."
"A clean sweep," he repeated. "That's what it was, all right. Of
course, if there had been one survivor running for cover we might have been
able to lie back at extreme sensor range and track him back to his mother
ship. Maybe we'd find the whole damned Kilrathi fleet. But a clean sweep . .
. that's certainly worth passing up a result like that for, isn't it?"
She took a step back. "Oh, God . . . Colonel, I never thought . . ."
"No, you didn't," he said. "You never thought. Well, Lieutenant, think
about this. Intelligence thinks the cats are planning an all-out attack on
Locanda Four, not just a raid but something big and nasty. And if we don t
find their fleet and pinpoint it pretty damned soon they will have a clear
shot. So when your pretty purple skies are filled with Kilrathi missiles,
you think about whether we could have nailed them today if you had just
obeyed orders instead of playing your little revenge game."
She looked down. "I . . . I don't know what to say, sir," she said
slowly. "I'm sorry. Were you serious . . . about yanking my flight status, I
mean?"
He didn't answer right away. "I don't want to," Blair finally told her.
"You're a damned good pilot, Flint, and you know how to make that
Thunderbolt dance. But I told you before that I need a wingman I can trust."
He paused. "Consider this a final warning. You screw up again, Flint, and
I'll have your wings. You get me?"
"Yes, sir." She met his angry eyes. "And. . . thanks, Colonel, for
giving me a second chance."
As she turned and walked slowly away, Blair hoped he wouldn't regret
the decision later.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Locanda System
Blair paused at the entrance to the rec room and glanced around. This
evening the lounge was fairly busy, the Gold Squadron particularly well
represented. Vagabond, Maniac, Beast Jaeger, and Blue Squadron's Amazon
Mbuto were playing cards. Judging from the stack of chips in front of
Lieutenant Chang, he was ahead. Vaquero was alone at another table with
headphones over his ears, his eyes closed, and his hands tapping out a beat
as he blissed out on his rockero music. Hobbes and Flash were talking
earnestly at a table by the viewport, and Sandman was sharing drinks with a
blonde from the carrier's weaponry division.
Lieutenant Buckley, alone at the bar with a drink in her hand and a
half-empty bottle on the counter in front of her, looked up at Blair. She
stood with exaggerated care and walked over to him.
"I hear you're down on Flint," she said, the words slurring a little.
"What's the matter, Colonel, you only like pilots who've got fur?"
He looked at her coldly. СYou've had too much to drink Lieutenant," he
said. "I think you'd better head back to your quarters and get some rest."
"Or what? You'll ground me? Like you threatened Flint?" She jabbed a
finger at him. "You save your high-and-mighty Colonel act for the flight
deck or the firing line. I'm on down-time now . . ."
He grabbed her shoulder as she staggered, steering her back to the bar.
"I don't know what set you off, Lieutenant, but. . ."
"What set me off? I'll tell you what set me off, Colonel, sir. Flint's
one of the best damned pilots on this tub, and you treat her like dirt. Just
like you treat all the pilots, Сcept your furball buddy over there. After
she came off the flight deck this afternoon, she was ready to find an
airlock and cycle herself into space. I spent the whole damned afternoon
trying to straighten out the damage you created, chewing her out that way."
"She screwed up," Blair said softly. "And we can't afford any
mistakes."
"Can t you let her be human once in a while? Do you have any idea what
kind of strain Flint's under? This is her home system, you know . . . and
everybody's talkin' about the cats planning to use bioweapons here."
"There have been stories about bioweapons," he said guardedly. Inwardly
he wondered who had been talking. Probably not Rollins; he'd sounded sincere
when he promised not to spread the story. But everyone at the squadron
commanders' briefing knew about the rumors now, and some of them Ч Maniac,
for example Ч wouldn't think twice before sharing the stories with the rest
of the crew. "Right now they're just that: stories. Whoever's been
circulating them probably wouldn't know a bioweapon from a biosphere."
"Oh, come off it, Colonel," Cobra said. "The cats've been working on
these kinds of weapons for years. They use human test subjects from their
slave camps. They've tried their bugs out on other human planets already.
It's only a matter of time before they start using them routinely. If the
grapevine says it'll be here, I wouldn't argue with it.
"You know a hell of a lot about what the Kilrathi are doing,
Lieutenant," Blair said "Maybe you should spend more of your time talking to
Intell, and a little less on telling me how to run my Wing."
"Intell! I've had enough of Intell people and their questions!" She
shook her head. "Anyway, you're just trying to change the subject. The
simple fact is, Colonel, that there are some damn fine people on this ship
who deserve better than what you're givin' Сem. Flint's jus' the worst case.
But if I was you, I'd start treating people right, or you just might find
out what friendly fire's all about sometime Ч " She broke off and started to
stagger to another seat but ended up sitting down heavily where she was and
putting her head down on the bar next to her bottle.
"Should I call Security to give her an escort to her quarters, sir?"
Rostov asked from behind the bar. Blair wasn't sure how long he'd been
there.
He shook his head. "Let's keep this in the family," he said, looking
around. He caught Flash's eye and summoned him with a wave. "Major, I need a
favor. Could you help lieutenant Buckley back to her quarters please? She's
had a little too much to drink . . ."
"Sure, Colonel," Flash said with a grin. "I was starting to wonder how
much booze she was going to be able to put away before she pulled a
crash-and-burn." He helped Cobra to her feet, wrapped one of her arms around
his shoulders. "Come on, Cobra, let's get you home."
Blair watched them leave, then let out a sigh. "Give me a drink,
Rosty," he said, feeling suddenly weary. "A double anything. It's been that
kind of a day."
He took the glass from the one-armed bartender, but didn't drink it
right away. Instead he stared into the amber liquid, his mind a whirl of
conflicting emotions. From the very start he was an outsider here, unable to
pass the barriers his pilots held against him. Sometimes it felt as if he
was flailing the air. Most of these pilots had been through a lot together
and felt the same type of comradeship he had shared with the men and women
of the Concordia. They resented him, resisted him, and everything Blair did
only seemed to make things worse.
At least there were a few people he could still trust. Blair picked up
the glass and took a sip, then walked to the table where Ralgha was still
sitting, alone now. "Mind if I join you, Hobbes?" he asked.
"Please, my friend," the Kilrathi said, gesturing courteously toward
the chair Flash had relinquished. "It would be good to spend some time with
someone who . . . truly understands what this war is about."
"I take it you and Flash don't see eye to eye?" Blair sat down across
from his old comrade.
"That cub!" Ralgha was uncharacteristically vehement. "He sees
everything through the eyes of youth. No judgment. No experience. No concept
of the truth of war."
"When he gets to be our age, he'll know better," Blair said. "If he
lives that long. But I know what you mean. Things sure have changed since
the old days."
Ralgha gave him a very human smile. "Maybe not so much," he said. "I
can recall times when I thought I was immortal . . . and when you would get
drunk and tell off a superior officer."
Blair shot him a look. "You heard all that?"
"My race has better hearing than yours," Hobbes reminded him. "And the
lieutenant was not exactly concerned with keeping her voice low. Alcohol may
cause some people to speak and act in very strange ways, my friend. I do not
think there was any serious intent behind her words."
"In vino veritas," Blair said.
"I am not familiar with those words," the Kilrathi said, looking
puzzled.
"It's Latin. A dead Terran language. It means Сthere is truth in wine.'
"
"I do not think Cobra would actually fire on you," Ralgha said.
"Perhaps me, given the intensity of her dislike. But despite her anger
tonight, I believe she respects you as a pilot. . . and even as a leader.
Unfortunately, she also has a high regard for Lieutenant Peters, who saved
her life in the last battle before the ship refitted at Torgo. And you