"We still get by when we have to," Doomsday said.
"Yes, I know, most curious."
The shuttle banked over on to final approach and Jason closed his eyes, the turning and decelerating of the shuttle giving him a nostalgic longing to be in a cockpit again. The shuttle touched down smoothly and taxied to its gate.
When the hatch was popped the warm damp air of London filtered into the cab and Kirha wrinkled his nose.
"How do you breathe this? It's like inhaling water."
"You should try it when a spring fog rolls in," Ian replied. The four travelers pulled their duffle bags down from the overhead compartments and went through the access tunnel into the main terminal. Kirha was, of course, immediately noticed. The basic reaction, which was typical of most people from a metropolitan area, was to act as if he wasn't there, except for lingering sidelong stares. Several people displayed open hostility, and Jason was embarrassed when an elderly man came up and spit in front of Kirha, cursing all Kilrathi for killing his family.
Kirha, displaying a remarkable degree of tact, bowed to the man, offered an apology and then continued on. As they walked down the main corridor of the shuttleport they passed a booth displaying a banner announcing that it was seeking donations for the Human-Kilrathi Friendship Society. At the sight of Kirha several members came out from behind the counter and approached him.
"Ah, friend, so good to see you," one of them gushed.
Kirha looked at them suspiciously.
"How can we be friends? We have not been introduced, our blood lines unknown to each other."
The man hesitated for a moment and then smiled.
"Yes, your ritual of meeting, how clumsy of me." He bowed low. "I am Harrison of the hrai Harrison."
Kirha simply looked at him, shook his head, and continued on. Jason looked over at the booth as he passed and saw the other members staring at him.
"You'd think they'd take those service pins off and get back to a real life," an attractive young girl whispered, making sure her voice was loud enough so that Jason could hear. He was tempted to say something but realized it was futile and continued on.
A tall, slender woman with long blonde hair approached the group.
"Captain Hunter."
"Why, yes, that's me," Ian said with a grin. "Do we know each other?"
"No," she said with a mischievous grin lighting her features. "I'm here to meet your friend and escort him to your home in Australia. Everything's been arranged, we have him registered and security cleared."
"How about if we switch things around," Ian replied smoothly. "Kirha can go take care of my business and you can escort me home."
"Not likely, sir," she said with a laugh. "Better luck next time."
Ian shook his head and sighed, looking over at Kirha who was evidently distressed that his friend was leaving him.
"I know I cannot ask you where you are going and why," Kirha said softly, "but I suspect it is dangerous. May Sivar watch over you and guide you through the flowing of blood till we meet again.
Kirha went to his knees and Ian looked around embarrassed as he pulled him back up to his feet and then shyly hugged him
"Take care, buddy. I'll see you soon. While you're there, try to learn some horseback riding, you'd like it."
"As you command, my lord," Kirha said huskily.
The blonde took Kirha by the arm, looking a bit nervous, and she led him down a side corridor. Ian watched them leave looking somewhat wistful.
"Come on," Doomsday said, "you're not getting sentimental over a Cat, are you?"
"Well actually it's the blonde," Ian replied, but Jason could tell that Ian was actually fond of Kirha and hated to see him go.
"Damn, the sight of a Cat riding a horse," Doomsday said. "I'd pay good money to see it."
Walking to the far end of the terminal, where private craft were docked, they turned down a side corridor and reached their gate. A light Zephyr trans-atmospheric transport was parked outside.
"Hey, it's Round Top!" Doomsday cried, and he raced up to the pilot and grabbed hold of his hand.
"Did you run emotional therapy for that guy?" Ian asked, watching a second display of joyful greeting on Doomsdays part in as many days.
"I guess he got kind of attached to our pups."
"Like hell I'm a pup, sir," Round Top announced, coming up to shake Jason's hand
"Excuse me, gentlemen."
Jason turned and saw a slender gray-haired man, wearing a simple pair of flight coveralls, approaching them. He looked vaguely familiar and then he realized that it was Tolwyn's old steward from the Concordia.
"Johnston, isn't it?" Jason asked, and the man nodded.
"I think you're the last for this load," Johnston announced. "Why don't we get aboard?"
Jason picked his bag back up.
"And might I add, gentlemen, that it'd be best, for now, to drop your old noms de guerre."
The group followed Johnston out the door and scrambled aboard the Zephyr. Johnston secured the rear hatch and went up to the forward controls. Putting on a headset he called in to the tower for clearance, powered up the engines, and turned the ship to head for the runway. The Zephyr gained the launch track, did a short fifty-yard roll and then nosed up, soaring up on a sixty-degree climb.
Ian looked around the cabin and checked over the half dozen other passengers crammed into the small plane and realized that several of them looked familiar.
"Vanderman from Tiger's Claw, isn't it?" Ian asked, and the old pilot sitting across from him on the other side of the aisle nodded and shook his hand.
"Hell, I thought you bought it when the Claw got it, Vanderman asked.
"I got transferred off on a two week furlough the day before she got hit," Ian replied, a flicker of sadness crossing his features at the mention of his old ship.
"Luck of the draw I guess," Ian mused, "if it hadn't been for the furlough I'd have died with the rest of my friends.
"But what about you," he asked, forcing a smile, "I saw you go down over Draga just before we pulled out."
"I ejected and made it down to the surface, mostly in one piece. Stranded for a couple of years," Vanderman said, "kind of wild and woolly down there, with the carnivores and such."
"I've heard of them," Ian interjected. "It was a famous hunting reserve of the Cats and used for the old rites of coming of age."
"Well, it sure as hell aged me," Vanderman replied, "dodging the local denizens and Kilrathi patrols until a raiding unit dropped in for a visit and I got picked up. I tell you it was an experience."
With that he unbuttoned his shirt collar and pulled out a chain. Dangling from the end of it was a gleaming serrated tooth several inches long.
"I heard the Cats take the tooth of a nalga as a trophy. I got one with a bow that I made and hung on to it, figured if I finally got captured it might make me look a bit better in their eyes. Actually I'm kind of attached to it now."
"It doesn't look like much of a tooth," Ian retorted. "Why it ain't much bigger than my little finger. Now on Farnsworth's World there, you'll get big teeth. I remember . . ."
"The owner of this little gem's got claws bigger than your arm," Vanderman interrupted, "and you got your choice out of which of four heads to pull the tooth from.
Ian, knowing he'd get outclassed in a tale swap, fell silent.
The Zephyr quickly boosted up on a high trajectory jump, so that the breadth of England, from the Irish to the North Sea was clearly in view.
The shuttle reached apogee over Scotland and then started its long curving descent over the North Sea, dropping down through a high bank of dark clouds. Buffeted by the wind the shuttle bounced in the turbulence as it crossed over the cliffs, circled to kill speed, and then touched down hard, kicking on reverse thrusters and jerking to a stop.
"Welcome to Windward, gentlemen," Johnston announced as he walked through the cabin and unlatched the rear hatch. "Move quickly now, lads, it's a bit of a blow out there, and besides, the Admiral's waiting."
As Jason stepped through the doorway the stinging rain lashed into him, the wind driving it in almost horizontally. Cursing he grabbed hold of his duffel and ran towards the dark building barely visible in the driving storm. A portal of light showed where a door was suddenly opened and he ran for it.
Sliding on the wet paving stones he nearly fell on his backside as he gained the door and rushed in, almost knocking over the man holding it open.
"Damn, what a blow," Jason said, wiping the rain off his face and then he realized who was holding the door open and snapped to attention.
"At ease, Jason, remember we're no longer in the fleet," and Geoffrey Tolwyn extended his hand.
The rest of the group came racing in behind Jason and all came to attention at the sight of Tolwyn who smiled and shook their hands.
"Gentlemen, our little meeting was waiting for your arrival. Would you follow me?"
He led them into a semi-darkened library room and Jason was surprised to see real books made of paper lining the walls, something that had not been produced in hundreds of years.
"It's the treasure of my family," Tolwyn said, "some of the volumes go back to an age when England ruled most of the world before the time of flying. This house is nearly as old, and was built in the style of manor homes from an even earlier time."
At the far end of the library a fireplace glowed, and again it caught Jason by surprise. Wood was far too precious on his home world to be used in such a manner, but even as he looked at it he understood the strange almost primal appeal of a fireplace, the smell of burning wood, and the comfortable feeling it provided.
Going through a wide double doorway, they stepped into a broad open room, at the far end of which was yet another fireplace, this one big enough to walk into. Dozens of chairs were drawn in a circle around the fireplace, each of them already occupied and Jason saw yet more familiar faces.
"Hey, it's Sparks," Doomsday announced and the chief fighter maintenance officer from the Tarawa got out of her chair and came up to Doomsday, shaking his hand and then Jason's in turn.
"It's like old home week here," she whispered, "pilots, a couple of maintenance officers like myself, ship's computer officers, there's even a commodore of a destroyer group over there in the corner."
"I'd like to get started," Tolwyn announced and he motioned for the new arrivals to grab some chairs.
Tolwyn turned away for a moment and extended his hands to the fire, rubbing them, silhouetted by the flames and Jason felt a flash memory of the hangar deck of Tarawa on fire. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought aside, knowing that it'd be back again tonight, one of the worst of the recurring nightmares.
"To start with the old familiar line. I guess you're wondering why I invited you all here tonight."
The group laughed politely.
"We heard about your stockpile of Scotch," Ian quipped.
"Afterwards, Hunter, but business first."
The group settled down.
"It has been four weeks since the formal armistice agreement between the Terran Confederation and the Kilrathi Empire. Starting tomorrow, the peace commission starts its meetings to extend the armistice into a permanent settlement.
"All of us, especially we who fought so hard, and for so long, prayed daily for peace; for only one who fights can truly know how precious peace really is."
He lowered his head for a moment.
"And all of us know what the price might be if this peace proves to be an illusion, which I have feared from the beginning that it really is.
"What I'm about to share with you is level double-A classified information. Though we are no longer in the military I will invoke a military regulation regarding this information which is that the revealing of double-A-level classified information in time of war is a capital offense.
"We are not —" he paused" — officially at war, but I think that the level of classification conveys just how sensitive this material is. If this is something you feel might be over your head, Johnston will be happy to lift you back to London and you'll be back in town in time to catch the evening shows. If you stay, however, I expect a commitment from you to follow through on what I'm going to ask you to do. I called you here because I trust all of you. I'm asking in turn that you trust me and agree to this beforehand."
He waited for a minute and no one stirred.
"Fine, then we understand each other."
He picked up a small hand controller off the fireplace mantlepiece and clicked it. On a side wall a holo projection box hummed to life.
"The figures you see up there were only known at the highest level in the military and in the civilian government on the day the armistice was reached and, according to counter intelligence, were also revealed to the Kilrathi through an as yet unidentified mole."
He waited for that bit of information to sink in and then continued.
"As you can see, it shows actual fleet strength. The numbers in black are ships that were actively on line, the blue numbers were ships in for repair or maintenance and the green numbers new ships projected to join the fleet within the year.
He waited for a moment and then clicked the button again.
"The figures on the right side of the screen show the Kilrathi fleet size according to the highest level of intelligence and believe me it cost a hell of a lot of lives to get this information."
Jason scanned the figures. He knew the situation was bad, but he had no idea that the margin between Kilrathi and Confederation carriers was as large as indicated. He looked over at Tolwyn and realized yet again just how much the man risked when he took the Concordia a deep into Kilrathi territory to pull him out. The figures, however, for light craft, especially frigate class and transports were far better, with the Confederation having a significant lead in heavy transport capability.
A low murmur of voices filled the room as the group commented on the figures.
"Now I should add here, that in terms of quality, our technology in fighter craft was showing some significant edges, though they still had it over us in terms of sheer numbers and in firepower, which we offset with maneuverability and the ability to take more punishment, especially with our new upgrades which were just coming on line with the Broadswords and Sabre D class.
"But these are the key figures that I want you to take a hard look at."
He snapped the controller again, and columns of figures in red appeared alongside the Kilrathi column.
"Damn, look at that," Ian whispered, and Jason could only nod in reply.
"As you can see," Tolwyn announced, "from the day of the armistice and for roughly twelve months afterwards not one new fleet carrier was going to come on line for the Empire. Beyond that, it appears as if a significant portion of their carrier fleet needed to be pulled off line for major overhauls and refitting."
He paused for a moment
"This crippling of their carrier construction is thanks in part to a rather neat job by one of those present here tonight," and Jason nodded a thanks, but wanted to say that it wasn't him, but rather the nearly four hundred Marine raiders who gave their lives destroying the construction yards on Kilrah's moon that made the difference.
"Six carriers nearing completion were destroyed in the Tarawa raid and even more importantly their key personnel and construction equipment went up as well. Intelligence later ascertained that a high level design and engineering team was visiting the moon on the day the raid hit, wiping out some of their top brains. Tarawa also showed us a viable tactic for getting at the Kilrathi. You might recall that CVEs Enigma and Khorsan were reported lost, but no details were ever revealed for security reasons. The truth is that both light carriers were sent on deep penetration raids on carrier construction sites located in the Za'kathag region, killing three heavy carriers that were still being fitted out. Seven more construction sites were destroyed by other means that I'm not at liberty to discuss and in fact I'm not even supposed to know."
He turned away for a moment and reaching over to a wood bin he tossed another log on the fire and then looked back at the group.
"In other words, we had a window of opportunity which was starting to kick in and would have lasted for roughly six months to a year. For a brief period we would have, for the first time in the war, reached front line parity in terms of carrier strength and then the numbers would turn against us yet again. We might have been able to push them to the wall, though, during that time."
He sighed with frustration and lowered his head for a moment.
"Sir? '
He looked back up.
"Go ahead, Ian."
"Just how reliable are these figures?"
"I can t really tell you how we got them, but they're hard core. But now for the tough part, the classified information that only a handful really know about.
We suspect that the Kilrathi went for this armistice for two reasons, the first the operational concerns created by their crisis in transport capability, the destruction of heavy ship yards and the stand down of at least half their carriers for refit. If that alone was their reason behind the armistice, it would be bad enough. There is, however, the second issue."
He paused a moment for effect and the room was deadly still, except for the crackling of the fire.
"We have reason to believe that approximately five years ago the Kilrathi started the secret assembly of a major construction yard outside of their Empire's territory and at this site they are building an entire new class of ships. If this is true, we can expect that when the fleet is completed, it might be used to launch a preemptive and smashing blow to end the war in their favor. The key question concerning this is if indeed this fleet is real. If it is real and nearing completion, do the Kilrathi intend to use it to launch a preemptive strike while we stand down due to the armistice?"
"What kind of ships and where?" a commodore asked from the back of the room.
"It's called the Hari," a voice announced from the corner of the room.
"Paladin, damn me, I thought you got killed," Ian shouted, coming to his feet and running up to embrace his old friend.
"As usual, laddie, the reports of my death are a bit premature."
The group roared with delight as the old pilot came up to stand by Tolwyn.
"How the hell did you get out of that last scrape?" Ian asked. "They said you were reported long overdue and presumed dead. Hell, man, you owe me a drink because I bought a round at the Vacuum Breathers in your honor. Old Gallagher even gilded your mug."
"It's a wee bit tied up in all of this here talk the Admiral's giving."
"So what's this Hari?" Doomsday grumbled.
"The Hari Empire," Tolwyn said, "once existed in what was the realm of space on the other side of the Kilrathi Empire in relation to us. More than two hundred of our years before we first made contact with the Kilrathi, they fought a war with the Hari and annihilated them. So bitter was the struggle that the Hari, in their pride refused surrender and committed suicide."
"All of them?" Sparks asked.
"That's what we've been told by prisoners," Tolwyn said. "It is a vast empty reach of space, a good thirty jump points out from Kilrah. The Hari never knew of the jump points, and traveled at speeds slower than light. They made great ships that could journey between worlds in trips that took lifetimes. When they found a world with resources they multiplied quickly, in a hive-like manner. They quite literally wrecked the planet's biosphere with overpopulation and exploitation of every resource they could find. When the planet was used up, selected members were loaded back aboard their ark ships and moved on, leaving the rest to die. Thus there was little on their worlds worth the taking, the planets they occupied nothing but mined over and scarred barren wastelands when they were finished.
"It's believed that the Kilrathi moved some of their ship construction deep into Hari territory and for at least the last four years have been working on a secret project. This information comes from bits and pieces of a puzzle, made up of thousands of little details we've found over the years — a captured shipping report, a stray transmission coming from where it wasn't supposed to. In part this might explain the anomaly of their transport shortage which appeared to be even more acute than our figures suggested, since part of their transport fleet appears to be committed to hauling material out into Hari territory for the building of this secret fleet."
"Look, sir, if this is the case, then what the hell is our government doing?" Round Top snarled. "What you're telling us is that the Kilrathi called an armistice to get over a potential gap in numbers, and once they've closed it and gotten ahead and get this new fleet ready, they'll come out kicking."
"Prove It," Paladin said quietly, "that's the problem. All I can tell you is, getting into Hari territory reminds me of this lass I once knew who was so . . ." He looked at the females in the audience and stopped.
"As I was saying, it's impossible and believe me, I know. You have to cross all of Kilrathi space, hit into transit jumps that we don't even have charts for, and then go a good thousand light years beyond. I think its fair to assume that this here system is wired with security from one end to the other. We might be able to put a concealed Kilrathi transport or trader inside their own territory when there's a war on and a lot of traffic to blend in with, but out there, it's military security all the way in and out."
He hesitated for a moment.
"Believe me, I know," he said softly as if recalling a nightmare that still troubled him.
"So how do we know about this then?" Ian asked. "We might just be chasing shadows, our own fears and nothing more."
"That I cannot say either," Paladin replied. "Not even the Admiral here is cleared to know some of it, and remember, I worked for him before, same as you, laddie. All I can say is, the information is good, and a lot of our friends, who are listed as missing, in fact died to find out."
"Well, doesn't the civilian government know this?"
Tolwyn blew out noisily and nodded.
"A week before the armistice was agreed to, there was a meeting with Rodham, Foreign Minister Jamison and the Chiefs of Staff. The information was presented and Jamison said that it was unconfirmed, that the intelligence community and military were conspiring to keep the war going and as much as called the Chiefs of Staff a bunch of liars. Rodham finally sided with Jamison, saying that at best it was rumor, and there were always such rumors that could keep a war going, countering with the statement that Jukaga had claimed the same thing was being done by us."
"So they accuse us of it, and that balances it out, is that it?" Vanderman asked.
"That's about it," Tolwyn replied. "I'd have to add that Jamison does have the weight of history on her side. In the past, in the old Earth wars, there were always such charges of secret bases and construction sites or hidden redoubts. They usually proved to be false," he paused, "but then on occasion they proved to be true."
Tolwyn paused, realizing he could say no more in front of this group, for in fact the Confederation did have several secret projects in the works. Jukaga's accusation had caused a flurry of concern on the part of the Chiefs of Staff and intelligence, but in the end it was surmised that the Baron was merely smoke screening and had not stumbled on any hard information.
A nervous rustle seemed to sweep through the room.
"Damn it, isn't anyone catching on?" someone grumbled from the back of the room.
"Some people are, Commodore," Tolwyn replied. "Call it war weariness, I don't know. I think after thirty years people wanted peace so badly that they were willing to grasp at straws and this Baron knew how to play into it. There was an old American military leader named Marshall who once said 'no democracy can endure a seven years war, and we've had thirty.'"
"Admiral, let's get to the point," the commodore replied. You dragged us here for a reason, and not just so we could cry on each other's shoulders."
Tolwyn smiled.
"You always did get straight to the point, Weiss," and Tolwyn clicked the hand unit once more and the figures in the holo field dissolved to be replaced by a sector map.
"You're looking at the Landreich System."
"What a hell hole," someone growled.
"Its a hell hole all right, in fact one of their favorite planets is named just that," Tolwyn replied. "As you can see from the map, the forward edge of it borders on the Empire, and it's about the furthest you can get from Confederation territory. Most of the worlds haven't even reached G status for colonial outpost ranking."
He hit a couple of buttons on his controller and a number of flashing red and yellow dots appeared.
"Each red dot represents a reported violation of the demilitarized zone by Kilrathi vessels, each yellow dot by Terran or others. Incidents are happening at better than two a day. Back here on Terra they might be claiming peace, and the same on Kilrah, but the frontier regions are just about as hot as ever. There's a lot of freebooting going on, organized raiding cartels are forming and even some free corp units of ex-military on both sides, who have no place else to go, are setting themselves up as petty governments or as raiding groups.
"Now according to the peace agreement, the central government is supposed to patrol these areas," and the group chuckled, "but hell, we could barely do that when we had a full fleet and the war was on. Thirty years of fighting has caused a lot of breaking down out on the edges."
He paused for a moment to throw another log in the fire.
"They might call it rebellious down here on Earth, but from the viewpoint of the frontier governments it's being independent. They know what it's like to live on the edge of total annihilation if the Empire ever broke through, and they are none too pleased with the armistice, since if anything it means that there's no Confederation fleet at all to back them up."
A thin smile creased his features.
"So they're quietly building their own for what they're calling 'reasons of internal security,' and that, my friends, is why you're here."
Jason felt a cool shiver run down his back.
"It might not be much but it's something. I'll not call it an ace in the hole. When you look at the figures I just showed you it's more like a deuce; but at least it's a start, a backup if things turn ugly.
"Shall we say, for convenience sake, that in my current disgraced position I have been forced into a commercial venture in order to make ends meet. I have been approached by a private contractor who wishes to purchase a number of decommissioned ships that could be reconfigured for," and he grinned, "civilian transport. It just so happens that I've located five of these ships in a mothball yard orbiting the moon."
He paused for a moment
They're CVEs, light escort carriers, and I need some crews to run them."
Jason broke into a grin.
Prince Thrakhath stood up, extending his arms and groaning.
"So what you are telling me is that you cannot speed up the completion of the fleet."
"No, my lord," and the admiral before him lowered his head to the ground.
"Stand up and stop this groveling, I'm not going to tear your throat out. I need leaders, not dead bodies just because you bring bad news."
The admiral came to his feet.
"It's the problem with the transports," the admiral said. "We simply don't have enough to keep moving the material out to the Hari at the rate you wish for."
"But what about those older ships we decommissioned?" and he almost laughed at the thought of that. The vessels had been ready to fall apart and yet they were checked off by the Confederation observers as first line battle worthy. And even as he thought of it he realized that was precisely why they were useless. The three eights number of jumps required to get to the Hari base exceeded their need for overhauls after every two eights jumps which older ships still required.
"Couldn't we establish an overhaul base at the half way point?"
"It might draw notice. It could be within detection range if they ever slipped deep enough into our territory.
"Do it anyhow, and find a way to heighten security.
"There is another problem as well."
"And that is?"
"Fleet procedures have always been able to provide complete situation updates by burst signal from fleet commanders on a daily basis. Some concern has been expressed that the Confederation, with the rumor that they suspect something in the Hari sector, might turn their attention there and detect these signals. If they can decode enough of the signal it might reveal the existence of the new fleet."
"The range of their detection equipment isn't that good," Thrakhath replied, and then paused, "or is it?"
"We've received a couple of reports over the last year of a new project of theirs to improve their equipment. But nothing is confirmed."
Thrakhath nodded.
"Use courier ships, then."
"It is too far away to be efficient and too dangerous. The tactical, strategic, and operational updates comprise tens of trillions of bits of information right down to the need for a replacement screw. The signals back from Kilrah also send out the key information obtained by our intelligence operatives regarding all new information regarding Earth defenses. If we had to suddenly launch a preemptive strike without warning, the fleet must know on a daily basis the latest information regarding events across the Empire, the demilitarized zones, and inside Confederation space. The fleet in hiding needs this information instantly, and we need to know instantly what its needs are, a time delay of eight and four or more days is dangerous."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Keep the communications open."
The Prince hesitated for a moment.
"How secure is the encoding?"
"Our intelligence indicates that the Confederation was breaking our latest fleet code just as the armistice was reached. However, every five eights of standard days, we changed the code anyhow. We could place our latest one in, and reduce signal traffic to essentials only, keeping the burst signals to under a second each way."
Thrakhath nodded. He could see the admiral's point. If the Confederation picked up signal traffic going in and out of Hari territory, it might draw notice, but then in order to do so, even if they could upgrade their equipment, it would require a penetration into the Empire.
"Do so and inform our counter intelligence to keep careful watch inside the Confederation as to any actions which might indicate that they know something or are planning some action."
"So far we have detected absolutely none."
"There is never an absolute in war, the friction of war always causes a breakdown. You have your orders, now leave me."
The admiral backed out of the room,
Prince Thrakhath settled back down at his desk and then turned to look out the small oval window. In the darkness of space beyond he could see a long sliver of reflected light. Craxha, the third of the new carriers to have just completed its first transjump engine testing, was coming back in to dock. Tomorrow the first squadron of fighters, transferred from one of the now drydocked carriers would start to come aboard.
The ship turned slowly, lining up on the drydock pylon which jutted out from the massive orbital base. He sat quietly, watching the maneuver intently.
Docking a ship of such massive size was a difficult maneuver and the commander on board performed it flawlessly.
Good, he had chosen that one well.
He turned away and looked back at his commscreen, intently studying the latest intelligence report provided by the hrai spies of the Imperial family.
It wasn't good.
He closed his eyes, silently cursing the Baron. There was no denying that the initial plan of the Baron, to have a temporary armistice, was indeed a good one, no matter how humiliating it might be. Later, once things were finished, the blame for the humiliation could be shifted back to the Baron and away from the shoulders of the Imperial line.
It was the inner intent of the Baron which was disturbing. Already he was trying to marshal support from the other clans against the Imperial blood, while quietly working to extend the armistice far out beyond the original intent. It was obvious now that the true intent was to let the armistice continue, place the ultimate blame on the Emperor, and then somehow seize power himself. When that was accomplished this new fleet would fall into his hands, he would overawe the humans with it and thus secure victory and his own control of the throne.
The alternative, the Prince realized, was to preemptively strike on the humans right now. But the problem was that the fleet was not yet ready for that. It would be at least another six eights of days before the fourth carrier came on line. All battle simulations had shown that the full strength of twelve carriers was needed for an overwhelming victory. Beyond that, the twelve carriers would need more than forty eighties of fighters and. more importantly, trained pilots, for them to be useful. So far he had drawn pilots only from those hrai truly loyal to the throne. That was the difficult part of the equation. Far too many of the Imperial Guard pilots had been lost at Vukar, and it would be at least another year before their losses were made good.
If he delayed, his military strength would grow, and the humans would weaken, lulled by the false peace. That they would be so stupid had caused him to lose whatever respect he had once held for them as foes worthy of the testing of steel.
There was the chance as well that some in the Confederation military might try to get the hard evidence regarding the new fleet and its intended target. That they even had suspicion of its existence had been a blow, the information revealed by their all so foolish traitor.
Turning her had been so easy, he thought with a cold smile. Her only son had been captured during the Third Enigma campaign. That was a prize to be sure. Her discontent with the war, and her political ambitions to replace the president were known. The discreet passing of a holo of her son alive, and in confinement had broken her will. To have a Foreign Minister of the enemy working for you was indeed a great thing. She had been promised much and if, when the Confederation was destroyed and she was still useful, they would keep her as a puppet. The only problem with her was that it appeared that she was under suspicion and thus blocked from certain key information, especially regarding the reports of a Confederation secret project to build a new class of weapons. That was a concern as well, for if their side delayed, they might reach their goal and shift the balance of the war. It was another argument against delay, even though every passing day made the Confederation weaker and the Empire stronger.
Yet if he delayed, the discontent in the Empire at the humiliation of peace would grow as well, and be focused upon the Emperor by the maneuvering of the Baron.
It was a balancing act which had to be played out delicately, and he sat in the silence of his war room, lights dimmed, and quietly formed his plans.
Prince Thrakhath returned to his desk and settled back down, punching up the latest reports on his screen. From the ambassador all was still going well. The Confederation government was starting to protest more loudly about the endless minor violations of the truce.
"Look, it's all perfectly legal, you've got the papers, the titles are transferred, now get off this bridge," Jason snapped.
The lieutenant looked down again at the sheaf of paper in his hand and back up at Jason.
"Ah, Mr. Bondarevsky, I've been ordered to have you wait until the peace commission has fully reviewed this matter. You and your people are to leave this ship at once."
Jason turned away and punched into a ship comm line.
"Gloria, how's reactor?"
"Up and cooking, sir."
"Masumi, we on line yet with pulse engines?"
"Can give you maneuvering thrust."
Jason looked back at the lieutenant.
"Mister, if you don't want to go for this ride, you'd better clear the bridge."
The lieutenant looked at him and a thin smile crossed his features.
"Good luck, sir," he whispered, snapped off a salute, and left the bridge.
Jason went over to his old command chair, and sat down, a light puff of dust swirling up around him. He looked around at his skeleton crew which were manning the bridge. Normal ship's complement was just under five hundred personnel — he had only thirty-five. Nearly three quarters of a full crew were either support for the three squadrons the ship would normally be carrying, or for the weapons systems, but even without them, running the ship was going to be a chancy operation. And with only three Ferrets, and a Sabre on board that had yet to be transferred off, he felt very naked.
"The Lieutenant has cleared the landing bay," Sparks announced on the comm, "and is back aboard the docking station."
"Close off the docking collar, Sparks, and disconnect external power."
"Already done, sir, docking collar disconnected, external power cut and withdrawn."
Jason looked over at his helm crew.
"Take us out of here."
A barely perceptible vibration ran through the ship as Masumi tapped into the reactors, lighting up the nuclear pulse maneuvering engines. He felt a cold shiver run down his back.
"Velocity at 225 meters per second," helm announced, "heading 31 degrees, negative 8."
"By God, we're on our way," Jason laughed, coming to his feet
A cheer went up on the bridge, the crew laughing, slapping each other on the back.
"Ship 2291, respond please."
It took a moment for Jason to realize that the incoming message was for him, the caller using his ship's decommissioned identification number.
The communications officer looked over at him and Jason raised his hand, signaling for her not to open a line.
"Ship 2291, you are in violation of peace commission procedures for title transfer. You are ordered to turn your vessel about and return to the decommissioning yard at once.
"Ship 2291, you are . . ."
"Turn that damn thing off, Jason snapped and the communications officer switched the speaker off.
"Helm, set course for jump transit point 17A and let's get the hell out of here."
"Come on, you two," Jason said, looking over at Ian and Doomsday and they followed him off the bridge.
Picking up a small package he left the bridge and started down the corridor out to the hangar bay. Reaching the bay he paused and looked around. It actually looked big for a change. It was, of course, almost empty of fighters, and it seemed strange to see it like this. He opened the package up and unfolded the commissioning flag of Tarawa. He hung it back up in its old spot, next to the roll of honor. A light film of dust was on the honor roll and using his shirt sleeve he wiped it off, stepped back and without any feeling of self-consciousness, he came to attention and saluted
He heard a light clicking of heels and looked over his shoulder to see Sparks at attention, saluting as well. She came to at ease and smiled.
"It's good to be back with our friends, Jason."
He smiled, realizing that for the first time since he had known her she had called him by his name. It took him a moment to even recall hers.
"It certainly is, Janet."
Her features flushed a bit
Ian coughed in a very self-conscious manner and nudged Doomsday.
"Come on, buddy, let's go clean up the pilot ready room," and the two left.
"Funny, folks back home called me by my name of course, but you know, I can't remember the last time somebody didn't call me Sparks."
She had changed so much since becoming an officer, the hard edges polished into a smooth professionalism, the dirty coveralls and oil-smudged face long since gone. She was wearing a standard B class jump suit and he realized yet again that it made her look awfully damn attractive. But he had to push that away. Even though they were not part of the Confederation Fleet anymore, he still wanted his ship run by Fleet rules, and one of them was that no personal relationships were allowed between commanding officers and those serving under them.
He lowered his gaze for a second and then looked back and her smile faded a bit
"Sorry, Jason, I guess we're back to the old routine, aren't we? Funny, I couldn't wait to get back, but I knew if I did, I'd have to give up something to do it, a chance for you.
He nodded. He knew she was interested but maybe it was simply that the sharp edge of pain in losing Svetlana still cut a bit too deeply. The few encounters since her death had left him feeling cold and empty.
Before he could say anything she drew closer, leaned up, and kissed him lightly on the lips, the kiss lingering. Startled, he looked at her and saw the sparkling in her eyes. He suddenly felt so tempted to put his arms around her — but she drew back.
"I'd better get to work, sir," she said, sniffling slightly. "This flight deck is filthy and I'll be damned if I'll allow a launch from it before it's been cleaned up,"
"I'm glad Tolwyn let me take you as my maintenance officer, Janet," he hesitated, "and I'm just glad to have you with me as well."
She looked at him, shrugging a bit awkwardly, and went across the deck, leaving him alone.
He exhaled hard and shook his head.
"Captain?"
"On the flight deck."
"We've got a laser hookup from CVE 6 Normandy."
"Patch it through to flight operations bridge."
He double-timed over to the flight bridge and climbed up into the empty room. The control positions were all empty and it seemed eerie with not a single soul around. He switched on a comm channel and a holo image formed.
"How're you doing, laddie?"
"Little complaining from the decommissioning crowd but we're away and clear."
Paladin smiled.
"Even though those papers are nice and legal like, we are bending a couple of the rules a wee bit," he said with a laugh. "I'm coming up now off your starboard beam, Iwo and Wake and Crete are clear as well. How's Tarawa look?"
"Everything nominal. We got a bonus of four fighters on board her as well. The mothball maintenance seemed pretty damn good, all things considered, but I feel awfully naked without at least one squadron aboard."
"One thing at a time, laddie. I've got to get off the line now, I'm getting a bit swamped here with calls from those peace commission buggers, and even one now from ConFleet. I tell you it'll be right good fun telling an admiral to go to hell. They've got a couple of frigates out at the jump point who might try to stop us, but we've got a dozen lawyers out at headquarters arguing away right now that the sale is legal. Hopefully nobody'll shoot. Hell, by the time they get it resolved we'll be on the other side of the universe. And then what are they going to do, sue us?"
Laughing, he shut down the laser link and the holo screen went dead.
Stepping down from the flight bridge Jason saw the pinpoint of light of Paladin's ship moving against the eternal night of space.
"Captain, this is helm."
"Go ahead."
"Cleared of near Earth orbit, ready to power up to full pulse drive on course heading for jump point 17A."
"Get us out of here, then."
He felt the surge of power rumble through the ship as nearly all reactor power was fed straight into the engines. The ship turned to line up on the jump point and as he walked up to the hangar bay's magnetic airlock, Earth drifted into view, a crescent blue-green ball hanging in the eternal darkness. It gave him a curious sort of feeling. It was, after all, the home world of his entire race, the Russia of his ancestors clearly visible even from half a million clicks out, and yet now, he felt strangely detached from it. He was a product of space, born on a world five hundred light years away. If he had a home, it was this ship, a family, the people aboard her. He knew that this insane adventure he was setting out on was motivated in part by his allegiance to the Confederation and for the protection of the world in front of him, even for the protection of those people who were so ready to reject him and the military that he served. He knew that perhaps that was always the lot of a warrior, to be turned to when trouble loomed, and to be rejected and hidden away when it was believed that peace had returned.
"Yes, I know, most curious."
The shuttle banked over on to final approach and Jason closed his eyes, the turning and decelerating of the shuttle giving him a nostalgic longing to be in a cockpit again. The shuttle touched down smoothly and taxied to its gate.
When the hatch was popped the warm damp air of London filtered into the cab and Kirha wrinkled his nose.
"How do you breathe this? It's like inhaling water."
"You should try it when a spring fog rolls in," Ian replied. The four travelers pulled their duffle bags down from the overhead compartments and went through the access tunnel into the main terminal. Kirha was, of course, immediately noticed. The basic reaction, which was typical of most people from a metropolitan area, was to act as if he wasn't there, except for lingering sidelong stares. Several people displayed open hostility, and Jason was embarrassed when an elderly man came up and spit in front of Kirha, cursing all Kilrathi for killing his family.
Kirha, displaying a remarkable degree of tact, bowed to the man, offered an apology and then continued on. As they walked down the main corridor of the shuttleport they passed a booth displaying a banner announcing that it was seeking donations for the Human-Kilrathi Friendship Society. At the sight of Kirha several members came out from behind the counter and approached him.
"Ah, friend, so good to see you," one of them gushed.
Kirha looked at them suspiciously.
"How can we be friends? We have not been introduced, our blood lines unknown to each other."
The man hesitated for a moment and then smiled.
"Yes, your ritual of meeting, how clumsy of me." He bowed low. "I am Harrison of the hrai Harrison."
Kirha simply looked at him, shook his head, and continued on. Jason looked over at the booth as he passed and saw the other members staring at him.
"You'd think they'd take those service pins off and get back to a real life," an attractive young girl whispered, making sure her voice was loud enough so that Jason could hear. He was tempted to say something but realized it was futile and continued on.
A tall, slender woman with long blonde hair approached the group.
"Captain Hunter."
"Why, yes, that's me," Ian said with a grin. "Do we know each other?"
"No," she said with a mischievous grin lighting her features. "I'm here to meet your friend and escort him to your home in Australia. Everything's been arranged, we have him registered and security cleared."
"How about if we switch things around," Ian replied smoothly. "Kirha can go take care of my business and you can escort me home."
"Not likely, sir," she said with a laugh. "Better luck next time."
Ian shook his head and sighed, looking over at Kirha who was evidently distressed that his friend was leaving him.
"I know I cannot ask you where you are going and why," Kirha said softly, "but I suspect it is dangerous. May Sivar watch over you and guide you through the flowing of blood till we meet again.
Kirha went to his knees and Ian looked around embarrassed as he pulled him back up to his feet and then shyly hugged him
"Take care, buddy. I'll see you soon. While you're there, try to learn some horseback riding, you'd like it."
"As you command, my lord," Kirha said huskily.
The blonde took Kirha by the arm, looking a bit nervous, and she led him down a side corridor. Ian watched them leave looking somewhat wistful.
"Come on," Doomsday said, "you're not getting sentimental over a Cat, are you?"
"Well actually it's the blonde," Ian replied, but Jason could tell that Ian was actually fond of Kirha and hated to see him go.
"Damn, the sight of a Cat riding a horse," Doomsday said. "I'd pay good money to see it."
Walking to the far end of the terminal, where private craft were docked, they turned down a side corridor and reached their gate. A light Zephyr trans-atmospheric transport was parked outside.
"Hey, it's Round Top!" Doomsday cried, and he raced up to the pilot and grabbed hold of his hand.
"Did you run emotional therapy for that guy?" Ian asked, watching a second display of joyful greeting on Doomsdays part in as many days.
"I guess he got kind of attached to our pups."
"Like hell I'm a pup, sir," Round Top announced, coming up to shake Jason's hand
"Excuse me, gentlemen."
Jason turned and saw a slender gray-haired man, wearing a simple pair of flight coveralls, approaching them. He looked vaguely familiar and then he realized that it was Tolwyn's old steward from the Concordia.
"Johnston, isn't it?" Jason asked, and the man nodded.
"I think you're the last for this load," Johnston announced. "Why don't we get aboard?"
Jason picked his bag back up.
"And might I add, gentlemen, that it'd be best, for now, to drop your old noms de guerre."
The group followed Johnston out the door and scrambled aboard the Zephyr. Johnston secured the rear hatch and went up to the forward controls. Putting on a headset he called in to the tower for clearance, powered up the engines, and turned the ship to head for the runway. The Zephyr gained the launch track, did a short fifty-yard roll and then nosed up, soaring up on a sixty-degree climb.
Ian looked around the cabin and checked over the half dozen other passengers crammed into the small plane and realized that several of them looked familiar.
"Vanderman from Tiger's Claw, isn't it?" Ian asked, and the old pilot sitting across from him on the other side of the aisle nodded and shook his hand.
"Hell, I thought you bought it when the Claw got it, Vanderman asked.
"I got transferred off on a two week furlough the day before she got hit," Ian replied, a flicker of sadness crossing his features at the mention of his old ship.
"Luck of the draw I guess," Ian mused, "if it hadn't been for the furlough I'd have died with the rest of my friends.
"But what about you," he asked, forcing a smile, "I saw you go down over Draga just before we pulled out."
"I ejected and made it down to the surface, mostly in one piece. Stranded for a couple of years," Vanderman said, "kind of wild and woolly down there, with the carnivores and such."
"I've heard of them," Ian interjected. "It was a famous hunting reserve of the Cats and used for the old rites of coming of age."
"Well, it sure as hell aged me," Vanderman replied, "dodging the local denizens and Kilrathi patrols until a raiding unit dropped in for a visit and I got picked up. I tell you it was an experience."
With that he unbuttoned his shirt collar and pulled out a chain. Dangling from the end of it was a gleaming serrated tooth several inches long.
"I heard the Cats take the tooth of a nalga as a trophy. I got one with a bow that I made and hung on to it, figured if I finally got captured it might make me look a bit better in their eyes. Actually I'm kind of attached to it now."
"It doesn't look like much of a tooth," Ian retorted. "Why it ain't much bigger than my little finger. Now on Farnsworth's World there, you'll get big teeth. I remember . . ."
"The owner of this little gem's got claws bigger than your arm," Vanderman interrupted, "and you got your choice out of which of four heads to pull the tooth from.
Ian, knowing he'd get outclassed in a tale swap, fell silent.
The Zephyr quickly boosted up on a high trajectory jump, so that the breadth of England, from the Irish to the North Sea was clearly in view.
The shuttle reached apogee over Scotland and then started its long curving descent over the North Sea, dropping down through a high bank of dark clouds. Buffeted by the wind the shuttle bounced in the turbulence as it crossed over the cliffs, circled to kill speed, and then touched down hard, kicking on reverse thrusters and jerking to a stop.
"Welcome to Windward, gentlemen," Johnston announced as he walked through the cabin and unlatched the rear hatch. "Move quickly now, lads, it's a bit of a blow out there, and besides, the Admiral's waiting."
As Jason stepped through the doorway the stinging rain lashed into him, the wind driving it in almost horizontally. Cursing he grabbed hold of his duffel and ran towards the dark building barely visible in the driving storm. A portal of light showed where a door was suddenly opened and he ran for it.
Sliding on the wet paving stones he nearly fell on his backside as he gained the door and rushed in, almost knocking over the man holding it open.
"Damn, what a blow," Jason said, wiping the rain off his face and then he realized who was holding the door open and snapped to attention.
"At ease, Jason, remember we're no longer in the fleet," and Geoffrey Tolwyn extended his hand.
The rest of the group came racing in behind Jason and all came to attention at the sight of Tolwyn who smiled and shook their hands.
"Gentlemen, our little meeting was waiting for your arrival. Would you follow me?"
He led them into a semi-darkened library room and Jason was surprised to see real books made of paper lining the walls, something that had not been produced in hundreds of years.
"It's the treasure of my family," Tolwyn said, "some of the volumes go back to an age when England ruled most of the world before the time of flying. This house is nearly as old, and was built in the style of manor homes from an even earlier time."
At the far end of the library a fireplace glowed, and again it caught Jason by surprise. Wood was far too precious on his home world to be used in such a manner, but even as he looked at it he understood the strange almost primal appeal of a fireplace, the smell of burning wood, and the comfortable feeling it provided.
Going through a wide double doorway, they stepped into a broad open room, at the far end of which was yet another fireplace, this one big enough to walk into. Dozens of chairs were drawn in a circle around the fireplace, each of them already occupied and Jason saw yet more familiar faces.
"Hey, it's Sparks," Doomsday announced and the chief fighter maintenance officer from the Tarawa got out of her chair and came up to Doomsday, shaking his hand and then Jason's in turn.
"It's like old home week here," she whispered, "pilots, a couple of maintenance officers like myself, ship's computer officers, there's even a commodore of a destroyer group over there in the corner."
"I'd like to get started," Tolwyn announced and he motioned for the new arrivals to grab some chairs.
Tolwyn turned away for a moment and extended his hands to the fire, rubbing them, silhouetted by the flames and Jason felt a flash memory of the hangar deck of Tarawa on fire. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought aside, knowing that it'd be back again tonight, one of the worst of the recurring nightmares.
"To start with the old familiar line. I guess you're wondering why I invited you all here tonight."
The group laughed politely.
"We heard about your stockpile of Scotch," Ian quipped.
"Afterwards, Hunter, but business first."
The group settled down.
"It has been four weeks since the formal armistice agreement between the Terran Confederation and the Kilrathi Empire. Starting tomorrow, the peace commission starts its meetings to extend the armistice into a permanent settlement.
"All of us, especially we who fought so hard, and for so long, prayed daily for peace; for only one who fights can truly know how precious peace really is."
He lowered his head for a moment.
"And all of us know what the price might be if this peace proves to be an illusion, which I have feared from the beginning that it really is.
"What I'm about to share with you is level double-A classified information. Though we are no longer in the military I will invoke a military regulation regarding this information which is that the revealing of double-A-level classified information in time of war is a capital offense.
"We are not —" he paused" — officially at war, but I think that the level of classification conveys just how sensitive this material is. If this is something you feel might be over your head, Johnston will be happy to lift you back to London and you'll be back in town in time to catch the evening shows. If you stay, however, I expect a commitment from you to follow through on what I'm going to ask you to do. I called you here because I trust all of you. I'm asking in turn that you trust me and agree to this beforehand."
He waited for a minute and no one stirred.
"Fine, then we understand each other."
He picked up a small hand controller off the fireplace mantlepiece and clicked it. On a side wall a holo projection box hummed to life.
"The figures you see up there were only known at the highest level in the military and in the civilian government on the day the armistice was reached and, according to counter intelligence, were also revealed to the Kilrathi through an as yet unidentified mole."
He waited for that bit of information to sink in and then continued.
"As you can see, it shows actual fleet strength. The numbers in black are ships that were actively on line, the blue numbers were ships in for repair or maintenance and the green numbers new ships projected to join the fleet within the year.
He waited for a moment and then clicked the button again.
"The figures on the right side of the screen show the Kilrathi fleet size according to the highest level of intelligence and believe me it cost a hell of a lot of lives to get this information."
Jason scanned the figures. He knew the situation was bad, but he had no idea that the margin between Kilrathi and Confederation carriers was as large as indicated. He looked over at Tolwyn and realized yet again just how much the man risked when he took the Concordia a deep into Kilrathi territory to pull him out. The figures, however, for light craft, especially frigate class and transports were far better, with the Confederation having a significant lead in heavy transport capability.
A low murmur of voices filled the room as the group commented on the figures.
"Now I should add here, that in terms of quality, our technology in fighter craft was showing some significant edges, though they still had it over us in terms of sheer numbers and in firepower, which we offset with maneuverability and the ability to take more punishment, especially with our new upgrades which were just coming on line with the Broadswords and Sabre D class.
"But these are the key figures that I want you to take a hard look at."
He snapped the controller again, and columns of figures in red appeared alongside the Kilrathi column.
"Damn, look at that," Ian whispered, and Jason could only nod in reply.
"As you can see," Tolwyn announced, "from the day of the armistice and for roughly twelve months afterwards not one new fleet carrier was going to come on line for the Empire. Beyond that, it appears as if a significant portion of their carrier fleet needed to be pulled off line for major overhauls and refitting."
He paused for a moment
"This crippling of their carrier construction is thanks in part to a rather neat job by one of those present here tonight," and Jason nodded a thanks, but wanted to say that it wasn't him, but rather the nearly four hundred Marine raiders who gave their lives destroying the construction yards on Kilrah's moon that made the difference.
"Six carriers nearing completion were destroyed in the Tarawa raid and even more importantly their key personnel and construction equipment went up as well. Intelligence later ascertained that a high level design and engineering team was visiting the moon on the day the raid hit, wiping out some of their top brains. Tarawa also showed us a viable tactic for getting at the Kilrathi. You might recall that CVEs Enigma and Khorsan were reported lost, but no details were ever revealed for security reasons. The truth is that both light carriers were sent on deep penetration raids on carrier construction sites located in the Za'kathag region, killing three heavy carriers that were still being fitted out. Seven more construction sites were destroyed by other means that I'm not at liberty to discuss and in fact I'm not even supposed to know."
He turned away for a moment and reaching over to a wood bin he tossed another log on the fire and then looked back at the group.
"In other words, we had a window of opportunity which was starting to kick in and would have lasted for roughly six months to a year. For a brief period we would have, for the first time in the war, reached front line parity in terms of carrier strength and then the numbers would turn against us yet again. We might have been able to push them to the wall, though, during that time."
He sighed with frustration and lowered his head for a moment.
"Sir? '
He looked back up.
"Go ahead, Ian."
"Just how reliable are these figures?"
"I can t really tell you how we got them, but they're hard core. But now for the tough part, the classified information that only a handful really know about.
We suspect that the Kilrathi went for this armistice for two reasons, the first the operational concerns created by their crisis in transport capability, the destruction of heavy ship yards and the stand down of at least half their carriers for refit. If that alone was their reason behind the armistice, it would be bad enough. There is, however, the second issue."
He paused a moment for effect and the room was deadly still, except for the crackling of the fire.
"We have reason to believe that approximately five years ago the Kilrathi started the secret assembly of a major construction yard outside of their Empire's territory and at this site they are building an entire new class of ships. If this is true, we can expect that when the fleet is completed, it might be used to launch a preemptive and smashing blow to end the war in their favor. The key question concerning this is if indeed this fleet is real. If it is real and nearing completion, do the Kilrathi intend to use it to launch a preemptive strike while we stand down due to the armistice?"
"What kind of ships and where?" a commodore asked from the back of the room.
"It's called the Hari," a voice announced from the corner of the room.
"Paladin, damn me, I thought you got killed," Ian shouted, coming to his feet and running up to embrace his old friend.
"As usual, laddie, the reports of my death are a bit premature."
The group roared with delight as the old pilot came up to stand by Tolwyn.
"How the hell did you get out of that last scrape?" Ian asked. "They said you were reported long overdue and presumed dead. Hell, man, you owe me a drink because I bought a round at the Vacuum Breathers in your honor. Old Gallagher even gilded your mug."
"It's a wee bit tied up in all of this here talk the Admiral's giving."
"So what's this Hari?" Doomsday grumbled.
"The Hari Empire," Tolwyn said, "once existed in what was the realm of space on the other side of the Kilrathi Empire in relation to us. More than two hundred of our years before we first made contact with the Kilrathi, they fought a war with the Hari and annihilated them. So bitter was the struggle that the Hari, in their pride refused surrender and committed suicide."
"All of them?" Sparks asked.
"That's what we've been told by prisoners," Tolwyn said. "It is a vast empty reach of space, a good thirty jump points out from Kilrah. The Hari never knew of the jump points, and traveled at speeds slower than light. They made great ships that could journey between worlds in trips that took lifetimes. When they found a world with resources they multiplied quickly, in a hive-like manner. They quite literally wrecked the planet's biosphere with overpopulation and exploitation of every resource they could find. When the planet was used up, selected members were loaded back aboard their ark ships and moved on, leaving the rest to die. Thus there was little on their worlds worth the taking, the planets they occupied nothing but mined over and scarred barren wastelands when they were finished.
"It's believed that the Kilrathi moved some of their ship construction deep into Hari territory and for at least the last four years have been working on a secret project. This information comes from bits and pieces of a puzzle, made up of thousands of little details we've found over the years — a captured shipping report, a stray transmission coming from where it wasn't supposed to. In part this might explain the anomaly of their transport shortage which appeared to be even more acute than our figures suggested, since part of their transport fleet appears to be committed to hauling material out into Hari territory for the building of this secret fleet."
"Look, sir, if this is the case, then what the hell is our government doing?" Round Top snarled. "What you're telling us is that the Kilrathi called an armistice to get over a potential gap in numbers, and once they've closed it and gotten ahead and get this new fleet ready, they'll come out kicking."
"Prove It," Paladin said quietly, "that's the problem. All I can tell you is, getting into Hari territory reminds me of this lass I once knew who was so . . ." He looked at the females in the audience and stopped.
"As I was saying, it's impossible and believe me, I know. You have to cross all of Kilrathi space, hit into transit jumps that we don't even have charts for, and then go a good thousand light years beyond. I think its fair to assume that this here system is wired with security from one end to the other. We might be able to put a concealed Kilrathi transport or trader inside their own territory when there's a war on and a lot of traffic to blend in with, but out there, it's military security all the way in and out."
He hesitated for a moment.
"Believe me, I know," he said softly as if recalling a nightmare that still troubled him.
"So how do we know about this then?" Ian asked. "We might just be chasing shadows, our own fears and nothing more."
"That I cannot say either," Paladin replied. "Not even the Admiral here is cleared to know some of it, and remember, I worked for him before, same as you, laddie. All I can say is, the information is good, and a lot of our friends, who are listed as missing, in fact died to find out."
"Well, doesn't the civilian government know this?"
Tolwyn blew out noisily and nodded.
"A week before the armistice was agreed to, there was a meeting with Rodham, Foreign Minister Jamison and the Chiefs of Staff. The information was presented and Jamison said that it was unconfirmed, that the intelligence community and military were conspiring to keep the war going and as much as called the Chiefs of Staff a bunch of liars. Rodham finally sided with Jamison, saying that at best it was rumor, and there were always such rumors that could keep a war going, countering with the statement that Jukaga had claimed the same thing was being done by us."
"So they accuse us of it, and that balances it out, is that it?" Vanderman asked.
"That's about it," Tolwyn replied. "I'd have to add that Jamison does have the weight of history on her side. In the past, in the old Earth wars, there were always such charges of secret bases and construction sites or hidden redoubts. They usually proved to be false," he paused, "but then on occasion they proved to be true."
Tolwyn paused, realizing he could say no more in front of this group, for in fact the Confederation did have several secret projects in the works. Jukaga's accusation had caused a flurry of concern on the part of the Chiefs of Staff and intelligence, but in the end it was surmised that the Baron was merely smoke screening and had not stumbled on any hard information.
A nervous rustle seemed to sweep through the room.
"Damn it, isn't anyone catching on?" someone grumbled from the back of the room.
"Some people are, Commodore," Tolwyn replied. "Call it war weariness, I don't know. I think after thirty years people wanted peace so badly that they were willing to grasp at straws and this Baron knew how to play into it. There was an old American military leader named Marshall who once said 'no democracy can endure a seven years war, and we've had thirty.'"
"Admiral, let's get to the point," the commodore replied. You dragged us here for a reason, and not just so we could cry on each other's shoulders."
Tolwyn smiled.
"You always did get straight to the point, Weiss," and Tolwyn clicked the hand unit once more and the figures in the holo field dissolved to be replaced by a sector map.
"You're looking at the Landreich System."
"What a hell hole," someone growled.
"Its a hell hole all right, in fact one of their favorite planets is named just that," Tolwyn replied. "As you can see from the map, the forward edge of it borders on the Empire, and it's about the furthest you can get from Confederation territory. Most of the worlds haven't even reached G status for colonial outpost ranking."
He hit a couple of buttons on his controller and a number of flashing red and yellow dots appeared.
"Each red dot represents a reported violation of the demilitarized zone by Kilrathi vessels, each yellow dot by Terran or others. Incidents are happening at better than two a day. Back here on Terra they might be claiming peace, and the same on Kilrah, but the frontier regions are just about as hot as ever. There's a lot of freebooting going on, organized raiding cartels are forming and even some free corp units of ex-military on both sides, who have no place else to go, are setting themselves up as petty governments or as raiding groups.
"Now according to the peace agreement, the central government is supposed to patrol these areas," and the group chuckled, "but hell, we could barely do that when we had a full fleet and the war was on. Thirty years of fighting has caused a lot of breaking down out on the edges."
He paused for a moment to throw another log in the fire.
"They might call it rebellious down here on Earth, but from the viewpoint of the frontier governments it's being independent. They know what it's like to live on the edge of total annihilation if the Empire ever broke through, and they are none too pleased with the armistice, since if anything it means that there's no Confederation fleet at all to back them up."
A thin smile creased his features.
"So they're quietly building their own for what they're calling 'reasons of internal security,' and that, my friends, is why you're here."
Jason felt a cool shiver run down his back.
"It might not be much but it's something. I'll not call it an ace in the hole. When you look at the figures I just showed you it's more like a deuce; but at least it's a start, a backup if things turn ugly.
"Shall we say, for convenience sake, that in my current disgraced position I have been forced into a commercial venture in order to make ends meet. I have been approached by a private contractor who wishes to purchase a number of decommissioned ships that could be reconfigured for," and he grinned, "civilian transport. It just so happens that I've located five of these ships in a mothball yard orbiting the moon."
He paused for a moment
They're CVEs, light escort carriers, and I need some crews to run them."
Jason broke into a grin.
Prince Thrakhath stood up, extending his arms and groaning.
"So what you are telling me is that you cannot speed up the completion of the fleet."
"No, my lord," and the admiral before him lowered his head to the ground.
"Stand up and stop this groveling, I'm not going to tear your throat out. I need leaders, not dead bodies just because you bring bad news."
The admiral came to his feet.
"It's the problem with the transports," the admiral said. "We simply don't have enough to keep moving the material out to the Hari at the rate you wish for."
"But what about those older ships we decommissioned?" and he almost laughed at the thought of that. The vessels had been ready to fall apart and yet they were checked off by the Confederation observers as first line battle worthy. And even as he thought of it he realized that was precisely why they were useless. The three eights number of jumps required to get to the Hari base exceeded their need for overhauls after every two eights jumps which older ships still required.
"Couldn't we establish an overhaul base at the half way point?"
"It might draw notice. It could be within detection range if they ever slipped deep enough into our territory.
"Do it anyhow, and find a way to heighten security.
"There is another problem as well."
"And that is?"
"Fleet procedures have always been able to provide complete situation updates by burst signal from fleet commanders on a daily basis. Some concern has been expressed that the Confederation, with the rumor that they suspect something in the Hari sector, might turn their attention there and detect these signals. If they can decode enough of the signal it might reveal the existence of the new fleet."
"The range of their detection equipment isn't that good," Thrakhath replied, and then paused, "or is it?"
"We've received a couple of reports over the last year of a new project of theirs to improve their equipment. But nothing is confirmed."
Thrakhath nodded.
"Use courier ships, then."
"It is too far away to be efficient and too dangerous. The tactical, strategic, and operational updates comprise tens of trillions of bits of information right down to the need for a replacement screw. The signals back from Kilrah also send out the key information obtained by our intelligence operatives regarding all new information regarding Earth defenses. If we had to suddenly launch a preemptive strike without warning, the fleet must know on a daily basis the latest information regarding events across the Empire, the demilitarized zones, and inside Confederation space. The fleet in hiding needs this information instantly, and we need to know instantly what its needs are, a time delay of eight and four or more days is dangerous."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Keep the communications open."
The Prince hesitated for a moment.
"How secure is the encoding?"
"Our intelligence indicates that the Confederation was breaking our latest fleet code just as the armistice was reached. However, every five eights of standard days, we changed the code anyhow. We could place our latest one in, and reduce signal traffic to essentials only, keeping the burst signals to under a second each way."
Thrakhath nodded. He could see the admiral's point. If the Confederation picked up signal traffic going in and out of Hari territory, it might draw notice, but then in order to do so, even if they could upgrade their equipment, it would require a penetration into the Empire.
"Do so and inform our counter intelligence to keep careful watch inside the Confederation as to any actions which might indicate that they know something or are planning some action."
"So far we have detected absolutely none."
"There is never an absolute in war, the friction of war always causes a breakdown. You have your orders, now leave me."
The admiral backed out of the room,
Prince Thrakhath settled back down at his desk and then turned to look out the small oval window. In the darkness of space beyond he could see a long sliver of reflected light. Craxha, the third of the new carriers to have just completed its first transjump engine testing, was coming back in to dock. Tomorrow the first squadron of fighters, transferred from one of the now drydocked carriers would start to come aboard.
The ship turned slowly, lining up on the drydock pylon which jutted out from the massive orbital base. He sat quietly, watching the maneuver intently.
Docking a ship of such massive size was a difficult maneuver and the commander on board performed it flawlessly.
Good, he had chosen that one well.
He turned away and looked back at his commscreen, intently studying the latest intelligence report provided by the hrai spies of the Imperial family.
It wasn't good.
He closed his eyes, silently cursing the Baron. There was no denying that the initial plan of the Baron, to have a temporary armistice, was indeed a good one, no matter how humiliating it might be. Later, once things were finished, the blame for the humiliation could be shifted back to the Baron and away from the shoulders of the Imperial line.
It was the inner intent of the Baron which was disturbing. Already he was trying to marshal support from the other clans against the Imperial blood, while quietly working to extend the armistice far out beyond the original intent. It was obvious now that the true intent was to let the armistice continue, place the ultimate blame on the Emperor, and then somehow seize power himself. When that was accomplished this new fleet would fall into his hands, he would overawe the humans with it and thus secure victory and his own control of the throne.
The alternative, the Prince realized, was to preemptively strike on the humans right now. But the problem was that the fleet was not yet ready for that. It would be at least another six eights of days before the fourth carrier came on line. All battle simulations had shown that the full strength of twelve carriers was needed for an overwhelming victory. Beyond that, the twelve carriers would need more than forty eighties of fighters and. more importantly, trained pilots, for them to be useful. So far he had drawn pilots only from those hrai truly loyal to the throne. That was the difficult part of the equation. Far too many of the Imperial Guard pilots had been lost at Vukar, and it would be at least another year before their losses were made good.
If he delayed, his military strength would grow, and the humans would weaken, lulled by the false peace. That they would be so stupid had caused him to lose whatever respect he had once held for them as foes worthy of the testing of steel.
There was the chance as well that some in the Confederation military might try to get the hard evidence regarding the new fleet and its intended target. That they even had suspicion of its existence had been a blow, the information revealed by their all so foolish traitor.
Turning her had been so easy, he thought with a cold smile. Her only son had been captured during the Third Enigma campaign. That was a prize to be sure. Her discontent with the war, and her political ambitions to replace the president were known. The discreet passing of a holo of her son alive, and in confinement had broken her will. To have a Foreign Minister of the enemy working for you was indeed a great thing. She had been promised much and if, when the Confederation was destroyed and she was still useful, they would keep her as a puppet. The only problem with her was that it appeared that she was under suspicion and thus blocked from certain key information, especially regarding the reports of a Confederation secret project to build a new class of weapons. That was a concern as well, for if their side delayed, they might reach their goal and shift the balance of the war. It was another argument against delay, even though every passing day made the Confederation weaker and the Empire stronger.
Yet if he delayed, the discontent in the Empire at the humiliation of peace would grow as well, and be focused upon the Emperor by the maneuvering of the Baron.
It was a balancing act which had to be played out delicately, and he sat in the silence of his war room, lights dimmed, and quietly formed his plans.
Prince Thrakhath returned to his desk and settled back down, punching up the latest reports on his screen. From the ambassador all was still going well. The Confederation government was starting to protest more loudly about the endless minor violations of the truce.
"Look, it's all perfectly legal, you've got the papers, the titles are transferred, now get off this bridge," Jason snapped.
The lieutenant looked down again at the sheaf of paper in his hand and back up at Jason.
"Ah, Mr. Bondarevsky, I've been ordered to have you wait until the peace commission has fully reviewed this matter. You and your people are to leave this ship at once."
Jason turned away and punched into a ship comm line.
"Gloria, how's reactor?"
"Up and cooking, sir."
"Masumi, we on line yet with pulse engines?"
"Can give you maneuvering thrust."
Jason looked back at the lieutenant.
"Mister, if you don't want to go for this ride, you'd better clear the bridge."
The lieutenant looked at him and a thin smile crossed his features.
"Good luck, sir," he whispered, snapped off a salute, and left the bridge.
Jason went over to his old command chair, and sat down, a light puff of dust swirling up around him. He looked around at his skeleton crew which were manning the bridge. Normal ship's complement was just under five hundred personnel — he had only thirty-five. Nearly three quarters of a full crew were either support for the three squadrons the ship would normally be carrying, or for the weapons systems, but even without them, running the ship was going to be a chancy operation. And with only three Ferrets, and a Sabre on board that had yet to be transferred off, he felt very naked.
"The Lieutenant has cleared the landing bay," Sparks announced on the comm, "and is back aboard the docking station."
"Close off the docking collar, Sparks, and disconnect external power."
"Already done, sir, docking collar disconnected, external power cut and withdrawn."
Jason looked over at his helm crew.
"Take us out of here."
A barely perceptible vibration ran through the ship as Masumi tapped into the reactors, lighting up the nuclear pulse maneuvering engines. He felt a cold shiver run down his back.
"Velocity at 225 meters per second," helm announced, "heading 31 degrees, negative 8."
"By God, we're on our way," Jason laughed, coming to his feet
A cheer went up on the bridge, the crew laughing, slapping each other on the back.
"Ship 2291, respond please."
It took a moment for Jason to realize that the incoming message was for him, the caller using his ship's decommissioned identification number.
The communications officer looked over at him and Jason raised his hand, signaling for her not to open a line.
"Ship 2291, you are in violation of peace commission procedures for title transfer. You are ordered to turn your vessel about and return to the decommissioning yard at once.
"Ship 2291, you are . . ."
"Turn that damn thing off, Jason snapped and the communications officer switched the speaker off.
"Helm, set course for jump transit point 17A and let's get the hell out of here."
"Come on, you two," Jason said, looking over at Ian and Doomsday and they followed him off the bridge.
Picking up a small package he left the bridge and started down the corridor out to the hangar bay. Reaching the bay he paused and looked around. It actually looked big for a change. It was, of course, almost empty of fighters, and it seemed strange to see it like this. He opened the package up and unfolded the commissioning flag of Tarawa. He hung it back up in its old spot, next to the roll of honor. A light film of dust was on the honor roll and using his shirt sleeve he wiped it off, stepped back and without any feeling of self-consciousness, he came to attention and saluted
He heard a light clicking of heels and looked over his shoulder to see Sparks at attention, saluting as well. She came to at ease and smiled.
"It's good to be back with our friends, Jason."
He smiled, realizing that for the first time since he had known her she had called him by his name. It took him a moment to even recall hers.
"It certainly is, Janet."
Her features flushed a bit
Ian coughed in a very self-conscious manner and nudged Doomsday.
"Come on, buddy, let's go clean up the pilot ready room," and the two left.
"Funny, folks back home called me by my name of course, but you know, I can't remember the last time somebody didn't call me Sparks."
She had changed so much since becoming an officer, the hard edges polished into a smooth professionalism, the dirty coveralls and oil-smudged face long since gone. She was wearing a standard B class jump suit and he realized yet again that it made her look awfully damn attractive. But he had to push that away. Even though they were not part of the Confederation Fleet anymore, he still wanted his ship run by Fleet rules, and one of them was that no personal relationships were allowed between commanding officers and those serving under them.
He lowered his gaze for a second and then looked back and her smile faded a bit
"Sorry, Jason, I guess we're back to the old routine, aren't we? Funny, I couldn't wait to get back, but I knew if I did, I'd have to give up something to do it, a chance for you.
He nodded. He knew she was interested but maybe it was simply that the sharp edge of pain in losing Svetlana still cut a bit too deeply. The few encounters since her death had left him feeling cold and empty.
Before he could say anything she drew closer, leaned up, and kissed him lightly on the lips, the kiss lingering. Startled, he looked at her and saw the sparkling in her eyes. He suddenly felt so tempted to put his arms around her — but she drew back.
"I'd better get to work, sir," she said, sniffling slightly. "This flight deck is filthy and I'll be damned if I'll allow a launch from it before it's been cleaned up,"
"I'm glad Tolwyn let me take you as my maintenance officer, Janet," he hesitated, "and I'm just glad to have you with me as well."
She looked at him, shrugging a bit awkwardly, and went across the deck, leaving him alone.
He exhaled hard and shook his head.
"Captain?"
"On the flight deck."
"We've got a laser hookup from CVE 6 Normandy."
"Patch it through to flight operations bridge."
He double-timed over to the flight bridge and climbed up into the empty room. The control positions were all empty and it seemed eerie with not a single soul around. He switched on a comm channel and a holo image formed.
"How're you doing, laddie?"
"Little complaining from the decommissioning crowd but we're away and clear."
Paladin smiled.
"Even though those papers are nice and legal like, we are bending a couple of the rules a wee bit," he said with a laugh. "I'm coming up now off your starboard beam, Iwo and Wake and Crete are clear as well. How's Tarawa look?"
"Everything nominal. We got a bonus of four fighters on board her as well. The mothball maintenance seemed pretty damn good, all things considered, but I feel awfully naked without at least one squadron aboard."
"One thing at a time, laddie. I've got to get off the line now, I'm getting a bit swamped here with calls from those peace commission buggers, and even one now from ConFleet. I tell you it'll be right good fun telling an admiral to go to hell. They've got a couple of frigates out at the jump point who might try to stop us, but we've got a dozen lawyers out at headquarters arguing away right now that the sale is legal. Hopefully nobody'll shoot. Hell, by the time they get it resolved we'll be on the other side of the universe. And then what are they going to do, sue us?"
Laughing, he shut down the laser link and the holo screen went dead.
Stepping down from the flight bridge Jason saw the pinpoint of light of Paladin's ship moving against the eternal night of space.
"Captain, this is helm."
"Go ahead."
"Cleared of near Earth orbit, ready to power up to full pulse drive on course heading for jump point 17A."
"Get us out of here, then."
He felt the surge of power rumble through the ship as nearly all reactor power was fed straight into the engines. The ship turned to line up on the jump point and as he walked up to the hangar bay's magnetic airlock, Earth drifted into view, a crescent blue-green ball hanging in the eternal darkness. It gave him a curious sort of feeling. It was, after all, the home world of his entire race, the Russia of his ancestors clearly visible even from half a million clicks out, and yet now, he felt strangely detached from it. He was a product of space, born on a world five hundred light years away. If he had a home, it was this ship, a family, the people aboard her. He knew that this insane adventure he was setting out on was motivated in part by his allegiance to the Confederation and for the protection of the world in front of him, even for the protection of those people who were so ready to reject him and the military that he served. He knew that perhaps that was always the lot of a warrior, to be turned to when trouble loomed, and to be rejected and hidden away when it was believed that peace had returned.