serious nail-biting, let me tell you. All we know is that the cats have
escalated the war, and if we don't match the ante we might as well just fold
now."
"Match the ante . . . how?" Blair asked.
"The Confederation's been working on its share of doomsday weapons,
too," Tolwyn told them. "The Battle of Terra scared the hell out of all of
us. The big Kilrathi offensive caught everyone off guard. I don't think I
need to tell you that we're on the ropes. One more attack like that and the
game's over. Remember, they managed to drop over twenty standard warheads on
Earth in the last attack. If only one of them had been a bio the homeworld
would be a lifeless desert today. There's no way around it, this one's to
the death and we have a couple of counter punches almost ready to go."
Blair said nothing. The idea of matching the Kilrathi atrocity at
Locanda with a Terran retaliation against civilians appalled him, but he
tried to keep his reaction from showing in his voice or expression.
Tolwyn fixed Blair with his gaze. "One of the projects is being pushed
by General Taggart and the folks at Covert Ops, and the other's my uncle's
pet project. That's why he got pulled from Concordia just before it went
down."
Eisen cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Major, I'd appreciate it
if you'd stick to the briefing."
"Sorry, sir," Tolwyn said. "Both projects actually stem from the same
basic research. It seems some of our survey work off Kilrah during Tarawa's
little end run raid there a few years back has yielded some unexpected
results. Kilrah is much less stable, in planetological terms, than Terra.
Subject to seismic problems, quakes, volcanoes, the whole bit. Apparently
there are some severe tidal stresses at work on Kilrah that render the
planet extremely vulnerable to widescale seismic activity." He paused.
"Given a big enough shaking, Kilrah would literally come apart.
"And HQ has a weapon that could do it?"
"More than one, Colonel. I've not been briefed on the Covert Ops
project, except for generalities. But Project Behemoth, my uncle's
preference, uses high-intensity energy beams on a massive scale to trigger
seismic shocks. Aimed and fired properly, the Behemoth weapon could trigger
the destruction of Kilrah."
"And the loss of the homeworld would cut the foundation from under the
whole Empire," Eisen said slowly, with a slight smile. "It certainly is
ambitious, I'll say that."
"It's genocide," Blair said quietly. "How many civilians would we be
killing?"
"How many died on Locanda Four?" Tolwyn demanded. "How many more will
die if they unleash their pandemic again? Look Blair, our intel people are
telling us the Empire is tottering on the edge of civil war. The various
clans are fed up, especially after the failure of the attack on Earth.
That's why they didn't immediately launch a second attack when we had
nothing left to stop them. The Emperor had to regroup Ч build back his fleet
and keep enough forces close at home to counteract any threatened coups.
It's given us the breathing room to get our new weapons on-line. If we wait
any longer, though the Kilrathi might be the ones to strike first and then
its us that are finished."
Blair shook his head "The end justifies the means? That wasn't what
they taught back at the Academy. I thought the Confederation stood for
something better than that."
Tolwyn looked away. "Yeah .. . yeah, you're right. It does." He paused.
"Well, anyway, we're hoping we don't have to actually attack Kilrah. That
was the deciding factor when it came down to choosing Behemoth over the
Covert Ops concept. Apparently whatever they've hatched is a one-shot deal.
But Behemoth is a weapon that can be used several times and the idea is to
try a few very public tests on Kilrathi military bases. Let the cats draw
their own conclusions about what we could do to Kilrah with the same
weaponry. That's the operational plan, at least. Our hope is a good
demonstration might actually push the clans into a palace coup. The Emperor
and his grandson are overthrown and the other clans sue for peace."
"I guess that's better than blasting Kilrah out of existence," Blair
said. "I mean, the Empire's the enemy and we have to do whatever it takes to
win. But there are a lot of innocent Kilrathi out there who have nothing to
do with the Emperor or Thrakhath or the whole damned war effort. Some of
them are dissidents, like Hobbes was before he defected. I wouldn't want to
be party to killing them all."
"Well, we'll hope it doesn't come to that," Eisen said. "I agree, it
would be a nasty choice to have to make. But if we can convince them we mean
business . . ."
"So what's our part in all of this?" Blair asked.
"Right now, we're still putting the finishing touches on the weapon,
Tolwyn said. It won't be ready to deploy for a few more weeks. But in the
meantime, we're starting to prospect the sector for a likely-looking first
target. We need to conduct some extensive recon work, checking defenses, and
surveying possible target planets to make sure the Behemoth will be
effective against them. It wouldn't do to cruise in, open fire, and then
find out the place was so tectonically dead we couldn't even cause a good
earthquake."
"Recon work," Blair repeated. "That'll be quite a change, after what
we've been doing."
"It'll be difficult and dangerous," Tolwyn said. We can't afford to
send large forces in anywhere, for fear of putting the cats on guard. We've
got a handful of carriers going out individually into the selected target
systems. Victory's drawn Ariel, where we're fairly certain we've got a very
suitable Kilrathi base to test."
"Ariel's a pretty tough nut," Blair commented. "I hope you're not
expecting us to take them on single-handed."
"The system is inside the Caliban Nebula," Eisen said. "Dust and gas
and energy discharges will play hell with shipboard sensors . . . on both
sides. We can sneak in, gather as much information as possible, and sneak
out again and probably never tip the cats off that we were there. Maybe even
pull off a few ambushes along the way."
Tolwyn nodded. "You'll actually have it better than some of the other
carriers on this duty," he said. "And when you get back, the admiral's
already decided that Victory will get the real plum job. Flagship for the
Behemoth Squadron . . . so you'll be in on the kill, as it were."
"Flagship? Us?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "Your uncle must have
developed a sudden taste for slumming, if he's not going to go out in one of
the big boys."
"Victory has its . . . compensations, Colonel," Tolwyn told him. "Like
a genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology, your buddy Hobbes. You also have a
one-time Intelligence source with specialized knowledge of cat behavior,
too. I think the name is Lieutenant Buckley. In fact, the admiral had this
in mind when he assigned you here as wing commander."
"That was before Locanda," Blair said, "before things escalated. You
mean Tolwyn planned to use this Behemoth thing even before the cats started
with the bioweaponry?"
"Some of the data we later decoded from that deep intel probe Tarawa
had on board, leading into the discovery of the Kilrathi super-carriers,
contained information about the bio program. That's why we've been running
the race to get the new weapons on line and why Behemoth sails now, ready or
not. Locanda was a horrible tragedy, but thank God it wasn't one of the
innerworlds or Earth Ч and believe me, that will be their next target."
Blair held up his hand. "Never mind, Kevin," he said. "Don't try to
explain. I know your uncle well enough to know what he had in mind. And
why."
"Just what are you getting at, Blair?" Eisen asked.
He shrugged. "It's just that the admiral has always been . . . zealous,
sir. I've served with him a few times, and he's always been the same. He
wants to win the war . . . Admiral Geoff Tolwyn, himself. He'd love it if he
could lead the ConFleet to victory, sign the papers that ended the war in
orbit over Kilrah . . . whatever. And if Behemoth can make it possible,
he'll use it . . . and the devil take moral questions and anything else that
stands in the way."
Eisen's frown deepened. "I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this,
Colonel," he said slowly. "Its coming dangerously close to libeling a
superior officer."
"Maybe so, Captain," Blair said, shrugging again. "But it isn't libel
when you're telling the truth." He shot the younger Tolwyn a look. "Sorry,
Kevin. I know he's family but . . . well, you know how I've always felt."
"You haven't said anything I haven't thought a dozen times over,
Colonel," Tolwyn said. "But, like the Captain says, we'd better stick to the
briefing."
"Agreed. What else do we need to know about?"
"Captain Eisen's been bruising a lot of ears back at HQ about the
flight wing's shortages. I've brought out authorization for you to
requisition fighters, munitions parts, and stores from Blackmane Base before
the last load goes out next week. They've got all types of fighters in
mothballs there already, so that won't be a problem."
"The real shortage is in pilots," Blair said. "We have nine empty slots
to fill."
"You won't get all of them, I'll tell you that much up front," Tolwyn
said. "I've already spoken to the base commandant. You'll get four or five,
no more. Sorry I couldn't do better." Tolwyn looked wistful. "I'd volunteer
for a slot myself, but the admiral would never approve it."
"I wish you could," Blair told him. "Well, four or five is better than
none at all. Major Mbuto lost five ships at Locanda Four, so she'll get
first call on any pilots we do get. I just hope to God it's enough."
"It has to be, Colonel," Eisen said. "Now that we finally have a ray of
hope that we might see the end of this damned war, it has to be enough."
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Okay, skipper, this one checks out too. Looks like those no-talent
bums at Blackmane Base actually sent us some real fighters, and not just
junk off the scrap line."
Blair checked off the last of the new fighters on his portable computer
pad and nodded. "I'll breathe a little easier now, Chief," he told Rachel
Coriolis. "I was starting to think we'd never get the replacement fighters
aboard."
Four days had passed since Kevin Tolwyn was whisked aboard his courier
ship to report to his uncle, and in that time, Blair's life became nothing
but a string of petty frustrations. The worst problem was expediting the
requisitions Tolwyn issued to Blackmane Base in the midst of the chaos and
confusion which reigned during the last days of the base's closing process.
But after many shouting matches over the comm channel, Blair finally got
results. Now he possessed a full contingent of fighters in Victory's hangar
deck, store rooms bulging with spare parts and stores of all kinds, and
three new pilots to assign to Mbuto's interceptor squadron. It was progress,
of a sort. But it had been slow going for a time, and Blair was worn out
with the constant strain of it all.
A tractor towed the fighter, a Longbow looking as if it had never been
flown, toward a storage bay. The flight deck was bustling with activity, but
for the moment Blair and Rachel were out of problems. It was a rare yet
pleasant feeling.
"Uh . . . skipper?" Rachel spoke with none of her accustomed brashness.
"Can we chat? Off the record . . ."
"Isn't that the way we usually do it?" Blair asked her.
"Yeah," the chief admitted. "That's one of the things I like about
you." She hesitated "And the fact that I do like you is why I want to say
this . . ."
"Spit it out, Chief," he said as she paused again.
"You've got this . . . look in your eyes that I've seen before," she
said slowly. "I had this guy, see? A pilot. One day he saw his wingman get
fried, and he came in blaming himself for it. Didn't matter what I said,
what anybody said, he was convinced he let old Shooter down."
"And?" Blair prompted.
A few days later . . . he took an Arrow out and just kept on going. Hit
a jump point just as the Kilrathi were coming through. There were a lot of
fireworks . . ." She trailed off, her eyes focused on someplace far away.
"They never found him . . . not even a debris field. He might still be out
there, for all I know."
"I'm . . . sorry," Blair said quietly. "But. . . why tell me about it?"
"That look in your eye, it's like the one he had before he cracked,
skipper." She paused again. "You want to talk? I may be a lowly techie. but
I've got a sympathetic ear."
Blair didn't answer for a long time. "I had . . . have . . . someone,
too. I don't know which it is, any more. She got caught up in some hush-hush
mission, and nobody's heard from her for months. Maybe she's managed to
sidestep the whole war-ditched in neutral territory somewhere. But I keep
having these nightmares about her . . He looked away. "I keep thinking, one
way or the other I would hear . . . only I haven't heard, and I'm afraid . .
. you know."
Rachel nodded. "I know. Maybe your gal and my guy found each other out
there."
He forced a smile. "Yeah . . . maybe so. At least they'd both be alive,
then . . ."
"Yeah, but on the other hand if I found out he'd been making time with
some hot-shot lady pilot, I'd have to kill him myself when he finally got
back." She managed a laugh.
After a moment, Blair joined in. It felt good to laugh.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Scotch," Blair said, perching on a stool at the bar. "Preferably
something that's at least been in the same sector as Scotland, this time."
Rostov grinned at him. "There's a war on, Colonel. You gotta take
whatever they hand you, da?"
Maniac Marshall was sitting further down the bar, studying a
holomagazine and sipping at a tall glass of beer. He looked up as if only
just noticing Blair's arrival. "Well, well, honoring the peasants with
another visit, eh, Colonel? Shall I kiss your ring, or will a reverential
bow be enough?" He mimicked the slight bow Hobbes often made.
"Can't we have a truce, at least for tonight, Maniac?" Blair said
wearily. "I'm not in the mood for sniping."
"Hah! You looked like you were in a pretty good mood down there in the
hangar deck today," Marshall said. "What's the matter, loverboy? You put the
moves on everybody's favorite grease monkey and get yourself shot down?"
Blair frowned. "I didn't Сput the moves' on her . . .
"Hey, man, it's all right, really it is," Maniac told him with a grin.
"I mean, even a high flyer like you has to have an off day now and then. Of
course, I doubt it'd take a whole hell of a lot of high-risk maneuvering to
get into her pants, but maybe you're just out of practice . . ."
"So what's your excuse, then, Maniac?" Blair asked. "You must have
tried out your usual wit and charm on the lady. Did you crash and burn?"
"Yeah, right," Marshall said, looking away. "As if I'd waste my time on
some punked-out little techie. Of course, you never did have any taste.
First that snotty French bitch . . . now. . . . Wise up, Blaze-Away. There's
a lot better to choose from on this tub than that cheap slut . . .
Blair was out of his seat and beside Marshall in a single quick move.
He grabbed the front of Maniac's uniform and hauled him to his feet. "Get
this, Marshall, and get it good," he hissed. "You can talk about me any way
you want to. But I won't tolerate you running down anyone in this wing, man,
woman . . . or cat. And if you want to keep using that nose to breathe
through, you won't ever insult Angel again . . . or Rachel Coriolis either,
for that matter. You getting any of this, mister?"
Maniac pulled back, freeing himself from Blair's grip and holding up
both hands. "Whoa! Back off, man. He studied Blair for a moment. "Looks like
you've got a real case, after all. Question is, which one's the lucky girl?"
Blair took another step forward. "I told you to lay off, Major," he
said slowly.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke, man. I'm sorry."
Maniac turned to leave, then faced Blair one more time. "But listen to me,
Colonel, sir. If you don't start loosening up pretty damn quick. you're
cruising for a psych hearing. You're tighter than a vacuum seal and I
wouldn't like to be around when everything blows out."
"Mind your own business, Maniac, and let me worry about mine," Blair
told him. "And in the meantime, just stay out of my way."
TCS Victory Ariel System
In due course, Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling by way of a
jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of the Caliban Nebula, the
system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many other
smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk in the system as well. Ariel
I was never judged worthwhile as a potential colony, but Confederation
Intelligence sources had long identified it as a major headquarters for
Kilrathi raiders. Previous Terran attempts to deal with the base met with
little success, thanks to the strength of the ground-based defenses on the
planet and the difficulties of mounting operations within the nebula.
Long-range sensors were virtually useless, and even shortrange scans
required more time, more power, and more computer interpolation than usual,
which made for many extra problems.
But the conditions also helped hide Victory from detection, as Eisen
had explained during the original briefing. The Kilrathi maintained a
network of detection buoys around the planet and near most of the jump
points, but away from those the Terran carrier was able to avoid contact
from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was almost
as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard the ship.
On the other hand, the sensor limitations cut both ways. Blair was
forced to double patrols again just to sweep nearby space for Kilrathi
shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection
buoys to put fighters close enough to Ariel I to conduct the surveys
Headquarters needed. Over the course of nearly two weeks, the flight wing
operated at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably
took its toll on people and equipment alike.
Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.
Flight Control, TCS Victory Ariel System
Blair came out of the elevator next to Flight Control and nearly ran
into Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in one hand and
a half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air
of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.
"Can't talk now, skipper," she said, hardly slowing her pace at all.
"All you fighter jocks were so damned eager to draw recon work. Well, now
you got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep
you flying."
"Okay, okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On behalf of the
entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell Сem
to clear it with you first."
She grinned as she dodged past him and into the lift. "Maybe if us
techs had a say in things you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in so
much trouble."
The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight
Control.
There were only routine patrols out now no survey missions, so the
chamber was manned at minimal levels. The relative calm in the room was a
stark contrast to the scene visible through the windows overlooking the
hangar deck, where technicians and fighter crews were hard at work on
maintenance, repairs, and mission prep for the next batch of launches,
scheduled to begin shortly. The bustle of activity would have been a scene
of utter confusion to the uninitiated, but Blair recognized the order and
purpose underlying the chaos. It was the dance of the deck, the almost
rhythmic cycle that made any pilot's heart beat just a little bit faster.
He became aware of another figure standing by the windows, intently
watching. It was Cobra, wearing her flight suit and carrying a helmet under
one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her entirely,
changing her customary bitter moodiness into a genuine look of enthusiasm
and anticipation.
"About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we
showed Сem."
"Lieutenant," he said quietly.
She looked at him. "Sir?"
"I don't recall ever seeing that before," he said. When she looked
confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It looks good.
Suits you."
The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a
change. I can almost smell Сem, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get
a couple of them in my sights sometime soon . . ."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, being on the offensive seems to have
helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."
"Scuttlebutt says we're here to scout the cats out for a real attack.
That HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they belong. I want
to be here for the kill. I didn't become a pilot just to baby-sit bases and
such."
Blair frowned He supposed the spread of rumors about the Behemoth
project was almost inevitable. Nothing stayed secret on a ship in space for
very long it seemed, despite the best efforts of Confed security. He
wondered if Rollins had been leaking information, or if this story started
somewhere else.
At any rate, at least this rumor was having a more positive effect on
morale than some of the earlier ones.
"Look, Cobra, I'm glad to see that smile, I really am, Blair told her.
"But you've got to be pumped on every mission, not just the ones you like."
"Point taken, Colonel," she said slowly. The smile had faded now.
"Well, I guess I'd better get down to the launch bay. I'm up in fifteen . .
."
After she left, Blair frowned at his own reflection in the window. For
some reason he could never find the right things to say when talking to
Lieutenant Buckley. Why couldn't he have allowed her to enjoy her newfound
enthusiasm for Victory's current operation? Instead, he'd managed to deflate
her just when it seemed she was ready to start letting down the barriers
which kept her apart from the rest of the wing.
Sometimes he wondered if he would ever really get a handle on his job.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Ariel System
"Pull up a chair, Colonel, and join me. I'll stand you to the first
round."
Acknowledging Vagabond's greeting with a nod and a smile, Blair took
the chair opposite him. Lieutenant Chang played with the inevitable deck of
cards in front of him, and if the continual cycle of missions was getting to
him it didn't show in his grinning face. The pilot might have been fresh
from leave instead of unwinding after flying a survey sweep with Hobbes only
a few hours earlier.
"You must be getting pretty lonely if you want to buy your CO a drink,"
Blair commented. "What's the matter? You already clean everybody else out?"
"Unfortunately, it doesn't take too long to get a reputation, if you
know what I mean. And even the new chums from Blackmane caught on to me
after a few days. Gets pretty tough to get up a game when everyone's afraid
to take you on. Know what I mean?" Chang held up the deck. "C'mon, Colonel.
Why don't you try your luck?" Without waiting for an answer, he started
dealing.
"Whoa, there, sharpie," Blair said, holding up a hand. "Don't I at
least get to cut the deck?"
Vagabond laughed and gathered in the cards again. "You'd be surprised
how many rookies just ante up and look surprised when they lose the first
pot."
"Well, they deserve what they get, then." He took the cards from
Vagabond and shuffled the deck with practiced ease, getting a reluctant nod
of admiration from the Chinese pilot. "Me, I've been around. And early on I
discovered the two things you never leave to somebody else: shuffling the
cards and checking your ordinance."
Chang accepted the deck from Blair and started to deal again. Though he
was still smiling, there was a troubled look in his eyes. "This mission . .
. you know there are stories going around about some superweapon. That's why
we're supposed to be running recon.
"You know, Lieutenant, that if the info wasn't officially released then
I can't comment on it one way or the other," Blair said quietly. "Rumors are
just that-rumors. Even if I knew anything, I couldn't talk about it."
"Yeah, I know." Vagabond looked at his hand for a moment, then laid it
on the table. "Look, Colonel, I know you can't spill any secrets, but the
stuff I've been hearing . . . it really bugs me."
"How so?" Blair asked. He laid his own cards aside and met Chang's
level gaze.
"Word is this weapon, whatever it is, will scorch a whole damned
planet. A strategic weapon, I guess the brass would call it. And I'm not
sure I want to be part of something like that."
"Conscience bothering you, Lieutenant?"
"Yeah, it is, Colonel. I didn't sign on to be part of something that
kills civilians, whether they're people or cats or something slimy living
under the rocks on Alphacent." Vagabond looked down at the table. "Some
folks take the war real personal, like Cobra and Flint. But that's not me.
When I wax somebody out on the firing line. I like to think it's a fair
fight. That he's got an equal chance to nail me. Pretty stupid, I guess, but
that's the way it is."
Blair nodded, understanding. He shared Vagabond's doubts. "Fact is, I
understand you a lot better than I'll ever understand Cobra or Flint. The
last thing you need in the cockpit with you is hate. And I think you really
have to hate before you could go along with something as horrible as wasting
an entire planet, civilians and all." He hesitated. "Look, secrets aside . .
. if you've heard the rumors right, we're scouting for this new weapon,
right?"
Vagabond nodded.
"All right, then, we're surveying a planet we know has nothing but a
military installation on it. No colony. No civilians, or at least none who
aren't involved in base operations somehow. Seems to me if there is a
superweapon, HQ must figure on aiming at a military target."
"Maybe so," Chang said, nodding but still looking uncharacteristically
serious. "Maybe so." He paused "Still it bothers me a little. I mean, maybe
they'd start with a base like this. But where does it end? HQ's got a real
bad habit of labeling every target a military installation, even when
they're not. So, what if we cross the line later?"
Blair looked away, uncomfortable. He was thinking of Kevin Tolwyn's
comments about Kilrah, and about the Covert Ops plan that apparently could
only be used against the enemy homeworld. If the Kilrathi didn't comply with
the threat posed by the Behemoth, where would HQ draw the line?
And, more importantly, where would he stand if the next target did
include large numbers of civilians? Just how badly did he want this war to
end?
He looked back at Vagabond. "Hey, we're the good guys, remember?" he
said, forcing a smile. "We don't kill the innocents. That's supposed to be
the difference between us and them, you know? Inwardly he felt like a
hypocrite, but he couldn't admit his own doubts to Chang without confirming
the stories about the mission.
The Chinese pilot touched the deck with one slender finger. СWell,
Colonel, the way I figure it, it's a lot like cards. A lot of people never
think to cut the deck before they see what they're getting dealt."
Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory Ariel System
"Colonel Blair to Flight Control! Colonel Blair to Flight Control!
Urgent!"
Blair flung down the PDP he was studying and swung his feet out of the
bunk This was not a General Quarters alarm, but the voice on the intercom Ч
Flint's voice Ч sounded worried. A sinking feeling gripped his stomach.
Vaquero and Flash were on survey duty tonight.
With the Wing already short-handed and Flint still grounded, Blair had
been forced to rotate wingman assignments frequently since the Ariel
operation began. That meant he couldn't always keep Flash under the watchful
eyes of Hobbes or himself any more. And Vaquero, experienced as he might
have been, was what pilots referred to as an "RV," a Recon Virgin, someone
who had never conducted behind-the-lines reconnaissance missions. The
combination was potentially explosive, but Blair had simply run out of
options.
He forgot his usual rule about not running and raced down the corridor
to the lift, hoping he was wrong. If Flash and Vaquero had run into trouble
out there, it would be his fault for letting the two of them team up. . . .
Flight Control was fully manned, and the tense atmosphere that met
Blair as the doors slid open for him did nothing to calm his fears. Flint
had the duty as Officer of the Watch, her suspended flight status leaving
her plenty of time to serve in such shipboard wing duties.
"What have you got?" he asked crisply, joining her at the Duty
Officer's command console.
"Trouble, sir," Flint said "Flash and Vaquero were on their way back in
when they read a bogie on their short-range scanners, and Major Dillon
decided they should check it out. He ordered Vaquero to back him up before
we could countermand the orders from here, and since they were already right
on top of the Kilrathi . . ."
"Any idea what they're up against?"
"At least six Dralthi, Colonel," Flint told him. "But Vaquero reported
he was getting some other readings that might have been something bigger, a
whole lot bigger."
"Christ," Blair muttered. "Probably a transport . . . but it might be a
cap ship under fighter escort. How're they doing so far?"
"Holding their own, but they haven't been able to obey recall and break
away. The Dralthi keep swarming them." Flint looked apologetic. "We didn't
want to commit the ready alert birds without your say-so, Colonel. The
standing orders are to avoid a fight.''
"Yeah, I know. I helped draft Сem, remember?" Blair realized his tone
had been sharper than he'd intended. "You did well, Lieutenant. Okay, who's
on ready alert?"
"Maniac and Vagabond," Flint said. "They're in their fighters and ready
to launch."
"Good. Launch immediately, then. But tell the flight crew to get two
more Thunderbolts ready for launch."
"Who's on deck, Colonel?" There was a faint light of hope in her eyes.
"I'll take one. Call Hobbes to fly wingman with me." He saw her face
fall, disappointed. "I know you want back on the roster, Flint, but I don't
have time to discuss it tonight. Call out Hobbes. I'll be in the ready room
suiting up. Put through a call to the captain and route it to me there.
He'll have to know what we're getting into."
"Aye, aye, sir," she said, voice flat.
He had his flight suit on and was wrestling with his boots when a vid
screen came to life on one wall of the Gold Squadron ready room. Eisen
looked like he'd been asleep. "They tell me you have a situation, Colonel,"
he said.
"We certainly do, sir," Blair told him. "Two of my pilots ran into a
Kilrathi flight and have become heavily engaged. I've got two more on the
way to back them up, and Hobbes and I are joining the party as soon as our
fighters are prepped." Hobbes came into the ready room as he spoke and
crossed to his locker.
"That's a pretty strong response, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "Just
how many Kilrathi did your people run into out there, anyway?"
"That's not clear yet, sir," Blair said. "That's why I'm flying the
extra cover. There could be a cap ship involved, too. We're not sure yet."
"Damned sensor clutter," Eisen said, nodding. "Well I guess all good
things must come to an end. After all this, the furballs won't be letting us
sneak around any more. We'll have to hope we've got all the data HQ wants,
because I'm ordering a withdrawal to the jump point ASAP."
"Agreed, sir" Blair said, "though I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off
until we're back. I wouldn't want to misplace the Victory in the middle of
this mess."
Eisen chuckled. "Oh, I think we can wait for you Colonel. Just don't
keep us waiting too long, okay?" He cut the intercom without waiting or an
answer.
"Another flight together, my friend," Hobbes commented. "I am glad It
has been too long since you were on my wing."
"Yeah, I'll say." Blair picked up his helmet and looked at the renegade
Kilrathi pilot for a long moment. "Do you ever find yourself wishing for the
old days, Hobbes? Back when we were junior pilots, flying for the sheer hell
of it all? Sometimes I'd give everything I've got to be back on the old
Tiger's Claw with you, and Angel, and Paladin, and the rest of the old gang.
No decisions to make, nothing to worry about but flying . . ."
Hobbes shook his head. "I do not think about that time often, I fear,"
he said. "It was a period of great stress for me, as you may remember.
Trying to prove myself to you all." Ralgha's expression became bleak. "But
sometimes, in my dreams, I find myself yearning for the days before I left
the Empire. Once, long ago, I did not have doubts about my own kind. I knew
my place in the universe, and I was proud of it. Those are the days I find
myself remembering." He picked up his helmet and fell in beside Blair. "But
the past is gone, my friend. All we have now is the present."
"And the future?" Blair asked.
Hobbes shook his head. "For many years I have known that I have no real
future. In peace or in war, my own kind reject me and your kind, with only a
few exceptions, shun me. What future do I have, save to fight and die in the
cockpit of my fighter? Sometimes I feel that I am somehow bound up in the
whole outcome of this war, that I might play a key part in victory or defeat
before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate, hovering over me .
. ." He looked at Blair. "It is not a concept easily grasped by
non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand."
"Come on, Hobbes," Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had given
into his alien soul. "Let's get down to the flight line. That's all the
future either of us can afford to worry about for now."
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Ariel System
"Lord Prince, we have a report of enemy activity in the system. A
convoy is under attack by Terran fighters."
Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study Melek in the dull red
light of the audience chamber. "They dare attack us here, in our space?
Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda."
Melek bowed acknowledgement. "You did say you expected them to respond,
Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Intercepted radio traffic indicates that the
Terran ships may be from the Victory."
"So . . ." Thrakhath turned the report over in his mind. "This . . .
complicates our response. I had not looked for them to be ready for further
operations for some time to come. We must drive them out . . . and we must
discourage them from looking toward this system any further. It would be an
embarrassment if they were to plan to demonstrate their new weapon here
before the fleet was fully assembled."
"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said, "though it would be a worthy irony if
they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap."
Thrakhath gestured negation. "No. No, I do not want to stage a major
battle here. Not when the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When
the Terrans reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I want
no chance of mistakes when it comes time to destroy it. We must . . . urge
them to take an interest in some other system, not this one." He paused. "So
we must threaten their ship, but ultimately allow it to escape with
sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to
cover the jump points to Locanda, Delius, and Caliban. And have all
squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect."
Melek bowed again. "As you direct, Lord Prince."
Thrakhath watched him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to
show for an instant. It was unfortunate that the Terrans must be allowed to
win free in the end. He would have relished the destruction of that carrier
. . . but it carried the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing
could be allowed to interfere with that now.
Thunderbolt 300 Ariel System
"Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader," Blair said, hoping he
didn't sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. "Requesting landing
clearance. Over."
"Roger that, Leader," Rollins replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job
out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two."
Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging
back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero. By
the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already joined up
with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the
Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't really need
support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger contact at the
edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap ship kill.
Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with the idea.
Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed
particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones
associated with reining in the two majors.
Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting and the pilot
himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times
before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This
worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always
struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than just a
physical pounding on the line this time.
Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate
on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he
clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes,
were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.
The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of
concern on his alien visage. "Are you well, my friend? You seemed . . .
distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more
spirited comrades."
"Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks
who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of . . .
everything."
He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had accounted,
among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run
it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It wouldn't
matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were always more
Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting sick of having
to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.
"It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again," Ralgha said,
clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words and tone.
"To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test
my skills, since we started this mission."
"Yeah," Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he
understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his
emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. "Yeah, I
suppose all this skulking and hiding's been pretty rough on you. Maybe a
little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."
Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his
head to one side as he regarded Blair. "It is strange," he said. "We are
very different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all
the humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have
proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit . . . despite the skill
and courage demanded in flying is never entirely satisfied by combat in
space."
"You like it up close and personal," Blair said, mustering a faint
smile.
The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to
extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can speak or
walk. To your species this seems . . . what is the word? Savage? Primitive?
But it is fundamental to who and what we are."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Then how can Thrakhath order the death of
millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you can
use."
"Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in his own way, I fear," Ralgha
said slowly. "When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor
or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my
kind, but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile
Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar . . .
conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"
Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "I guess we do. But . . .
killing is killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because
you have to . . . to defend yourself, your people, your civilization.
Whether it's hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole
damned planet out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we
each have to decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're
being asked to deal out."
"This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my
friend," Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look.
"And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to
ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Ariel System
Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready room before
even exchanging their flight suits for more comfortable clothing. Eisen
looked worried as he sat opposite them. He energized the holographic chart
display on his desk top.
"I know you just got back from a tough one, but I doubt you'll have
much chance to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're on
course for the jump point to the Caliban System. It has the closest Confed
military facility, although it's a small one, just an outpost. The main
advantage as I see it is that it's like this system, inside the nebula,
which means we can hope to elude a Kilrathi pursuit quickly even if they
should chase us through the jump point. That could be important, if they
have any kind of fleet following us at all."
"You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.
"As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went out
that there were Terrans in the neighborhood," Eisen said grimly. "If I was
the cat CO in these parts, I'd do my best to block as many jump points as
possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from Hobbes to Blair.
"That's another reason to go for Caliban, though. They might not be
expecting a withdrawal to such a minor system. Maybe that jump point will
have fewer defenders . . . maybe none at all, if their fleet isn't very
strong in these parts."
"Don't count on it, sir," Blair said. "I've been going over the
incoming survey reports. While we haven't seen much in open space, there
were indications of tremendous shuttle traffic over the base on One, and a
fair number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they would
leave all that unprotected, do you?"
Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't. A big fleet here. .
. that sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He glanced at Ralgha and
changed the subject. "All the more reason, though, to hope we can get the
hell out of here without running into too much opposition. And if we do . .
. we try to shake them as best we can and still make jump."
"Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you
have any special orders for us, sir?"
"I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead of us when we
approach the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited, I
want an idea of what's waiting for us before we blunder into the middle of
escalated the war, and if we don't match the ante we might as well just fold
now."
"Match the ante . . . how?" Blair asked.
"The Confederation's been working on its share of doomsday weapons,
too," Tolwyn told them. "The Battle of Terra scared the hell out of all of
us. The big Kilrathi offensive caught everyone off guard. I don't think I
need to tell you that we're on the ropes. One more attack like that and the
game's over. Remember, they managed to drop over twenty standard warheads on
Earth in the last attack. If only one of them had been a bio the homeworld
would be a lifeless desert today. There's no way around it, this one's to
the death and we have a couple of counter punches almost ready to go."
Blair said nothing. The idea of matching the Kilrathi atrocity at
Locanda with a Terran retaliation against civilians appalled him, but he
tried to keep his reaction from showing in his voice or expression.
Tolwyn fixed Blair with his gaze. "One of the projects is being pushed
by General Taggart and the folks at Covert Ops, and the other's my uncle's
pet project. That's why he got pulled from Concordia just before it went
down."
Eisen cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Major, I'd appreciate it
if you'd stick to the briefing."
"Sorry, sir," Tolwyn said. "Both projects actually stem from the same
basic research. It seems some of our survey work off Kilrah during Tarawa's
little end run raid there a few years back has yielded some unexpected
results. Kilrah is much less stable, in planetological terms, than Terra.
Subject to seismic problems, quakes, volcanoes, the whole bit. Apparently
there are some severe tidal stresses at work on Kilrah that render the
planet extremely vulnerable to widescale seismic activity." He paused.
"Given a big enough shaking, Kilrah would literally come apart.
"And HQ has a weapon that could do it?"
"More than one, Colonel. I've not been briefed on the Covert Ops
project, except for generalities. But Project Behemoth, my uncle's
preference, uses high-intensity energy beams on a massive scale to trigger
seismic shocks. Aimed and fired properly, the Behemoth weapon could trigger
the destruction of Kilrah."
"And the loss of the homeworld would cut the foundation from under the
whole Empire," Eisen said slowly, with a slight smile. "It certainly is
ambitious, I'll say that."
"It's genocide," Blair said quietly. "How many civilians would we be
killing?"
"How many died on Locanda Four?" Tolwyn demanded. "How many more will
die if they unleash their pandemic again? Look Blair, our intel people are
telling us the Empire is tottering on the edge of civil war. The various
clans are fed up, especially after the failure of the attack on Earth.
That's why they didn't immediately launch a second attack when we had
nothing left to stop them. The Emperor had to regroup Ч build back his fleet
and keep enough forces close at home to counteract any threatened coups.
It's given us the breathing room to get our new weapons on-line. If we wait
any longer, though the Kilrathi might be the ones to strike first and then
its us that are finished."
Blair shook his head "The end justifies the means? That wasn't what
they taught back at the Academy. I thought the Confederation stood for
something better than that."
Tolwyn looked away. "Yeah .. . yeah, you're right. It does." He paused.
"Well, anyway, we're hoping we don't have to actually attack Kilrah. That
was the deciding factor when it came down to choosing Behemoth over the
Covert Ops concept. Apparently whatever they've hatched is a one-shot deal.
But Behemoth is a weapon that can be used several times and the idea is to
try a few very public tests on Kilrathi military bases. Let the cats draw
their own conclusions about what we could do to Kilrah with the same
weaponry. That's the operational plan, at least. Our hope is a good
demonstration might actually push the clans into a palace coup. The Emperor
and his grandson are overthrown and the other clans sue for peace."
"I guess that's better than blasting Kilrah out of existence," Blair
said. "I mean, the Empire's the enemy and we have to do whatever it takes to
win. But there are a lot of innocent Kilrathi out there who have nothing to
do with the Emperor or Thrakhath or the whole damned war effort. Some of
them are dissidents, like Hobbes was before he defected. I wouldn't want to
be party to killing them all."
"Well, we'll hope it doesn't come to that," Eisen said. "I agree, it
would be a nasty choice to have to make. But if we can convince them we mean
business . . ."
"So what's our part in all of this?" Blair asked.
"Right now, we're still putting the finishing touches on the weapon,
Tolwyn said. It won't be ready to deploy for a few more weeks. But in the
meantime, we're starting to prospect the sector for a likely-looking first
target. We need to conduct some extensive recon work, checking defenses, and
surveying possible target planets to make sure the Behemoth will be
effective against them. It wouldn't do to cruise in, open fire, and then
find out the place was so tectonically dead we couldn't even cause a good
earthquake."
"Recon work," Blair repeated. "That'll be quite a change, after what
we've been doing."
"It'll be difficult and dangerous," Tolwyn said. We can't afford to
send large forces in anywhere, for fear of putting the cats on guard. We've
got a handful of carriers going out individually into the selected target
systems. Victory's drawn Ariel, where we're fairly certain we've got a very
suitable Kilrathi base to test."
"Ariel's a pretty tough nut," Blair commented. "I hope you're not
expecting us to take them on single-handed."
"The system is inside the Caliban Nebula," Eisen said. "Dust and gas
and energy discharges will play hell with shipboard sensors . . . on both
sides. We can sneak in, gather as much information as possible, and sneak
out again and probably never tip the cats off that we were there. Maybe even
pull off a few ambushes along the way."
Tolwyn nodded. "You'll actually have it better than some of the other
carriers on this duty," he said. "And when you get back, the admiral's
already decided that Victory will get the real plum job. Flagship for the
Behemoth Squadron . . . so you'll be in on the kill, as it were."
"Flagship? Us?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "Your uncle must have
developed a sudden taste for slumming, if he's not going to go out in one of
the big boys."
"Victory has its . . . compensations, Colonel," Tolwyn told him. "Like
a genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology, your buddy Hobbes. You also have a
one-time Intelligence source with specialized knowledge of cat behavior,
too. I think the name is Lieutenant Buckley. In fact, the admiral had this
in mind when he assigned you here as wing commander."
"That was before Locanda," Blair said, "before things escalated. You
mean Tolwyn planned to use this Behemoth thing even before the cats started
with the bioweaponry?"
"Some of the data we later decoded from that deep intel probe Tarawa
had on board, leading into the discovery of the Kilrathi super-carriers,
contained information about the bio program. That's why we've been running
the race to get the new weapons on line and why Behemoth sails now, ready or
not. Locanda was a horrible tragedy, but thank God it wasn't one of the
innerworlds or Earth Ч and believe me, that will be their next target."
Blair held up his hand. "Never mind, Kevin," he said. "Don't try to
explain. I know your uncle well enough to know what he had in mind. And
why."
"Just what are you getting at, Blair?" Eisen asked.
He shrugged. "It's just that the admiral has always been . . . zealous,
sir. I've served with him a few times, and he's always been the same. He
wants to win the war . . . Admiral Geoff Tolwyn, himself. He'd love it if he
could lead the ConFleet to victory, sign the papers that ended the war in
orbit over Kilrah . . . whatever. And if Behemoth can make it possible,
he'll use it . . . and the devil take moral questions and anything else that
stands in the way."
Eisen's frown deepened. "I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this,
Colonel," he said slowly. "Its coming dangerously close to libeling a
superior officer."
"Maybe so, Captain," Blair said, shrugging again. "But it isn't libel
when you're telling the truth." He shot the younger Tolwyn a look. "Sorry,
Kevin. I know he's family but . . . well, you know how I've always felt."
"You haven't said anything I haven't thought a dozen times over,
Colonel," Tolwyn said. "But, like the Captain says, we'd better stick to the
briefing."
"Agreed. What else do we need to know about?"
"Captain Eisen's been bruising a lot of ears back at HQ about the
flight wing's shortages. I've brought out authorization for you to
requisition fighters, munitions parts, and stores from Blackmane Base before
the last load goes out next week. They've got all types of fighters in
mothballs there already, so that won't be a problem."
"The real shortage is in pilots," Blair said. "We have nine empty slots
to fill."
"You won't get all of them, I'll tell you that much up front," Tolwyn
said. "I've already spoken to the base commandant. You'll get four or five,
no more. Sorry I couldn't do better." Tolwyn looked wistful. "I'd volunteer
for a slot myself, but the admiral would never approve it."
"I wish you could," Blair told him. "Well, four or five is better than
none at all. Major Mbuto lost five ships at Locanda Four, so she'll get
first call on any pilots we do get. I just hope to God it's enough."
"It has to be, Colonel," Eisen said. "Now that we finally have a ray of
hope that we might see the end of this damned war, it has to be enough."
Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Okay, skipper, this one checks out too. Looks like those no-talent
bums at Blackmane Base actually sent us some real fighters, and not just
junk off the scrap line."
Blair checked off the last of the new fighters on his portable computer
pad and nodded. "I'll breathe a little easier now, Chief," he told Rachel
Coriolis. "I was starting to think we'd never get the replacement fighters
aboard."
Four days had passed since Kevin Tolwyn was whisked aboard his courier
ship to report to his uncle, and in that time, Blair's life became nothing
but a string of petty frustrations. The worst problem was expediting the
requisitions Tolwyn issued to Blackmane Base in the midst of the chaos and
confusion which reigned during the last days of the base's closing process.
But after many shouting matches over the comm channel, Blair finally got
results. Now he possessed a full contingent of fighters in Victory's hangar
deck, store rooms bulging with spare parts and stores of all kinds, and
three new pilots to assign to Mbuto's interceptor squadron. It was progress,
of a sort. But it had been slow going for a time, and Blair was worn out
with the constant strain of it all.
A tractor towed the fighter, a Longbow looking as if it had never been
flown, toward a storage bay. The flight deck was bustling with activity, but
for the moment Blair and Rachel were out of problems. It was a rare yet
pleasant feeling.
"Uh . . . skipper?" Rachel spoke with none of her accustomed brashness.
"Can we chat? Off the record . . ."
"Isn't that the way we usually do it?" Blair asked her.
"Yeah," the chief admitted. "That's one of the things I like about
you." She hesitated "And the fact that I do like you is why I want to say
this . . ."
"Spit it out, Chief," he said as she paused again.
"You've got this . . . look in your eyes that I've seen before," she
said slowly. "I had this guy, see? A pilot. One day he saw his wingman get
fried, and he came in blaming himself for it. Didn't matter what I said,
what anybody said, he was convinced he let old Shooter down."
"And?" Blair prompted.
A few days later . . . he took an Arrow out and just kept on going. Hit
a jump point just as the Kilrathi were coming through. There were a lot of
fireworks . . ." She trailed off, her eyes focused on someplace far away.
"They never found him . . . not even a debris field. He might still be out
there, for all I know."
"I'm . . . sorry," Blair said quietly. "But. . . why tell me about it?"
"That look in your eye, it's like the one he had before he cracked,
skipper." She paused again. "You want to talk? I may be a lowly techie. but
I've got a sympathetic ear."
Blair didn't answer for a long time. "I had . . . have . . . someone,
too. I don't know which it is, any more. She got caught up in some hush-hush
mission, and nobody's heard from her for months. Maybe she's managed to
sidestep the whole war-ditched in neutral territory somewhere. But I keep
having these nightmares about her . . He looked away. "I keep thinking, one
way or the other I would hear . . . only I haven't heard, and I'm afraid . .
. you know."
Rachel nodded. "I know. Maybe your gal and my guy found each other out
there."
He forced a smile. "Yeah . . . maybe so. At least they'd both be alive,
then . . ."
"Yeah, but on the other hand if I found out he'd been making time with
some hot-shot lady pilot, I'd have to kill him myself when he finally got
back." She managed a laugh.
After a moment, Blair joined in. It felt good to laugh.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System
"Scotch," Blair said, perching on a stool at the bar. "Preferably
something that's at least been in the same sector as Scotland, this time."
Rostov grinned at him. "There's a war on, Colonel. You gotta take
whatever they hand you, da?"
Maniac Marshall was sitting further down the bar, studying a
holomagazine and sipping at a tall glass of beer. He looked up as if only
just noticing Blair's arrival. "Well, well, honoring the peasants with
another visit, eh, Colonel? Shall I kiss your ring, or will a reverential
bow be enough?" He mimicked the slight bow Hobbes often made.
"Can't we have a truce, at least for tonight, Maniac?" Blair said
wearily. "I'm not in the mood for sniping."
"Hah! You looked like you were in a pretty good mood down there in the
hangar deck today," Marshall said. "What's the matter, loverboy? You put the
moves on everybody's favorite grease monkey and get yourself shot down?"
Blair frowned. "I didn't Сput the moves' on her . . .
"Hey, man, it's all right, really it is," Maniac told him with a grin.
"I mean, even a high flyer like you has to have an off day now and then. Of
course, I doubt it'd take a whole hell of a lot of high-risk maneuvering to
get into her pants, but maybe you're just out of practice . . ."
"So what's your excuse, then, Maniac?" Blair asked. "You must have
tried out your usual wit and charm on the lady. Did you crash and burn?"
"Yeah, right," Marshall said, looking away. "As if I'd waste my time on
some punked-out little techie. Of course, you never did have any taste.
First that snotty French bitch . . . now. . . . Wise up, Blaze-Away. There's
a lot better to choose from on this tub than that cheap slut . . .
Blair was out of his seat and beside Marshall in a single quick move.
He grabbed the front of Maniac's uniform and hauled him to his feet. "Get
this, Marshall, and get it good," he hissed. "You can talk about me any way
you want to. But I won't tolerate you running down anyone in this wing, man,
woman . . . or cat. And if you want to keep using that nose to breathe
through, you won't ever insult Angel again . . . or Rachel Coriolis either,
for that matter. You getting any of this, mister?"
Maniac pulled back, freeing himself from Blair's grip and holding up
both hands. "Whoa! Back off, man. He studied Blair for a moment. "Looks like
you've got a real case, after all. Question is, which one's the lucky girl?"
Blair took another step forward. "I told you to lay off, Major," he
said slowly.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke, man. I'm sorry."
Maniac turned to leave, then faced Blair one more time. "But listen to me,
Colonel, sir. If you don't start loosening up pretty damn quick. you're
cruising for a psych hearing. You're tighter than a vacuum seal and I
wouldn't like to be around when everything blows out."
"Mind your own business, Maniac, and let me worry about mine," Blair
told him. "And in the meantime, just stay out of my way."
TCS Victory Ariel System
In due course, Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling by way of a
jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of the Caliban Nebula, the
system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many other
smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk in the system as well. Ariel
I was never judged worthwhile as a potential colony, but Confederation
Intelligence sources had long identified it as a major headquarters for
Kilrathi raiders. Previous Terran attempts to deal with the base met with
little success, thanks to the strength of the ground-based defenses on the
planet and the difficulties of mounting operations within the nebula.
Long-range sensors were virtually useless, and even shortrange scans
required more time, more power, and more computer interpolation than usual,
which made for many extra problems.
But the conditions also helped hide Victory from detection, as Eisen
had explained during the original briefing. The Kilrathi maintained a
network of detection buoys around the planet and near most of the jump
points, but away from those the Terran carrier was able to avoid contact
from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was almost
as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard the ship.
On the other hand, the sensor limitations cut both ways. Blair was
forced to double patrols again just to sweep nearby space for Kilrathi
shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection
buoys to put fighters close enough to Ariel I to conduct the surveys
Headquarters needed. Over the course of nearly two weeks, the flight wing
operated at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably
took its toll on people and equipment alike.
Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.
Flight Control, TCS Victory Ariel System
Blair came out of the elevator next to Flight Control and nearly ran
into Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in one hand and
a half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air
of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.
"Can't talk now, skipper," she said, hardly slowing her pace at all.
"All you fighter jocks were so damned eager to draw recon work. Well, now
you got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep
you flying."
"Okay, okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On behalf of the
entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell Сem
to clear it with you first."
She grinned as she dodged past him and into the lift. "Maybe if us
techs had a say in things you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in so
much trouble."
The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight
Control.
There were only routine patrols out now no survey missions, so the
chamber was manned at minimal levels. The relative calm in the room was a
stark contrast to the scene visible through the windows overlooking the
hangar deck, where technicians and fighter crews were hard at work on
maintenance, repairs, and mission prep for the next batch of launches,
scheduled to begin shortly. The bustle of activity would have been a scene
of utter confusion to the uninitiated, but Blair recognized the order and
purpose underlying the chaos. It was the dance of the deck, the almost
rhythmic cycle that made any pilot's heart beat just a little bit faster.
He became aware of another figure standing by the windows, intently
watching. It was Cobra, wearing her flight suit and carrying a helmet under
one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her entirely,
changing her customary bitter moodiness into a genuine look of enthusiasm
and anticipation.
"About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we
showed Сem."
"Lieutenant," he said quietly.
She looked at him. "Sir?"
"I don't recall ever seeing that before," he said. When she looked
confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It looks good.
Suits you."
The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a
change. I can almost smell Сem, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get
a couple of them in my sights sometime soon . . ."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, being on the offensive seems to have
helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."
"Scuttlebutt says we're here to scout the cats out for a real attack.
That HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they belong. I want
to be here for the kill. I didn't become a pilot just to baby-sit bases and
such."
Blair frowned He supposed the spread of rumors about the Behemoth
project was almost inevitable. Nothing stayed secret on a ship in space for
very long it seemed, despite the best efforts of Confed security. He
wondered if Rollins had been leaking information, or if this story started
somewhere else.
At any rate, at least this rumor was having a more positive effect on
morale than some of the earlier ones.
"Look, Cobra, I'm glad to see that smile, I really am, Blair told her.
"But you've got to be pumped on every mission, not just the ones you like."
"Point taken, Colonel," she said slowly. The smile had faded now.
"Well, I guess I'd better get down to the launch bay. I'm up in fifteen . .
."
After she left, Blair frowned at his own reflection in the window. For
some reason he could never find the right things to say when talking to
Lieutenant Buckley. Why couldn't he have allowed her to enjoy her newfound
enthusiasm for Victory's current operation? Instead, he'd managed to deflate
her just when it seemed she was ready to start letting down the barriers
which kept her apart from the rest of the wing.
Sometimes he wondered if he would ever really get a handle on his job.
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Ariel System
"Pull up a chair, Colonel, and join me. I'll stand you to the first
round."
Acknowledging Vagabond's greeting with a nod and a smile, Blair took
the chair opposite him. Lieutenant Chang played with the inevitable deck of
cards in front of him, and if the continual cycle of missions was getting to
him it didn't show in his grinning face. The pilot might have been fresh
from leave instead of unwinding after flying a survey sweep with Hobbes only
a few hours earlier.
"You must be getting pretty lonely if you want to buy your CO a drink,"
Blair commented. "What's the matter? You already clean everybody else out?"
"Unfortunately, it doesn't take too long to get a reputation, if you
know what I mean. And even the new chums from Blackmane caught on to me
after a few days. Gets pretty tough to get up a game when everyone's afraid
to take you on. Know what I mean?" Chang held up the deck. "C'mon, Colonel.
Why don't you try your luck?" Without waiting for an answer, he started
dealing.
"Whoa, there, sharpie," Blair said, holding up a hand. "Don't I at
least get to cut the deck?"
Vagabond laughed and gathered in the cards again. "You'd be surprised
how many rookies just ante up and look surprised when they lose the first
pot."
"Well, they deserve what they get, then." He took the cards from
Vagabond and shuffled the deck with practiced ease, getting a reluctant nod
of admiration from the Chinese pilot. "Me, I've been around. And early on I
discovered the two things you never leave to somebody else: shuffling the
cards and checking your ordinance."
Chang accepted the deck from Blair and started to deal again. Though he
was still smiling, there was a troubled look in his eyes. "This mission . .
. you know there are stories going around about some superweapon. That's why
we're supposed to be running recon.
"You know, Lieutenant, that if the info wasn't officially released then
I can't comment on it one way or the other," Blair said quietly. "Rumors are
just that-rumors. Even if I knew anything, I couldn't talk about it."
"Yeah, I know." Vagabond looked at his hand for a moment, then laid it
on the table. "Look, Colonel, I know you can't spill any secrets, but the
stuff I've been hearing . . . it really bugs me."
"How so?" Blair asked. He laid his own cards aside and met Chang's
level gaze.
"Word is this weapon, whatever it is, will scorch a whole damned
planet. A strategic weapon, I guess the brass would call it. And I'm not
sure I want to be part of something like that."
"Conscience bothering you, Lieutenant?"
"Yeah, it is, Colonel. I didn't sign on to be part of something that
kills civilians, whether they're people or cats or something slimy living
under the rocks on Alphacent." Vagabond looked down at the table. "Some
folks take the war real personal, like Cobra and Flint. But that's not me.
When I wax somebody out on the firing line. I like to think it's a fair
fight. That he's got an equal chance to nail me. Pretty stupid, I guess, but
that's the way it is."
Blair nodded, understanding. He shared Vagabond's doubts. "Fact is, I
understand you a lot better than I'll ever understand Cobra or Flint. The
last thing you need in the cockpit with you is hate. And I think you really
have to hate before you could go along with something as horrible as wasting
an entire planet, civilians and all." He hesitated. "Look, secrets aside . .
. if you've heard the rumors right, we're scouting for this new weapon,
right?"
Vagabond nodded.
"All right, then, we're surveying a planet we know has nothing but a
military installation on it. No colony. No civilians, or at least none who
aren't involved in base operations somehow. Seems to me if there is a
superweapon, HQ must figure on aiming at a military target."
"Maybe so," Chang said, nodding but still looking uncharacteristically
serious. "Maybe so." He paused "Still it bothers me a little. I mean, maybe
they'd start with a base like this. But where does it end? HQ's got a real
bad habit of labeling every target a military installation, even when
they're not. So, what if we cross the line later?"
Blair looked away, uncomfortable. He was thinking of Kevin Tolwyn's
comments about Kilrah, and about the Covert Ops plan that apparently could
only be used against the enemy homeworld. If the Kilrathi didn't comply with
the threat posed by the Behemoth, where would HQ draw the line?
And, more importantly, where would he stand if the next target did
include large numbers of civilians? Just how badly did he want this war to
end?
He looked back at Vagabond. "Hey, we're the good guys, remember?" he
said, forcing a smile. "We don't kill the innocents. That's supposed to be
the difference between us and them, you know? Inwardly he felt like a
hypocrite, but he couldn't admit his own doubts to Chang without confirming
the stories about the mission.
The Chinese pilot touched the deck with one slender finger. СWell,
Colonel, the way I figure it, it's a lot like cards. A lot of people never
think to cut the deck before they see what they're getting dealt."
Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory Ariel System
"Colonel Blair to Flight Control! Colonel Blair to Flight Control!
Urgent!"
Blair flung down the PDP he was studying and swung his feet out of the
bunk This was not a General Quarters alarm, but the voice on the intercom Ч
Flint's voice Ч sounded worried. A sinking feeling gripped his stomach.
Vaquero and Flash were on survey duty tonight.
With the Wing already short-handed and Flint still grounded, Blair had
been forced to rotate wingman assignments frequently since the Ariel
operation began. That meant he couldn't always keep Flash under the watchful
eyes of Hobbes or himself any more. And Vaquero, experienced as he might
have been, was what pilots referred to as an "RV," a Recon Virgin, someone
who had never conducted behind-the-lines reconnaissance missions. The
combination was potentially explosive, but Blair had simply run out of
options.
He forgot his usual rule about not running and raced down the corridor
to the lift, hoping he was wrong. If Flash and Vaquero had run into trouble
out there, it would be his fault for letting the two of them team up. . . .
Flight Control was fully manned, and the tense atmosphere that met
Blair as the doors slid open for him did nothing to calm his fears. Flint
had the duty as Officer of the Watch, her suspended flight status leaving
her plenty of time to serve in such shipboard wing duties.
"What have you got?" he asked crisply, joining her at the Duty
Officer's command console.
"Trouble, sir," Flint said "Flash and Vaquero were on their way back in
when they read a bogie on their short-range scanners, and Major Dillon
decided they should check it out. He ordered Vaquero to back him up before
we could countermand the orders from here, and since they were already right
on top of the Kilrathi . . ."
"Any idea what they're up against?"
"At least six Dralthi, Colonel," Flint told him. "But Vaquero reported
he was getting some other readings that might have been something bigger, a
whole lot bigger."
"Christ," Blair muttered. "Probably a transport . . . but it might be a
cap ship under fighter escort. How're they doing so far?"
"Holding their own, but they haven't been able to obey recall and break
away. The Dralthi keep swarming them." Flint looked apologetic. "We didn't
want to commit the ready alert birds without your say-so, Colonel. The
standing orders are to avoid a fight.''
"Yeah, I know. I helped draft Сem, remember?" Blair realized his tone
had been sharper than he'd intended. "You did well, Lieutenant. Okay, who's
on ready alert?"
"Maniac and Vagabond," Flint said. "They're in their fighters and ready
to launch."
"Good. Launch immediately, then. But tell the flight crew to get two
more Thunderbolts ready for launch."
"Who's on deck, Colonel?" There was a faint light of hope in her eyes.
"I'll take one. Call Hobbes to fly wingman with me." He saw her face
fall, disappointed. "I know you want back on the roster, Flint, but I don't
have time to discuss it tonight. Call out Hobbes. I'll be in the ready room
suiting up. Put through a call to the captain and route it to me there.
He'll have to know what we're getting into."
"Aye, aye, sir," she said, voice flat.
He had his flight suit on and was wrestling with his boots when a vid
screen came to life on one wall of the Gold Squadron ready room. Eisen
looked like he'd been asleep. "They tell me you have a situation, Colonel,"
he said.
"We certainly do, sir," Blair told him. "Two of my pilots ran into a
Kilrathi flight and have become heavily engaged. I've got two more on the
way to back them up, and Hobbes and I are joining the party as soon as our
fighters are prepped." Hobbes came into the ready room as he spoke and
crossed to his locker.
"That's a pretty strong response, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "Just
how many Kilrathi did your people run into out there, anyway?"
"That's not clear yet, sir," Blair said. "That's why I'm flying the
extra cover. There could be a cap ship involved, too. We're not sure yet."
"Damned sensor clutter," Eisen said, nodding. "Well I guess all good
things must come to an end. After all this, the furballs won't be letting us
sneak around any more. We'll have to hope we've got all the data HQ wants,
because I'm ordering a withdrawal to the jump point ASAP."
"Agreed, sir" Blair said, "though I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off
until we're back. I wouldn't want to misplace the Victory in the middle of
this mess."
Eisen chuckled. "Oh, I think we can wait for you Colonel. Just don't
keep us waiting too long, okay?" He cut the intercom without waiting or an
answer.
"Another flight together, my friend," Hobbes commented. "I am glad It
has been too long since you were on my wing."
"Yeah, I'll say." Blair picked up his helmet and looked at the renegade
Kilrathi pilot for a long moment. "Do you ever find yourself wishing for the
old days, Hobbes? Back when we were junior pilots, flying for the sheer hell
of it all? Sometimes I'd give everything I've got to be back on the old
Tiger's Claw with you, and Angel, and Paladin, and the rest of the old gang.
No decisions to make, nothing to worry about but flying . . ."
Hobbes shook his head. "I do not think about that time often, I fear,"
he said. "It was a period of great stress for me, as you may remember.
Trying to prove myself to you all." Ralgha's expression became bleak. "But
sometimes, in my dreams, I find myself yearning for the days before I left
the Empire. Once, long ago, I did not have doubts about my own kind. I knew
my place in the universe, and I was proud of it. Those are the days I find
myself remembering." He picked up his helmet and fell in beside Blair. "But
the past is gone, my friend. All we have now is the present."
"And the future?" Blair asked.
Hobbes shook his head. "For many years I have known that I have no real
future. In peace or in war, my own kind reject me and your kind, with only a
few exceptions, shun me. What future do I have, save to fight and die in the
cockpit of my fighter? Sometimes I feel that I am somehow bound up in the
whole outcome of this war, that I might play a key part in victory or defeat
before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate, hovering over me .
. ." He looked at Blair. "It is not a concept easily grasped by
non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand."
"Come on, Hobbes," Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had given
into his alien soul. "Let's get down to the flight line. That's all the
future either of us can afford to worry about for now."
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Ariel System
"Lord Prince, we have a report of enemy activity in the system. A
convoy is under attack by Terran fighters."
Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study Melek in the dull red
light of the audience chamber. "They dare attack us here, in our space?
Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda."
Melek bowed acknowledgement. "You did say you expected them to respond,
Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Intercepted radio traffic indicates that the
Terran ships may be from the Victory."
"So . . ." Thrakhath turned the report over in his mind. "This . . .
complicates our response. I had not looked for them to be ready for further
operations for some time to come. We must drive them out . . . and we must
discourage them from looking toward this system any further. It would be an
embarrassment if they were to plan to demonstrate their new weapon here
before the fleet was fully assembled."
"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said, "though it would be a worthy irony if
they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap."
Thrakhath gestured negation. "No. No, I do not want to stage a major
battle here. Not when the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When
the Terrans reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I want
no chance of mistakes when it comes time to destroy it. We must . . . urge
them to take an interest in some other system, not this one." He paused. "So
we must threaten their ship, but ultimately allow it to escape with
sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to
cover the jump points to Locanda, Delius, and Caliban. And have all
squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect."
Melek bowed again. "As you direct, Lord Prince."
Thrakhath watched him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to
show for an instant. It was unfortunate that the Terrans must be allowed to
win free in the end. He would have relished the destruction of that carrier
. . . but it carried the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing
could be allowed to interfere with that now.
Thunderbolt 300 Ariel System
"Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader," Blair said, hoping he
didn't sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. "Requesting landing
clearance. Over."
"Roger that, Leader," Rollins replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job
out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two."
Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging
back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero. By
the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already joined up
with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the
Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't really need
support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger contact at the
edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap ship kill.
Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with the idea.
Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed
particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones
associated with reining in the two majors.
Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting and the pilot
himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times
before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This
worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always
struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than just a
physical pounding on the line this time.
Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate
on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he
clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes,
were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.
The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of
concern on his alien visage. "Are you well, my friend? You seemed . . .
distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more
spirited comrades."
"Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks
who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of . . .
everything."
He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had accounted,
among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run
it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It wouldn't
matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were always more
Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting sick of having
to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.
"It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again," Ralgha said,
clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words and tone.
"To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test
my skills, since we started this mission."
"Yeah," Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he
understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his
emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. "Yeah, I
suppose all this skulking and hiding's been pretty rough on you. Maybe a
little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."
Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his
head to one side as he regarded Blair. "It is strange," he said. "We are
very different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all
the humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have
proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit . . . despite the skill
and courage demanded in flying is never entirely satisfied by combat in
space."
"You like it up close and personal," Blair said, mustering a faint
smile.
The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to
extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can speak or
walk. To your species this seems . . . what is the word? Savage? Primitive?
But it is fundamental to who and what we are."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Then how can Thrakhath order the death of
millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you can
use."
"Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in his own way, I fear," Ralgha
said slowly. "When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor
or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my
kind, but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile
Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar . . .
conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"
Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "I guess we do. But . . .
killing is killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because
you have to . . . to defend yourself, your people, your civilization.
Whether it's hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole
damned planet out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we
each have to decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're
being asked to deal out."
"This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my
friend," Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look.
"And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to
ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Ariel System
Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready room before
even exchanging their flight suits for more comfortable clothing. Eisen
looked worried as he sat opposite them. He energized the holographic chart
display on his desk top.
"I know you just got back from a tough one, but I doubt you'll have
much chance to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're on
course for the jump point to the Caliban System. It has the closest Confed
military facility, although it's a small one, just an outpost. The main
advantage as I see it is that it's like this system, inside the nebula,
which means we can hope to elude a Kilrathi pursuit quickly even if they
should chase us through the jump point. That could be important, if they
have any kind of fleet following us at all."
"You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.
"As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went out
that there were Terrans in the neighborhood," Eisen said grimly. "If I was
the cat CO in these parts, I'd do my best to block as many jump points as
possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from Hobbes to Blair.
"That's another reason to go for Caliban, though. They might not be
expecting a withdrawal to such a minor system. Maybe that jump point will
have fewer defenders . . . maybe none at all, if their fleet isn't very
strong in these parts."
"Don't count on it, sir," Blair said. "I've been going over the
incoming survey reports. While we haven't seen much in open space, there
were indications of tremendous shuttle traffic over the base on One, and a
fair number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they would
leave all that unprotected, do you?"
Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't. A big fleet here. .
. that sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He glanced at Ralgha and
changed the subject. "All the more reason, though, to hope we can get the
hell out of here without running into too much opposition. And if we do . .
. we try to shake them as best we can and still make jump."
"Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you
have any special orders for us, sir?"
"I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead of us when we
approach the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited, I
want an idea of what's waiting for us before we blunder into the middle of