Blair slapped the red switch that issued the magnum launch alert. A new alarm shrilled, followed by the computer's public address announcement. "LAUNCH STATIONS! LAUNCH STATIONS! ALL FLIGHT WING PERSONNEL TO LAUNCH STATIONS MAGNUM LAUNCH!"
The carrier had opened up a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling her way through the asteroid field with weapons blazing to clear away any chunk of rock big enough to pose a threat to the ship. The Imperial vessels were more cautious, keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly after Victory as if reluctant to commit themselves to an attack. Perhaps they had learned to respect the Terrans in earlier clashes . . . or perhaps they simply regarded it as triumph enough to drive the ship away from Delius Station, leaving the Terrans there — including a small contingent of the carrier's crew still on liberty — completely at the mercy of the Kilrathi task force.
Blair was starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine attack, but the threat remained. They wouldn't be able to relax their guard until they made the jump to Tamayo, if then.
"Colonel, sensors are reporting a launch in progress from the lead Kilrathi carrier." Rollins gave him a welcome distraction, however grim his news might be. "It's the flagship . . . Hvar'kann. Looks like you'll be having a party after all. ''
"Acknowledged," Blair said. "Flight wing, from Blair. Begin launch sequence on my mark."
At that moment his comm panel went crazy. The visual display broke up in a kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, and the speakers in his helmet squealed and whined. It took several seconds for the noise to fade and the screen to come back on-line. Blair stared at the monitor, as if it might give him some clue to what had just happened.
A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many times before.
Thrakhath.
The image jumped and jittered again, then returned. Blair studied it thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to ship video transmissions used computers to encode and decode messages, and to provide automatic translations of foreign languages. For the computer to have this much trouble reconstructing whatever message Thrakhath was broadcasting meant the signal content must be massive. Evidently, the Kilrathi were trying to overload Victory's whole comm system and Jam every frequency the Terrans might be using.
Thrakhath's image began to speak as the computers processed their translation of the Kilrathi language. I have heard of your Terran Bible with its predictions that there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth. These the Imperial Race will soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we will scoop out your brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death."
Blair tried to switch to a different comm channel, but Thrakhath's hissing, taunting image remained on the screen. "You will be prime examples to the other races in the galaxy, you clownish baboons. Your race will suffer a thousand torments and more. And do not think that the presence of the Heart of the Tiger among you can make a difference. Colonel Blair will be reduced to a pile of entrails, his bones will be gnawed by our young."
Hearing himself referred to directly made Blair stiffen. It wasn't often that the Kilrathi chose to grant a name to one of their human adversaries . . . and it inevitably meant that the individual they chose to "honor" had become the prime target of a Kilrathi challenge.
"Heart of the Tiger, you shall pay for the blood of every Kilrathi noble you have dispatched in baffle. They shall make songs of your death, of the failure and disgrace you shall know even before your death. Already you have failed, Heart of the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel . . . failed your lair-mate, the one known as Devereaux, the Angel."
Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out, only to be replaced by a new scene. . . .
A scene from hell.
It was a large room, red-lit, dark, with ornate fittings and decorations more suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi in garb Blair recognized as that of the high nobility were gathered in the middle of the open chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and an aged Kilrathi, the Emperor himself, entered. As the Emperor sat on the imposing throne, Blair became aware of movement in the shadows on either side of the two figures. It was difficult to judge exactly what was happening, but when he finally realized what he was witnessing, he wished he had not.
There were Terrans along the wall behind the throne men and women hanging in chains, their Confed-issue flight suits in rags. Bulky Kilrathi guards carrying nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at random, eliciting cries and moans from their victims.
"Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has been thwarted," the Emperor intoned solemnly. "This puny contingent of their soldiers was captured aboard a hijacked Imperial transport in orbit around Kilrah itself."
There was a scattering of calls from the assembled nobles — shock, anger, hatred plain in their voices and bearing. The Emperor silenced them with a curt gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.
"This incursion was an act of desperation," the prince said, showing his fangs. His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind the throne. "Look at these pathetic hairless apes. They have failed their race utterly."
A growling cheer rose from the crowd.
"Do what you will with them," the Emperor said.
Red light glimmered off Thrakhath's fangs. "There will be no interrogation for these pitiful apes . . . and no warrior's death. They are offal, fit only for death." The Prince waved a dismissive hand. "Only one among them is worthy of being treated as a warrior. Their leader . . . the one they call . . . Angel."
Blair wanted to look away as a pair of burly Kilrathi warriors half-pushed, half-dragged a familiar petite figure into the middle of the throne room directly in front of Thrakhath. Like the other Terrans, she had been tortured, her flight suit reduced to tattered ruin, the face that haunted Blair's dreams bruised. There was dried blood on her forehead, a livid welt on one cheek, but she wore her defiance like a shield. Whatever the Kilrathi had done to her, Jeannette Devereaux's spirit remained as fiery and determined as ever.
At the sight of the woman, the Kilrathi nobles grew more agitated. Blair recognized the bloodlust in their eyes, in the way they bared claws and fangs as they jeered the captive. Only the sheer force of Thrakhath's personality held them at bay as he stepped down from the dais to inspect Angel more closely.
"Still defiant, Colonel Devereaux?" the prince asked. "You should know by now it is a pathetic and useless gesture. The hunt has nearly run its course, and your race is prey beneath our claws."
"You bore me, monsieur, she told him, mustering a faint smile. "I would prefer to join my comrades, rather than listen to more of your boasting."
"You will not join them, Colonel," Thrakhath said. "Your fate shall be different."
Angel replied by spitting in his face. There were hisses and jeers from the crowd, a harsh growl from Thrakhath's throat. He turned to address his nobles.
"The human cannot appreciate the honor I bestow upon her. She is not only a great warrior, but her lair-mate is the one known as the Heart of the Tiger." He turned back to her; his eyes narrowed in a deadly stare. The cries of the Kilrathi reached a bloodthirsty crescendo. "You have slain many fine warriors during your career You have earned this honor."
The prince unsheathed his claws. With a single thrust he jabbed them deep into her stomach and lifted her off the ground, high into the air. Blood flowed freely from the wound. The view on the screen caught her face in close-up as the life drained from her eyes. Blair thought he saw a final look of appeal there, as if she was crying out to him for rescue . . . or for vengeance.
Then the prince released her, and her lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Thrakhath's image filled the screen again. "Come, Heart of the Tiger," he said. "I am leading; my warriors into battle today. If you would live up to the honor your lair-mate earned, come and fight. Or be shown for the pathetic coward you are."
Christopher Blair stared at the screen, his mind a whirl of anger and pain and hate. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kill . . .
CHAPTER XXI
"I'm trying, sir," Rollins answered. "But it's not an ordinary transmission. Damn thing's got the whole comm system tied in knots. Hold on a minute . . . I think I can kick in a backup system . . . everybody cross your fingers!"
The communications officer entered a code sequence on his board, and a moment later the Kilrathi message broke up into static. A few seconds later Eisen's screen was back to normal, the green light shining above it indicating the system was ready to use.
"Thank you, Mr. Rollins," Eisen said. "Ensign Dumont, get me an updated sensor reading. What are those bastards doing out there? Oh . . . and Rollins, put me through to Colonel Blair."
"On the line, sir."
Blair's head appeared on the monitor. Even though his flight helmet faceplate hid Blairs features, Eisen thought he looked pale and stricken. There was no mistaking the barely-suppressed snarl in his voice. "Ready to launch, Captain," he said.
"Not so fast, Colonel," Eisen told him. "We're still trying to get a picture of what the cats are doing. The ship s less than fifteen minutes from the jump point, and we might make it yet without having to launch."
"If they've got fighters out, sir, you'll have to put us out there to hold them off," Blair replied. "At least for a little while."
"Look, Colonel . . ." Eisen trailed off. He didn't know what to say to the man, after Thrakhath's message. "Maybe you ought to sit this one out, Blair. Let Hobbes take over."
"No, sir," Blair said curtly.
"Is that the Wing Commander talking . . . or a man who's looking for revenge?"
"Both, sir," Blair answered. He was silent for a moment before going on. "Look, Captain, I won't pretend. . . that bastard got me where I live, using Angel like that. He's trying to goad me into doing something stupid. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to oblige him . . . bad. Real bad. But in this case, playing along with his little game is our best option. As long as Thrakhath figures I'm going to take him up on his challenge, the rest of his fighters will hold back. Nobody's going to get into the middle of the Crown Prince's blood feud."
"I don't like it," Eisen said. "I've never thought this Thrakhath was very well-equipped in the honor department, however much the cats make of it. What do you say, Colonel Ralgha? You know more about the Prince than any of us."
Hobbes was slow to answer, and when he did his voice sounded blurred, distant. "I could not . . . say for sure. The message was intended to . . . provoke a response. But the challenge could well be legitimate. If Colonel Blair has been honored with his own warrior's name then the Prince must consider him to be important somehow."
Blair's voice betrayed a sudden concern. "You all right, buddy? What's wrong?"
"A . . . headache," Hobbes said slowly. "Some of the higher-pitched harmonics in the message were . . . grating. "He paused. "And, of course, I mourn for Colonel Devereaux. She was a brave warrior. And a friend."
"That she was," Blair said. "Captain, what about it? Do we get out there and buy you some time?"
"I don't like it, Blair. But I don't have a whole lot of options." Eisen paused as the Sensor Officer displayed new data on the main bridge monitor. "We definitely have a launch in progress from the Kilrathi flagship. So far they're still forming up. No way to tell if they plan to press something, or if they're just threatening. Looks like . . . at least a squadron already. More likely two, if they're still launching."
"Then we'd better get out there," Blair said. He cut the connection without awaiting a reply.
Eisen leaned forward in his chair. "God go with you, Colonel," he said softly.
Thrakhath paused halfway up the ladder to the cockpit of his Bloodfang and turned to glare his contempt down on Melek. "I have issued the challenge. Would you have me hold back now, in front of our warriors?"
"No, Lord Prince. . ." Melek trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "But if something was to happen to you now, with triumph so close under our talons, we would lose everything we have worked to achieve. The personal challenge was a risk you did not need to take. Others would have willingly taken on the Heart of the Tiger for you."
"No! We want to cut this ape out of his troop, and for that he must be goaded beyond all reason. I killed his lair-mate. He will not turn back from the chance to kill me in return. And then . . . we have him."
"He is a skilled pilot, Lord Prince," Melek warned.
"I know it well." Thrakhath showed his fangs. "I am not a fool, Melek. Honor requires me to be present for the challenge, but it doesn't require me to sacrifice myself. My escorts will intervene if the need arises. But the important thing is to eliminate this Colonel Blair now so that he does not stand in the way of our plans for the Behemoth Go now. You command in my absence. Let the hunt begin!"
"Thunderbolt three-zero-zero, under power," he reported. "Gold Squadron deployed and ready."
"You sure we shouldn't; let Whittaker's boys and girls give you a hand out there, Colonel?" The duty Flight Control Officer, Lieutenant Rashad, sounded worried.
"Keep them on stand-by, Lieutenant," Blair said. "I'll let you know if we need them."
It was the same problem encountered at Ariel. With the carrier heading for the jump point, too many fighters in space would only complicate their escape. Blair overruled the original call for a magnum launch, preferring to put out the eight fighters of Gold Squadron and hold the others in reserve in case they were needed. But he didn't intend to need them, not today. All the Terrans needed to do at the moment was keep the Kilrathi distracted until the carrier was ready to jump.
So far, the cats were cooperating quite nicely. Their fighters were maintaining a tight formation well out of range of the carrier's guns. None showed any desire to venture close enough to threaten the Terran vessel.
"Eight minutes," Rollins' voice informed them.
"What are they waiting for?" Flash complained.
"Maybe they're scared of you, kid," Maniac responded.
"Cut the chatter, people," Blair growled. He was feeling as impatient as Dillon. If only Thrakhath would put his fighter in Blair's crosshairs . . .
"Does the Heart of the Tiger hide among the other apes?" Thrakhath's mocking voice filled his helmet speakers. "And under the guns of his ship? The challenge was to meet in personal combat."
On his screens, he saw a Vaktoth accelerate away from the other Kilrathi ships, but it stayed well clear of Victory. For a moment Blair toyed with the idea of ordering the squadron to attack, but he knew the Kilrathi would he on their guard against such a move. The name of the game, for now at least, was to keep from letting a full-scale battle develop for as long as possible.
Thrakhath must have realized the same thing, for a few seconds later a pair of Vaktoth broke formation followed by two more. These streaked toward the carrier. Gold Squadron lay directly in their path.
"Here they come!" Cobra called. "Permission to engage?"
"Let them come to us," Blair ordered Wingmen, stick close to your partners."
The first two Vaktoth drove into the center of the Terran formation then rolled outward, opening fire with guns and missiles. Cobra and her wingman, Vaquero, went after the first one, while Maniac and Vagabond engaged the second. Blair watched the second pair of fighters and felt his pulse race. "Hobbes, you and Flash take the one on the left," he said. "Flint and I'll take the other guy."
"Understood," was Ralgha's reply. He still sounded distracted. Flash gave a whoop and kicked in his afterburners, racing to meet the oncoming fighter.
Blair couldn't spend any more time worrying about the others. The fourth Vaktoth was almost on them, concentrating fire against Flint's Thunderbolt. Blair turned sharply and accelerated, opening fire with his blasters, while Flint banked sharply left to try to keep her weakened port-side shields from taking any more damage.
The Vaktoth pilot was good. He maintained his fire on Flint, randomly altering vectors to dodge most of Blair's fire while he kept up the pressure on his original target. Blair gave a curse and locked a heat-seeker on the Vaktoth's tail, then followed the missile with his blasters, pouring out all the power his weapons system could muster. The shield collapsed, and blaster fire tore into the armor until the power cut out, recharging.
His opponent seemed to realize then that Blair represented too great a threat to ignore any longer. He started turning away from Flint to bring his weapons to bear and to cover his exposed rear, but as he turned, Flint took the opening without hesitation. Her blasters continued where Blair's ended, and a moment later the Vaktoth exploded in a thousand whirling fragments.
"Nice shooting, Lieutenant," Blair called. "Good to have you back on my wing."
"Its where I belong Colonel," she replied.
"Somebody get this bastard off me! Hobbes! Colonel!" Flash's voice was hoarse with panic. "I can't shake him!"
On his scanner, Blair saw Flash trying to break away from the Vaktoth he challenged, but the enemy pilot was right on his tail. Hobbes was closing in, but slowly, cautiously, as if the Kilrathi renegade was afraid of getting too close to the dogfighting pair. Blair banked the Thunderbolt, increasing his speed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to reach Flash in time to do any good.
Hobbes took up a position behind the enemy fighter and opened fire, but his first shots went wild. The Vaktoth unleashed another attack. This time a deadly hail of energy bolts and missiles rained on Flash's ship as the young pilot tried to turn out of the Vaktoth's line of fire.
He was too late. Blair heard him scream as a fireball consumed his craft.
Once again Hobbes fired, but this time his opponent rolled sideways and accelerated back toward the rest of the Kilrathi formation. More Vaktoth were on their way.
"Five minutes to Jump Sequence start," Rollins announced. "Captain wants to know if we should launch additional fighters?"
"Negative," Blair grated. His sensors showed that the other two Vaktoth from the first flight had both been destroyed. The Terran fighters were regrouping again, ready to meet the next threat. "Hobbes, without a wingman you'll be a sitting duck. Retreat to the carrier and land."
"I should remain, my friend."
For a moment Blair considered having the Kilrathi switch positions with one of the other pilots, someone less steady, less reliable. Flint, or Vaquero, or perhaps Maniac. But the way Hobbes had been handling himself today, he was no more reliable than any of them. Even Marshall seemed to have himself under control, but Ralgha was plainly off his game. And Flash had paid the price. "No, Hobbes. Pack it in. That's an order."
"As you command." Ralgha's Thunderbolt broke away and headed toward the carrier. Now there were only six Terran fighters to face the next wave of Kilrathi.
This time four Imperial craft came at once, holding a tight formation all the way. Blair waited until they were just outside of weapons range before ordering Gold Squadron to turn from the oncoming Vaktoth and go to afterburners. The Kilrathi gave chase.
"Maintain course," Blair said quietly. It was almost a mantra. "Maintain course . . . Break! Break and attack! Victory, pour it on!"
The Terran fighters split up, each pair of wingmen peeling off in a different direction and looping back toward the pursuing Kilrathi. At the same time, Victory's defensive batteries opened fire, filling the void with searing bursts of raw energy. A pair of hits took out one of the enemy ships in the blink of an eye, and another suffered heavy damage as it tried to dodge the carrier's beams and pursue Cobra. Vaquero, on her wing, finished the attacker off with a well-placed missile.
Maniac dove straight towards his target, all guns blazing, passing bare meters away from his opponent before the Kilrathi pilot could even react. Slowly, carefully, Vagabond trailed him, and his blasters exploited the weakened shields to burn through the fighter's cockpit and kill the pilot. The Vaktoth plunged on, uncontrolled, until Victory destroyed it a few seconds later.
Meanwhile, Flint and Blair split and circled the last Imperial fighter from opposite sides, hammering the hull with blasters as they sped past. As a parting shot, Blair dropped a fire-and-forget missile. It hit the Vaktoth's starboard wing moments later. The explosion didn't destroy the enemy craft, but it was visibly damaged as it turned and ran, trailing debris and leaking atmosphere. Maniac caught the fighter as it tried to flee and finished it with a few well-placed blaster shots.
"Three minutes," Rollins said.
Blair studied his scanners. The Kilrathi fighters were still out there, but the countdown was getting close enough that he had to start thinking about getting the rest of the squadron on board. Anyway, the Imperial ships wouldn't be inclined to cut things too fine by staging an attack now. The energy discharge of a carrier going into jump could do terrible damage to fighters close enough to be caught by the creation of the Transition Field.
"Take them in, people," he ordered "Maniac, Vagabond, you two first. Don't miss the first approach. You might not get another one. Cobra and Vaquero, you go as soon as they're clear. Flint, you're with me."
No one argued, though he thought he heard Maniac muttering a protest. The first two Thunderbolts peeled off and headed back for the carrier; the second two followed, but more slowly, to give Marshall and Chang time to set down and clear the flight deck. Time passed with agonizing slowness, with no further moves from the Kilrathi. But Blair was tense. He was sure Thrakhath wouldn't let them leave without some kind of final shot.
"Two minutes," Rollins announced at length. "Maniac and Vagabond are aboard. Vaquero's in the beam now."
"You're up, Flint," he said. "Take her inside."
"Don't be slow following me, Colonel," she responded. "I'm getting too used to flying on your wing."
She left him, and Blair started a quick checklist for his own approach and landing. It was starting to look like Thrakhath wasn't planning a last push after all . . .
"Jump Sequence start in ninety seconds," Rollins said. "Better bring her in now, Colonel."
As he started to turn, Thrakhath's voice boomed loud in his speakers. "So, I was right, ape. In the end you do run. You did not meet my challenge. . . Even your lair-mate showed more courage, facing death."
"Seventy-five seconds, Colonel."
Blair tried to shut Thrakhath's words out of his mind, but the Kilrathi's mocking voice went on. "We misnamed you, perhaps, in calling you the Heart of the Tiger. You are weak. . . a coward. . . a failure. Not worthy of your lair-mate at all." The Kilrathi's voice took on a harsher edge now. "I enjoyed the feel of her blood running over my hands, Terran. As I enjoyed the taste of her flesh, in the victory feast."
The words hammered at him on a level below conscious thought, and blind rage threatened to claim him. The carrier was looming large ahead of his fighter, but Blair hardly saw it through the red haze that clouded his eyes. He wanted to turn around, accept the Kilrathi's challenge, batter through Thrakhath's defenses and silence his taunts once and for all. That thing, that animal, had killed Angel and served her up at one of the barbaric Kilrathi ritual feasts.
"Almost in the beams, Colonel." Rollins said. "Keep her steady . . . steady . . . Reduce your speed! If you don't cut your speed you'll overshoot!"
"For Gods sake, skipper, don't let him get to you!" That was Flint's voice. "If you take his challenge, you're stuck out there! Thrakhath'll wait . . . you'll get another chance at him!"
The words penetrated his fog, and Blair killed his forward momentum with a hard braking thrust, like a kick from a horse. Almost sobbing, he stabbed at the landing gear controls as the beams took hold. Slowly gently, the fighter dropped toward the deck and touched down.
He hardly noticed as the fighter was drawn into the hangar area. A pair of spacesuited figures released his cockpit, urging him to get out even before gravity or pressure were restored, and Blair neither helped nor resisted them. They guided him across the open space in long, low-G bounds. Pressure was restored as they reached the door, and one of them-Blair vaguely realized it was Flint, still clad in flight suit and combat helmet — helped him remove his own helmet as they guided him into the corridor. His other helper fumbled with helmet releases and finally freed the bulky headgear. It was Rachel Coriolis.
"JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED, the computer announced blandly. ONE MINUTE TO JUMP."
"You gave us a scare, skipper," Rachel said. "Thought you were gonna pull a bolter and miss the landing."
"I should have," Blair said. "I should have stayed out there and nailed that damned furball."
"That's exactly what he wanted," Flint told him. "If you had let him draw you into a fight, you'd never have made it back before we jumped. I thought you were the one who never let it get to you? Isn't that what you said when you were chewing me out?"
He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Maybe so. And maybe I was wrong when I said it." Blair looked away. "I guess I'll never know, now.
Blair brushed away their offered help as the elevator doors opened and he stepped into the cab. They followed, but he ignored them both, staring rigidly ahead at the keypad controls, unwilling to talk. Inside he felt drained, empty of everything except the knowledge that he had failed.
The knowledge that Angel remained unavenged.
"Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has jumped. The captain of the Toor'vaas reports that the asteroid base has been breached, and Assault Marines are penetrating the station. There is no sign of further resistance anywhere."
Thrakhath gave him a dismissive gesture. "I expected none," he said, not bothering to hide the angry growl in his voice. "See to it there are no apes left alive once their base has been secured."
"But, Lord Prince, there will be many suitable slaves there." Melek looked shocked. "Surely you would not deny the Clans their right to take back captives —"
"No survivors, I said!" Thrakhath snapped.
Melek stepped back as if physically stricken. "As you wish, Lord Prince," he said, bowing again.
"We have been at war with these apes for more than a generation, Melek. But I still cannot understand them. How could any sentient creature, however lacking in honor, fail to respond to a chance for vengeance?" Thrakhath studied his retainer for a long moment. "You are sure that this Blair was truly lair-mate to the one we killed?"
"Intelligence reports claimed so, Lord Prince. Based on many interrogations of captured human pilots. The knowledge was evidently widely known in their warrior community."
Thrakhath took a moment to chain his anger and speak calmly, as befitted a Prince. "Clearly the animal humans are even less civilized than we thought. They do not even respect their lair-mates enough to fight for them." He paused. "But even if the Heart of the Tiger survives, the rest of the plan shall move forward. He cannot deflect the fate that pursues the Terrans now.
"Yes, Lord Prince."
"Order a carrier to follow the Terran ship, but wait until it has had time to get well clear of the jump point before sending it Sar'hrai would be a good choice. Give his new captain a chance to prove his worth. They are to mount a close surveillance on the enemy carrier, using stealth craft. When our agent makes his move, we must be ready." Thrakhath showed his fangs for a moment. "Our claws are at their throats, Melek. They will not escape the hunt."
CHAPTER XXII
Christopher Blair slowly stepped forward to the temporary podium. He never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.
"Major Jace Dillon was a reluctant warrior in the Confederation's battle against the Empire," Blair said slowly. He raised his eyes to study the front ranks, especially the pilots of Gold Squadron. For a fleeting moment he wondered what Ralgha was thinking. Did the Kilrathi renegade regret letting the young Terran pilot down in that last battle? Hobbes had certainly been withdrawn ever since. It was a feeling Blair understood entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the going got tough. He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor and courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."
As he stepped back to allow the chaplain to advance and carry on with the funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He wished he could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of place here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin accelerated out of the hangar deck, or as the honor guard fired their low-powered volleys. And when he bowed his head to offer up a prayer, it was Angel Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.
A shadow fell across the table, and he looked into the knowing eyes of Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on the table beside him. "You look like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.
He poured a shot and drank, wincing a little at the bite of the cheap liquor in his mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid.
"Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the right buttons to push."
Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at Rachel.
"I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"
Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."
She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those things just postpone the inevitable."
"I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it like that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ."
"Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out on the cats — look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."
He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about, . . I hope you're not thinking. . . ."
Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say . . . Let's just say you're a man I could care about . . . if there was nothing else holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no matter what."
"I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends, my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."
"Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of . . . a friend."
Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"
Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron, all chuckled. Ralgha. sitting in the corner of the office away from the others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling boredom.
"Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?"
No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes was the last to leave and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."
Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled.
"Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ."
"I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human couldn't easily fathom. "We have been friends for many years, you and I. Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your pain over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now."
"Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"
The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans . . . have rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I . . . regret her passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.
"If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid."
The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will see, before the end."
"I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."
Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it. Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.
"What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the desk and resuming his own seat.
"Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's broadcast, before the battle at Delius."
Blair frowned. "What about it?"
"We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you, and then . . . well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op. They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up."
"Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with everything blazing while we were still at Delius station they could've had Victory for breakfast . . . and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?"
"It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.
"The question is, why?"
Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was something . . . familiar about that transmission."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar. It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."
"Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. "Rollins, can you shed any light on it?"
"Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much. Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . . if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. . . all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."
Cobra bit her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know what you told me about accusations. About wanting proof. . . and I don't have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me in the brig over it. I think there could have been some kind of hidden signal in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent."
"You're talking about Hobbes, of course," Blair said, frowning. "Lieutenant . . ."
"I didn't say it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra said. "But we know the cats have agents in the Confederation."
Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I think you should hear her out on this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard."
"Like how they keep throwing us softballs in tight corners," Buckley amplified. "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if you think about it. They could make jump points disappear, but the second one stayed open for us. And it wasn't defended, either."
Blair looked from one to the other. "It still isn't proof of anything except the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last. "You know where I stand. I don't like having accusations leveled at Hobbes, and all you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked down at his desk. "It's a very serious charge to make . . ."
"Hell, Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean, he's a Kilrathi, and you know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't prove anything." She Laughed, a short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi spy. You love the cats . . . a cat, at least, and you were in command when things went sour at Locanda Four. All I'm saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit. I think we have to consider it."
"All right, Lieutenant. I'll consider it." Blair leaned back in his chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves. Have you talked with anyone else?"
"No, sir. ' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but Cobra wanted to come to you first."
"I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this thing, sir," she amplified.
"Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"
"Yes, sir," Rollins said.
Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.
"All right. Dismissed, then."
They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round them up, if you please."
"Yes, sir," he responded.
Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much stock do you put in all this?"
"Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."
"How much of this is your idea?"
Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all this, Colonel?"
Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together, Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about him now."
"She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."
"True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one he could talk to, under these circumstances. "There's another possibility I can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any of that from your sources?"
"Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe, but nothing solid."
"I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got through debriefing so they were 'rescued' and brought back to Terran space."
* * *
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Delius System
Blair checked his instruments for what seemed like the hundredth time, knowing that nothing had changed yet feeling compelled to do something. Every one of Victory's fighters was crewed and ready, even a pair that the technical staff had down checked as unreliable. Now they were waiting, and that was an agony worse than any combat situation.The carrier had opened up a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling her way through the asteroid field with weapons blazing to clear away any chunk of rock big enough to pose a threat to the ship. The Imperial vessels were more cautious, keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly after Victory as if reluctant to commit themselves to an attack. Perhaps they had learned to respect the Terrans in earlier clashes . . . or perhaps they simply regarded it as triumph enough to drive the ship away from Delius Station, leaving the Terrans there — including a small contingent of the carrier's crew still on liberty — completely at the mercy of the Kilrathi task force.
Blair was starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine attack, but the threat remained. They wouldn't be able to relax their guard until they made the jump to Tamayo, if then.
"Colonel, sensors are reporting a launch in progress from the lead Kilrathi carrier." Rollins gave him a welcome distraction, however grim his news might be. "It's the flagship . . . Hvar'kann. Looks like you'll be having a party after all. ''
"Acknowledged," Blair said. "Flight wing, from Blair. Begin launch sequence on my mark."
At that moment his comm panel went crazy. The visual display broke up in a kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, and the speakers in his helmet squealed and whined. It took several seconds for the noise to fade and the screen to come back on-line. Blair stared at the monitor, as if it might give him some clue to what had just happened.
A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many times before.
Thrakhath.
The image jumped and jittered again, then returned. Blair studied it thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to ship video transmissions used computers to encode and decode messages, and to provide automatic translations of foreign languages. For the computer to have this much trouble reconstructing whatever message Thrakhath was broadcasting meant the signal content must be massive. Evidently, the Kilrathi were trying to overload Victory's whole comm system and Jam every frequency the Terrans might be using.
Thrakhath's image began to speak as the computers processed their translation of the Kilrathi language. I have heard of your Terran Bible with its predictions that there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth. These the Imperial Race will soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we will scoop out your brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death."
Blair tried to switch to a different comm channel, but Thrakhath's hissing, taunting image remained on the screen. "You will be prime examples to the other races in the galaxy, you clownish baboons. Your race will suffer a thousand torments and more. And do not think that the presence of the Heart of the Tiger among you can make a difference. Colonel Blair will be reduced to a pile of entrails, his bones will be gnawed by our young."
Hearing himself referred to directly made Blair stiffen. It wasn't often that the Kilrathi chose to grant a name to one of their human adversaries . . . and it inevitably meant that the individual they chose to "honor" had become the prime target of a Kilrathi challenge.
"Heart of the Tiger, you shall pay for the blood of every Kilrathi noble you have dispatched in baffle. They shall make songs of your death, of the failure and disgrace you shall know even before your death. Already you have failed, Heart of the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel . . . failed your lair-mate, the one known as Devereaux, the Angel."
Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out, only to be replaced by a new scene. . . .
A scene from hell.
It was a large room, red-lit, dark, with ornate fittings and decorations more suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi in garb Blair recognized as that of the high nobility were gathered in the middle of the open chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and an aged Kilrathi, the Emperor himself, entered. As the Emperor sat on the imposing throne, Blair became aware of movement in the shadows on either side of the two figures. It was difficult to judge exactly what was happening, but when he finally realized what he was witnessing, he wished he had not.
There were Terrans along the wall behind the throne men and women hanging in chains, their Confed-issue flight suits in rags. Bulky Kilrathi guards carrying nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at random, eliciting cries and moans from their victims.
"Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has been thwarted," the Emperor intoned solemnly. "This puny contingent of their soldiers was captured aboard a hijacked Imperial transport in orbit around Kilrah itself."
There was a scattering of calls from the assembled nobles — shock, anger, hatred plain in their voices and bearing. The Emperor silenced them with a curt gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.
"This incursion was an act of desperation," the prince said, showing his fangs. His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind the throne. "Look at these pathetic hairless apes. They have failed their race utterly."
A growling cheer rose from the crowd.
"Do what you will with them," the Emperor said.
Red light glimmered off Thrakhath's fangs. "There will be no interrogation for these pitiful apes . . . and no warrior's death. They are offal, fit only for death." The Prince waved a dismissive hand. "Only one among them is worthy of being treated as a warrior. Their leader . . . the one they call . . . Angel."
Blair wanted to look away as a pair of burly Kilrathi warriors half-pushed, half-dragged a familiar petite figure into the middle of the throne room directly in front of Thrakhath. Like the other Terrans, she had been tortured, her flight suit reduced to tattered ruin, the face that haunted Blair's dreams bruised. There was dried blood on her forehead, a livid welt on one cheek, but she wore her defiance like a shield. Whatever the Kilrathi had done to her, Jeannette Devereaux's spirit remained as fiery and determined as ever.
At the sight of the woman, the Kilrathi nobles grew more agitated. Blair recognized the bloodlust in their eyes, in the way they bared claws and fangs as they jeered the captive. Only the sheer force of Thrakhath's personality held them at bay as he stepped down from the dais to inspect Angel more closely.
"Still defiant, Colonel Devereaux?" the prince asked. "You should know by now it is a pathetic and useless gesture. The hunt has nearly run its course, and your race is prey beneath our claws."
"You bore me, monsieur, she told him, mustering a faint smile. "I would prefer to join my comrades, rather than listen to more of your boasting."
"You will not join them, Colonel," Thrakhath said. "Your fate shall be different."
Angel replied by spitting in his face. There were hisses and jeers from the crowd, a harsh growl from Thrakhath's throat. He turned to address his nobles.
"The human cannot appreciate the honor I bestow upon her. She is not only a great warrior, but her lair-mate is the one known as the Heart of the Tiger." He turned back to her; his eyes narrowed in a deadly stare. The cries of the Kilrathi reached a bloodthirsty crescendo. "You have slain many fine warriors during your career You have earned this honor."
The prince unsheathed his claws. With a single thrust he jabbed them deep into her stomach and lifted her off the ground, high into the air. Blood flowed freely from the wound. The view on the screen caught her face in close-up as the life drained from her eyes. Blair thought he saw a final look of appeal there, as if she was crying out to him for rescue . . . or for vengeance.
Then the prince released her, and her lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Thrakhath's image filled the screen again. "Come, Heart of the Tiger," he said. "I am leading; my warriors into battle today. If you would live up to the honor your lair-mate earned, come and fight. Or be shown for the pathetic coward you are."
Christopher Blair stared at the screen, his mind a whirl of anger and pain and hate. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kill . . .
CHAPTER XXI
Bridge, TCS Victory.
Delius System
"Can't you shut the damned thing off, Lieutenant?" Eisen demanded. On his communications screen, Thrakhath's feral features continued to glare hatred and challenge. The message was starting all over again."I'm trying, sir," Rollins answered. "But it's not an ordinary transmission. Damn thing's got the whole comm system tied in knots. Hold on a minute . . . I think I can kick in a backup system . . . everybody cross your fingers!"
The communications officer entered a code sequence on his board, and a moment later the Kilrathi message broke up into static. A few seconds later Eisen's screen was back to normal, the green light shining above it indicating the system was ready to use.
"Thank you, Mr. Rollins," Eisen said. "Ensign Dumont, get me an updated sensor reading. What are those bastards doing out there? Oh . . . and Rollins, put me through to Colonel Blair."
"On the line, sir."
Blair's head appeared on the monitor. Even though his flight helmet faceplate hid Blairs features, Eisen thought he looked pale and stricken. There was no mistaking the barely-suppressed snarl in his voice. "Ready to launch, Captain," he said.
"Not so fast, Colonel," Eisen told him. "We're still trying to get a picture of what the cats are doing. The ship s less than fifteen minutes from the jump point, and we might make it yet without having to launch."
"If they've got fighters out, sir, you'll have to put us out there to hold them off," Blair replied. "At least for a little while."
"Look, Colonel . . ." Eisen trailed off. He didn't know what to say to the man, after Thrakhath's message. "Maybe you ought to sit this one out, Blair. Let Hobbes take over."
"No, sir," Blair said curtly.
"Is that the Wing Commander talking . . . or a man who's looking for revenge?"
"Both, sir," Blair answered. He was silent for a moment before going on. "Look, Captain, I won't pretend. . . that bastard got me where I live, using Angel like that. He's trying to goad me into doing something stupid. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to oblige him . . . bad. Real bad. But in this case, playing along with his little game is our best option. As long as Thrakhath figures I'm going to take him up on his challenge, the rest of his fighters will hold back. Nobody's going to get into the middle of the Crown Prince's blood feud."
"I don't like it," Eisen said. "I've never thought this Thrakhath was very well-equipped in the honor department, however much the cats make of it. What do you say, Colonel Ralgha? You know more about the Prince than any of us."
Hobbes was slow to answer, and when he did his voice sounded blurred, distant. "I could not . . . say for sure. The message was intended to . . . provoke a response. But the challenge could well be legitimate. If Colonel Blair has been honored with his own warrior's name then the Prince must consider him to be important somehow."
Blair's voice betrayed a sudden concern. "You all right, buddy? What's wrong?"
"A . . . headache," Hobbes said slowly. "Some of the higher-pitched harmonics in the message were . . . grating. "He paused. "And, of course, I mourn for Colonel Devereaux. She was a brave warrior. And a friend."
"That she was," Blair said. "Captain, what about it? Do we get out there and buy you some time?"
"I don't like it, Blair. But I don't have a whole lot of options." Eisen paused as the Sensor Officer displayed new data on the main bridge monitor. "We definitely have a launch in progress from the Kilrathi flagship. So far they're still forming up. No way to tell if they plan to press something, or if they're just threatening. Looks like . . . at least a squadron already. More likely two, if they're still launching."
"Then we'd better get out there," Blair said. He cut the connection without awaiting a reply.
Eisen leaned forward in his chair. "God go with you, Colonel," he said softly.
* * *
Flight Deck, KIS Hvar'kann.
Delius System
"Lord Prince, surely you do not need to take personal command today. The cockpit of a fighter is no place for the Imperial Heir when the battle is so insignificant."Thrakhath paused halfway up the ladder to the cockpit of his Bloodfang and turned to glare his contempt down on Melek. "I have issued the challenge. Would you have me hold back now, in front of our warriors?"
"No, Lord Prince. . ." Melek trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "But if something was to happen to you now, with triumph so close under our talons, we would lose everything we have worked to achieve. The personal challenge was a risk you did not need to take. Others would have willingly taken on the Heart of the Tiger for you."
"No! We want to cut this ape out of his troop, and for that he must be goaded beyond all reason. I killed his lair-mate. He will not turn back from the chance to kill me in return. And then . . . we have him."
"He is a skilled pilot, Lord Prince," Melek warned.
"I know it well." Thrakhath showed his fangs. "I am not a fool, Melek. Honor requires me to be present for the challenge, but it doesn't require me to sacrifice myself. My escorts will intervene if the need arises. But the important thing is to eliminate this Colonel Blair now so that he does not stand in the way of our plans for the Behemoth Go now. You command in my absence. Let the hunt begin!"
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Delius System
Blair's fighter leapt from the end of the launch tube into the void, building thrust as he steered toward the rest of Gold Squadron assembling beyond the stern of the Victory. It required all of his will to stay focused on his instruments, the sensor screen, and the battle ahead. He couldn't afford to let himself dwell on Angel."Thunderbolt three-zero-zero, under power," he reported. "Gold Squadron deployed and ready."
"You sure we shouldn't; let Whittaker's boys and girls give you a hand out there, Colonel?" The duty Flight Control Officer, Lieutenant Rashad, sounded worried.
"Keep them on stand-by, Lieutenant," Blair said. "I'll let you know if we need them."
It was the same problem encountered at Ariel. With the carrier heading for the jump point, too many fighters in space would only complicate their escape. Blair overruled the original call for a magnum launch, preferring to put out the eight fighters of Gold Squadron and hold the others in reserve in case they were needed. But he didn't intend to need them, not today. All the Terrans needed to do at the moment was keep the Kilrathi distracted until the carrier was ready to jump.
So far, the cats were cooperating quite nicely. Their fighters were maintaining a tight formation well out of range of the carrier's guns. None showed any desire to venture close enough to threaten the Terran vessel.
"Eight minutes," Rollins' voice informed them.
"What are they waiting for?" Flash complained.
"Maybe they're scared of you, kid," Maniac responded.
"Cut the chatter, people," Blair growled. He was feeling as impatient as Dillon. If only Thrakhath would put his fighter in Blair's crosshairs . . .
"Does the Heart of the Tiger hide among the other apes?" Thrakhath's mocking voice filled his helmet speakers. "And under the guns of his ship? The challenge was to meet in personal combat."
On his screens, he saw a Vaktoth accelerate away from the other Kilrathi ships, but it stayed well clear of Victory. For a moment Blair toyed with the idea of ordering the squadron to attack, but he knew the Kilrathi would he on their guard against such a move. The name of the game, for now at least, was to keep from letting a full-scale battle develop for as long as possible.
Thrakhath must have realized the same thing, for a few seconds later a pair of Vaktoth broke formation followed by two more. These streaked toward the carrier. Gold Squadron lay directly in their path.
"Here they come!" Cobra called. "Permission to engage?"
"Let them come to us," Blair ordered Wingmen, stick close to your partners."
The first two Vaktoth drove into the center of the Terran formation then rolled outward, opening fire with guns and missiles. Cobra and her wingman, Vaquero, went after the first one, while Maniac and Vagabond engaged the second. Blair watched the second pair of fighters and felt his pulse race. "Hobbes, you and Flash take the one on the left," he said. "Flint and I'll take the other guy."
"Understood," was Ralgha's reply. He still sounded distracted. Flash gave a whoop and kicked in his afterburners, racing to meet the oncoming fighter.
Blair couldn't spend any more time worrying about the others. The fourth Vaktoth was almost on them, concentrating fire against Flint's Thunderbolt. Blair turned sharply and accelerated, opening fire with his blasters, while Flint banked sharply left to try to keep her weakened port-side shields from taking any more damage.
The Vaktoth pilot was good. He maintained his fire on Flint, randomly altering vectors to dodge most of Blair's fire while he kept up the pressure on his original target. Blair gave a curse and locked a heat-seeker on the Vaktoth's tail, then followed the missile with his blasters, pouring out all the power his weapons system could muster. The shield collapsed, and blaster fire tore into the armor until the power cut out, recharging.
His opponent seemed to realize then that Blair represented too great a threat to ignore any longer. He started turning away from Flint to bring his weapons to bear and to cover his exposed rear, but as he turned, Flint took the opening without hesitation. Her blasters continued where Blair's ended, and a moment later the Vaktoth exploded in a thousand whirling fragments.
"Nice shooting, Lieutenant," Blair called. "Good to have you back on my wing."
"Its where I belong Colonel," she replied.
"Somebody get this bastard off me! Hobbes! Colonel!" Flash's voice was hoarse with panic. "I can't shake him!"
On his scanner, Blair saw Flash trying to break away from the Vaktoth he challenged, but the enemy pilot was right on his tail. Hobbes was closing in, but slowly, cautiously, as if the Kilrathi renegade was afraid of getting too close to the dogfighting pair. Blair banked the Thunderbolt, increasing his speed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to reach Flash in time to do any good.
Hobbes took up a position behind the enemy fighter and opened fire, but his first shots went wild. The Vaktoth unleashed another attack. This time a deadly hail of energy bolts and missiles rained on Flash's ship as the young pilot tried to turn out of the Vaktoth's line of fire.
He was too late. Blair heard him scream as a fireball consumed his craft.
Once again Hobbes fired, but this time his opponent rolled sideways and accelerated back toward the rest of the Kilrathi formation. More Vaktoth were on their way.
"Five minutes to Jump Sequence start," Rollins announced. "Captain wants to know if we should launch additional fighters?"
"Negative," Blair grated. His sensors showed that the other two Vaktoth from the first flight had both been destroyed. The Terran fighters were regrouping again, ready to meet the next threat. "Hobbes, without a wingman you'll be a sitting duck. Retreat to the carrier and land."
"I should remain, my friend."
For a moment Blair considered having the Kilrathi switch positions with one of the other pilots, someone less steady, less reliable. Flint, or Vaquero, or perhaps Maniac. But the way Hobbes had been handling himself today, he was no more reliable than any of them. Even Marshall seemed to have himself under control, but Ralgha was plainly off his game. And Flash had paid the price. "No, Hobbes. Pack it in. That's an order."
"As you command." Ralgha's Thunderbolt broke away and headed toward the carrier. Now there were only six Terran fighters to face the next wave of Kilrathi.
This time four Imperial craft came at once, holding a tight formation all the way. Blair waited until they were just outside of weapons range before ordering Gold Squadron to turn from the oncoming Vaktoth and go to afterburners. The Kilrathi gave chase.
"Maintain course," Blair said quietly. It was almost a mantra. "Maintain course . . . Break! Break and attack! Victory, pour it on!"
The Terran fighters split up, each pair of wingmen peeling off in a different direction and looping back toward the pursuing Kilrathi. At the same time, Victory's defensive batteries opened fire, filling the void with searing bursts of raw energy. A pair of hits took out one of the enemy ships in the blink of an eye, and another suffered heavy damage as it tried to dodge the carrier's beams and pursue Cobra. Vaquero, on her wing, finished the attacker off with a well-placed missile.
Maniac dove straight towards his target, all guns blazing, passing bare meters away from his opponent before the Kilrathi pilot could even react. Slowly, carefully, Vagabond trailed him, and his blasters exploited the weakened shields to burn through the fighter's cockpit and kill the pilot. The Vaktoth plunged on, uncontrolled, until Victory destroyed it a few seconds later.
Meanwhile, Flint and Blair split and circled the last Imperial fighter from opposite sides, hammering the hull with blasters as they sped past. As a parting shot, Blair dropped a fire-and-forget missile. It hit the Vaktoth's starboard wing moments later. The explosion didn't destroy the enemy craft, but it was visibly damaged as it turned and ran, trailing debris and leaking atmosphere. Maniac caught the fighter as it tried to flee and finished it with a few well-placed blaster shots.
"Three minutes," Rollins said.
Blair studied his scanners. The Kilrathi fighters were still out there, but the countdown was getting close enough that he had to start thinking about getting the rest of the squadron on board. Anyway, the Imperial ships wouldn't be inclined to cut things too fine by staging an attack now. The energy discharge of a carrier going into jump could do terrible damage to fighters close enough to be caught by the creation of the Transition Field.
"Take them in, people," he ordered "Maniac, Vagabond, you two first. Don't miss the first approach. You might not get another one. Cobra and Vaquero, you go as soon as they're clear. Flint, you're with me."
No one argued, though he thought he heard Maniac muttering a protest. The first two Thunderbolts peeled off and headed back for the carrier; the second two followed, but more slowly, to give Marshall and Chang time to set down and clear the flight deck. Time passed with agonizing slowness, with no further moves from the Kilrathi. But Blair was tense. He was sure Thrakhath wouldn't let them leave without some kind of final shot.
"Two minutes," Rollins announced at length. "Maniac and Vagabond are aboard. Vaquero's in the beam now."
"You're up, Flint," he said. "Take her inside."
"Don't be slow following me, Colonel," she responded. "I'm getting too used to flying on your wing."
She left him, and Blair started a quick checklist for his own approach and landing. It was starting to look like Thrakhath wasn't planning a last push after all . . .
"Jump Sequence start in ninety seconds," Rollins said. "Better bring her in now, Colonel."
As he started to turn, Thrakhath's voice boomed loud in his speakers. "So, I was right, ape. In the end you do run. You did not meet my challenge. . . Even your lair-mate showed more courage, facing death."
"Seventy-five seconds, Colonel."
Blair tried to shut Thrakhath's words out of his mind, but the Kilrathi's mocking voice went on. "We misnamed you, perhaps, in calling you the Heart of the Tiger. You are weak. . . a coward. . . a failure. Not worthy of your lair-mate at all." The Kilrathi's voice took on a harsher edge now. "I enjoyed the feel of her blood running over my hands, Terran. As I enjoyed the taste of her flesh, in the victory feast."
The words hammered at him on a level below conscious thought, and blind rage threatened to claim him. The carrier was looming large ahead of his fighter, but Blair hardly saw it through the red haze that clouded his eyes. He wanted to turn around, accept the Kilrathi's challenge, batter through Thrakhath's defenses and silence his taunts once and for all. That thing, that animal, had killed Angel and served her up at one of the barbaric Kilrathi ritual feasts.
"Almost in the beams, Colonel." Rollins said. "Keep her steady . . . steady . . . Reduce your speed! If you don't cut your speed you'll overshoot!"
"For Gods sake, skipper, don't let him get to you!" That was Flint's voice. "If you take his challenge, you're stuck out there! Thrakhath'll wait . . . you'll get another chance at him!"
The words penetrated his fog, and Blair killed his forward momentum with a hard braking thrust, like a kick from a horse. Almost sobbing, he stabbed at the landing gear controls as the beams took hold. Slowly gently, the fighter dropped toward the deck and touched down.
He hardly noticed as the fighter was drawn into the hangar area. A pair of spacesuited figures released his cockpit, urging him to get out even before gravity or pressure were restored, and Blair neither helped nor resisted them. They guided him across the open space in long, low-G bounds. Pressure was restored as they reached the door, and one of them-Blair vaguely realized it was Flint, still clad in flight suit and combat helmet — helped him remove his own helmet as they guided him into the corridor. His other helper fumbled with helmet releases and finally freed the bulky headgear. It was Rachel Coriolis.
"JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED, the computer announced blandly. ONE MINUTE TO JUMP."
"You gave us a scare, skipper," Rachel said. "Thought you were gonna pull a bolter and miss the landing."
"I should have," Blair said. "I should have stayed out there and nailed that damned furball."
"That's exactly what he wanted," Flint told him. "If you had let him draw you into a fight, you'd never have made it back before we jumped. I thought you were the one who never let it get to you? Isn't that what you said when you were chewing me out?"
He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Maybe so. And maybe I was wrong when I said it." Blair looked away. "I guess I'll never know, now.
Blair brushed away their offered help as the elevator doors opened and he stepped into the cab. They followed, but he ignored them both, staring rigidly ahead at the keypad controls, unwilling to talk. Inside he felt drained, empty of everything except the knowledge that he had failed.
The knowledge that Angel remained unavenged.
* * *
Flight Deck, KIS Hvar'kann.
Delius System
An honor guard greeted Thrakhath as he disembarked from his fighter, but he ignored them all in his anger. He glared as Melek approached, bowing."Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has jumped. The captain of the Toor'vaas reports that the asteroid base has been breached, and Assault Marines are penetrating the station. There is no sign of further resistance anywhere."
Thrakhath gave him a dismissive gesture. "I expected none," he said, not bothering to hide the angry growl in his voice. "See to it there are no apes left alive once their base has been secured."
"But, Lord Prince, there will be many suitable slaves there." Melek looked shocked. "Surely you would not deny the Clans their right to take back captives —"
"No survivors, I said!" Thrakhath snapped.
Melek stepped back as if physically stricken. "As you wish, Lord Prince," he said, bowing again.
"We have been at war with these apes for more than a generation, Melek. But I still cannot understand them. How could any sentient creature, however lacking in honor, fail to respond to a chance for vengeance?" Thrakhath studied his retainer for a long moment. "You are sure that this Blair was truly lair-mate to the one we killed?"
"Intelligence reports claimed so, Lord Prince. Based on many interrogations of captured human pilots. The knowledge was evidently widely known in their warrior community."
Thrakhath took a moment to chain his anger and speak calmly, as befitted a Prince. "Clearly the animal humans are even less civilized than we thought. They do not even respect their lair-mates enough to fight for them." He paused. "But even if the Heart of the Tiger survives, the rest of the plan shall move forward. He cannot deflect the fate that pursues the Terrans now.
"Yes, Lord Prince."
"Order a carrier to follow the Terran ship, but wait until it has had time to get well clear of the jump point before sending it Sar'hrai would be a good choice. Give his new captain a chance to prove his worth. They are to mount a close surveillance on the enemy carrier, using stealth craft. When our agent makes his move, we must be ready." Thrakhath showed his fangs for a moment. "Our claws are at their throats, Melek. They will not escape the hunt."
CHAPTER XXII
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Tamayo System
Once again the flight deck was crowded with officers and crewmen gathered to bid farewell to one of their own. The neat ranks of pilots, technicians, and ship's crew . . . the honor guard with weapons held in a stiff rifle salute . . . the chaplain's service, and the empty coffin waiting by the launch tube — only the names changed, but never the trappings or the emotion.Christopher Blair slowly stepped forward to the temporary podium. He never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.
"Major Jace Dillon was a reluctant warrior in the Confederation's battle against the Empire," Blair said slowly. He raised his eyes to study the front ranks, especially the pilots of Gold Squadron. For a fleeting moment he wondered what Ralgha was thinking. Did the Kilrathi renegade regret letting the young Terran pilot down in that last battle? Hobbes had certainly been withdrawn ever since. It was a feeling Blair understood entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the going got tough. He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor and courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."
As he stepped back to allow the chaplain to advance and carry on with the funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He wished he could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of place here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin accelerated out of the hangar deck, or as the honor guard fired their low-powered volleys. And when he bowed his head to offer up a prayer, it was Angel Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.
* * *
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.
Tamayo System
Blair sat alone at a table by the viewport, staring down into his empty glass as if it was a crystal ball that might give him a glimpse of another time and place. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, the other pilots and crewmen who talked, laughed and carried on with their lives, with only an occasional glance at the solitary, withdrawn figure of their wing commander.A shadow fell across the table, and he looked into the knowing eyes of Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on the table beside him. "You look like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.
He poured a shot and drank, wincing a little at the bite of the cheap liquor in his mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid.
"Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the right buttons to push."
Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at Rachel.
"I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"
Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."
She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those things just postpone the inevitable."
"I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it like that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ."
"Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out on the cats — look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."
He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about, . . I hope you're not thinking. . . ."
Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say . . . Let's just say you're a man I could care about . . . if there was nothing else holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no matter what."
"I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends, my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."
"Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of . . . a friend."
* * *
Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
"All right, last item on the list," Blair said, ticking off another point on his personal data display. "Captain says we re due for a visit from some VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen hundred hours. We need to police the flight deck and hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching shipshape. Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail."Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"
Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron, all chuckled. Ralgha. sitting in the corner of the office away from the others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling boredom.
"Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?"
No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes was the last to leave and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."
Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled.
"Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ."
"I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human couldn't easily fathom. "We have been friends for many years, you and I. Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your pain over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now."
"Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"
The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans . . . have rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I . . . regret her passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.
"If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid."
The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will see, before the end."
"I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."
Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it. Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.
"What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the desk and resuming his own seat.
"Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's broadcast, before the battle at Delius."
Blair frowned. "What about it?"
"We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you, and then . . . well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op. They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up."
"Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with everything blazing while we were still at Delius station they could've had Victory for breakfast . . . and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?"
"It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.
"The question is, why?"
Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was something . . . familiar about that transmission."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar. It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."
"Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. "Rollins, can you shed any light on it?"
"Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much. Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . . if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. . . all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."
Cobra bit her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know what you told me about accusations. About wanting proof. . . and I don't have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me in the brig over it. I think there could have been some kind of hidden signal in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent."
"You're talking about Hobbes, of course," Blair said, frowning. "Lieutenant . . ."
"I didn't say it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra said. "But we know the cats have agents in the Confederation."
Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I think you should hear her out on this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard."
"Like how they keep throwing us softballs in tight corners," Buckley amplified. "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if you think about it. They could make jump points disappear, but the second one stayed open for us. And it wasn't defended, either."
Blair looked from one to the other. "It still isn't proof of anything except the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last. "You know where I stand. I don't like having accusations leveled at Hobbes, and all you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked down at his desk. "It's a very serious charge to make . . ."
"Hell, Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean, he's a Kilrathi, and you know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't prove anything." She Laughed, a short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi spy. You love the cats . . . a cat, at least, and you were in command when things went sour at Locanda Four. All I'm saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit. I think we have to consider it."
"All right, Lieutenant. I'll consider it." Blair leaned back in his chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves. Have you talked with anyone else?"
"No, sir. ' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but Cobra wanted to come to you first."
"I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this thing, sir," she amplified.
"Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"
"Yes, sir," Rollins said.
Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.
"All right. Dismissed, then."
They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round them up, if you please."
"Yes, sir," he responded.
Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much stock do you put in all this?"
"Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."
"How much of this is your idea?"
Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all this, Colonel?"
Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together, Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about him now."
"She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."
"True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one he could talk to, under these circumstances. "There's another possibility I can't help but think about, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any of that from your sources?"
"Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe, but nothing solid."
"I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got through debriefing so they were 'rescued' and brought back to Terran space."