"You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell, Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"
"As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in there somewhere? Maybe there were — orders, for instance. But a clever spy might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in an acceptable direction."
"Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it, Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."
"It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."
"Why are you telling me this, sir?"
"I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like Ralgha's cabin, for example."
"So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"
"I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it. Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand. "And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . . it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this whole mess objectively."
"I'll. .. do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant. "But I'm not sure I'll like it."
"You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be done."
"Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.
Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself. He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.
He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers faults, to think of the ship as his home?
The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck, gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.
The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him, Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer, the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.
Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.
Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."
Blair saluted, saying nothing.
He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he headed for the bridge. Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up to that reputation now.
CHAPTER XXIII
"Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?"
As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better . . . like being out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."
She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?"
For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown in his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . . ." she said. "That was stupid of me. I should have realized . . ."
"Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit, I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right at the top of the list."
"I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie too. One minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go."
"Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget it."
"You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel — Colonel Devereaux — tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"
Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you been cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"
She laughed. "Neither one. Just . . . a student of history. I try to make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it, you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."
"Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."
"I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
"Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to that time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving with the old man ever quite forgot the day.
There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I was serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener."
Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do. But. . ." He shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone."
At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.
"I see. I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you moved quite that fast. Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond.
"Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last cruise together."
Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.
Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the general air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front line. The Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the government is now saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!"
Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered. Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.
"She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi have been keeping us busy.
"Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our old friend Thrakhath, I hear."
"Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked away, thinking about Angel again.
"I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was made.
"When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.
"The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly 'need-to-know' material. You understand."
"What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been competing over your damned secret projects and Angel got caught in the middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's . . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more, Admiral, but I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind of price Angel already shelled out just to prove that your damned gun works the way you said it would."
"Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact is that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning; of Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like yourself. Son, I know you don t like some of the implications behind this project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."
"I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means giving you the credit — and a shot at being the next Confederation President, no doubt — that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship the same way you did on Tiger's Claw?"
"I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel," Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain Eisen retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period." He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally achieve a measure of respect for one another after all this time, Colonel. I am the first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your career, with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me. Still, you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter where they end up taking you."
Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots . . . We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ."
The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had the biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel, that we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone, would approve . . . after what happened to Angel."
He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . .
But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part in the destruction of an entire race.
The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all that really mattered, in the end, was winning.
He was very quiet over dinner that evening.
Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was Kevin Tolwyn and another of the admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the admiral expectantly as he settled into his seat and switched on the map table's holographic projector.
"Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest achievement . . . the Behemoth."
The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.
"This device is the product of a decade of research and development by some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued. "It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all."
The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light beam to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart, particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short strokes."
Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the weapon's capabilities.
"We would have liked another year or two for testing and development," Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation on Locanda Four, perhaps against more vital targets."
"Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.
"The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking more softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if the worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to land troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."
Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat incomplete. There are a few, shall we say . . . soft spots . . . located here . . . and here . . . where the shields are thin and there's been no time to complete keel mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive laser turrets.
"Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented. "Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people know what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no mistake, Colonel, gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must be permitted to get through to threaten it."
"Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target."
"Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can practice before we begin the actual deployment."
"Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some new blood to bring us up to strength?"
"We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out Torgo's replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your bomber squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron. Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive operations this time out, and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth."
Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share his belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and Blair could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he snagged Victory because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation.
That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the High Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall on his face.
"Now. . . as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard tomorrow evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in company with the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane, so we will pass directly between jump points in the Blackmane System and then transit to Loki."
Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost. Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have been better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a second-rate base."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or another, Behemoth is going to end this war."
On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were replaced by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here . . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this position, near Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the operation, gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron, three destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary responsibility of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be clear on this. The mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect that weapon." Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"
There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and my staff over the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a genuine expert on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some likely models of how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six, and to other measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them to the peace table."
Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades . . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be . . . imperfect at best."
"It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation. You'll each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're dismissed.
Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left The admiral was studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one of anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the look in the man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground, and no room to adapt to circumstances.
Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
"It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave those weak spots uncovered."
"You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
"Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning, after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest. And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin. "Don't tell me you've become a convert."
"Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for the ink!"
Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
"Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes. "What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the chance?"
"I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong." He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself afterward, whichever course you took?"
CHAPTER XXIV
Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in. Another console came to life across the room.
TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views and schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on the screen.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was done.
Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the intruder had ever been present.
Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to relax again.
They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once the Terrans had fallen into his trap.
He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already as good as over.
Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least, seemed pleased.
"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice little place . . ."
"Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant," Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the Kilrathi down overnight."
He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
"So . . . how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly. "Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously, Colonel."
"No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it? I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one of my computer commo logs. And I can t account for it. I think it was sabotage."
"It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then had the record wiped."
"Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
"Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet. You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list classified."
"Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild, Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
"I'm no expert in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said. "To me, you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they mean?"
"I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of signals somewhere before . . . something outside of normal communications use. If I could just figure out where . . ." He trailed off, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess I still have a ways to go before I can deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look into, either."
Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing. But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
"Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat in the chair he'd vacated.
"It never stops with you, does it, Lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless program loop."
"You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just don't have a clue."
"'Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
"It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these . . . nightmares. People talked, you know how it is."
"Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
"The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me when I was ten . . ."
"The Kilrathi?"
She nodded "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting. Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know. But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
"It must have been —"
"You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
"So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
"The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said. "First it was debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they couldn't wipe it all out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
"You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that . . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
"It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's what I'm still doing today."
He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the war? What then?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound that reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact is, Colonel, there's a little bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out. Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger . . . and one day, there won't be any human left inside me any more."
He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough credit, Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle. You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . . . well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do understand, Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.
Blair glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room window to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the Behemoth, nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
Technicians prepped the fighters for launch working quickly but with a care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and Blair felt like an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry glare.
"Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic probe up your nose."
"Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I never thought it would actually take."
"Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should wear the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I don't get at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him, myself."
"After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
"Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the word on the launch?"
"Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks." Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
"What's the problem?"
"Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due. What about the others?"
"Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't count on it."
"Do what you can," Blair told her.
"Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she caught his sleeve. "Look . . . after the mission . . . what say we get together?"
He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one. "I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since . . . ever since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for me. It's . . . made a big difference.
Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate, less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.
Eisen acknowledged the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and studied the tactical display with a critical eye. This was the period of greatest danger in any squadron operation, when ships performed their transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't be emerging in the middle of an enemy fleet.
They weren't taking any chances this time. Coventry would go through first, ready to engage anything waiting near the other end of the jump point. The destroyer that followed her would jump at the first sign of trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.
That would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how Jason Bondarevsky felt about flying point on this mission. He was supposed to be one of Admiral Tolwyn's shining young proteges, but apparently the admiral's patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.
Eisen glanced uneasily at the admiral. He was dressed to perfection, uniform starched and crisp, every hair in place. But Tolwyn did look nervous, pacing restlessly back and forth behind the Sensor Officer's station. For all the man's air of confidence, it was clear that he had his share of worries.
"Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported. "Jump field forming . . . there she goes!"
Tolwyn glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the final countdown, Captain," he ordered.
For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on board he'd interfered in routine ship's operations: barking orders, taking over briefings, dressing down crew members who didn't live up to his image of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that could guarantee the success of the mission.
But perhaps Tolwyn had good reason to be concerned. Eisen leaned forward in his chair and repeated the Admiral's order. Commander Gessler slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.
"NOW, JUMP STATIONS, JUMP STATIONS," the computer announced. "FIVE MINUTES TO JUMP SEQUENCE START."
The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this operation would go by the numbers after all. . . .
"Remember, Captain, Behemoth will be five minutes behind us all the way," Tolwyn said. "I expect response times to be tight. We can't afford a screw-up. Not now."
"Yes, Admiral," Eisen said. They'd been over it all a dozen times before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
Jumpshock!
Blair's guts twisted and churned as the carrier went through transition. No matter how often he experienced it, he could never get used to the sensation. The physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there was always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness that left him confused, numb.
"As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in there somewhere? Maybe there were — orders, for instance. But a clever spy might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in an acceptable direction."
"Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it, Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."
"It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."
"Why are you telling me this, sir?"
"I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like Ralgha's cabin, for example."
"So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"
"I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it. Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand. "And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . . it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this whole mess objectively."
"I'll. .. do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant. "But I'm not sure I'll like it."
"You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be done."
"Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.
* * *
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
"Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself. He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.
He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers faults, to think of the ship as his home?
The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck, gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.
The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him, Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer, the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.
Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.
Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."
Blair saluted, saying nothing.
He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he headed for the bridge. Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up to that reputation now.
CHAPTER XXIII
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
"Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double.""Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?"
As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better . . . like being out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down."
She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?"
For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown in his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . . ." she said. "That was stupid of me. I should have realized . . ."
"Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit, I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right at the top of the list."
"I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie too. One minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go."
"Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget it."
"You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel — Colonel Devereaux — tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?"
Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you been cultivating some of Rollins' sources?"
She laughed. "Neither one. Just . . . a student of history. I try to make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it, you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before."
"Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations."
"I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart."
"Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to that time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving with the old man ever quite forgot the day.
There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I was serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener."
Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do. But. . ." He shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone."
At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair.
"I see. I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you moved quite that fast. Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond.
* * *
Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
Admiral Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one deck below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with a table able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive, and Tolwyn greeted him with a hearty smile and a handshake."Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last cruise together."
Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war.
Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the general air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front line. The Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the government is now saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!"
Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered. Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain.
"She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi have been keeping us busy.
"Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our old friend Thrakhath, I hear."
"Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked away, thinking about Angel again.
"I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was made.
"When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded.
"The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly 'need-to-know' material. You understand."
"What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been competing over your damned secret projects and Angel got caught in the middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's . . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more, Admiral, but I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind of price Angel already shelled out just to prove that your damned gun works the way you said it would."
"Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact is that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning; of Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like yourself. Son, I know you don t like some of the implications behind this project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple."
"I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means giving you the credit — and a shot at being the next Confederation President, no doubt — that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship the same way you did on Tiger's Claw?"
"I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel," Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain Eisen retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period." He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally achieve a measure of respect for one another after all this time, Colonel. I am the first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your career, with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me. Still, you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter where they end up taking you."
Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots . . . We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ."
The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had the biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel, that we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone, would approve . . . after what happened to Angel."
He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . .
But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part in the destruction of an entire race.
The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all that really mattered, in the end, was winning.
He was very quiet over dinner that evening.
* * *
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
The atmosphere in the ready room was tense as Blair entered. It was strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while Tolwyn presided in the captain's accustomed place. The sight sent a little shiver down Blair's back, making him think of Tiger's Claw and Captain Thorn, all those years ago.Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was Kevin Tolwyn and another of the admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the admiral expectantly as he settled into his seat and switched on the map table's holographic projector.
"Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest achievement . . . the Behemoth."
The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors.
"This device is the product of a decade of research and development by some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued. "It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all."
The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light beam to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart, particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short strokes."
Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the weapon's capabilities.
"We would have liked another year or two for testing and development," Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation on Locanda Four, perhaps against more vital targets."
"Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said.
"The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking more softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if the worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to land troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now."
Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat incomplete. There are a few, shall we say . . . soft spots . . . located here . . . and here . . . where the shields are thin and there's been no time to complete keel mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive laser turrets.
"Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented. "Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people know what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no mistake, Colonel, gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must be permitted to get through to threaten it."
"Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target."
"Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can practice before we begin the actual deployment."
"Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some new blood to bring us up to strength?"
"We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out Torgo's replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your bomber squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron. Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive operations this time out, and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth."
Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share his belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and Blair could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he snagged Victory because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation.
That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the High Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall on his face.
"Now. . . as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard tomorrow evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in company with the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane, so we will pass directly between jump points in the Blackmane System and then transit to Loki."
Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost. Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have been better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a second-rate base."
Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or another, Behemoth is going to end this war."
On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were replaced by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here . . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this position, near Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the operation, gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron, three destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary responsibility of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be clear on this. The mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect that weapon." Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?"
There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and my staff over the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a genuine expert on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some likely models of how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six, and to other measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them to the peace table."
Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades . . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be . . . imperfect at best."
"It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation. You'll each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're dismissed.
Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left The admiral was studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one of anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the look in the man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground, and no room to adapt to circumstances.
* * *
Flight Control, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
"Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation."Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
"It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave those weak spots uncovered."
"You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
"Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning, after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest. And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin. "Don't tell me you've become a convert."
"Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for the ink!"
Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
"Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes. "What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the chance?"
"I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong." He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself afterward, whichever course you took?"
CHAPTER XXIV
Communication Center, TCS Victory.
Torgo System
The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen through a bully night vision device, the room glowed with an eerie greenish light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the Communications center except when the ship was at General Quarters, and the intruder was confident that no one would notice this stealthy foray.Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in. Another console came to life across the room.
TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views and schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on the screen.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was done.
Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the intruder had ever been present.
* * *
Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai.
Torgo System
"Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to relax again.
They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once the Terrans had fallen into his trap.
* * *
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
The view from the rec room was impressive, Blair had to admit that much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow — apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of engines, either — but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already as good as over.
Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least, seemed pleased.
"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice little place . . ."
"Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant," Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the Kilrathi down overnight."
He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
"So . . . how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly. "Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously, Colonel."
"No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it? I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one of my computer commo logs. And I can t account for it. I think it was sabotage."
"It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then had the record wiped."
"Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
"Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet. You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list classified."
"Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild, Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
"I'm no expert in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said. "To me, you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they mean?"
"I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of signals somewhere before . . . something outside of normal communications use. If I could just figure out where . . ." He trailed off, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess I still have a ways to go before I can deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look into, either."
Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing. But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
"Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat in the chair he'd vacated.
"It never stops with you, does it, Lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless program loop."
"You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just don't have a clue."
"'Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
"It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these . . . nightmares. People talked, you know how it is."
"Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
"The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me when I was ten . . ."
"The Kilrathi?"
She nodded "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting. Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know. But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
"It must have been —"
"You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
"So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
"The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said. "First it was debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they couldn't wipe it all out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
"You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that . . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
"It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's what I'm still doing today."
He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the war? What then?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound that reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact is, Colonel, there's a little bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out. Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger . . . and one day, there won't be any human left inside me any more."
He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough credit, Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle. You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . . . well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do understand, Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.
* * *
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"COUNTDOWN TO JUMP, ONE HOUR, FIFTEEN MINUTES."Blair glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room window to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the Behemoth, nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
Technicians prepped the fighters for launch working quickly but with a care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and Blair felt like an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry glare.
"Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic probe up your nose."
"Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I never thought it would actually take."
"Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should wear the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I don't get at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him, myself."
"After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
"Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the word on the launch?"
"Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks." Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
"What's the problem?"
"Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due. What about the others?"
"Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't count on it."
"Do what you can," Blair told her.
"Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she caught his sleeve. "Look . . . after the mission . . . what say we get together?"
He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one. "I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since . . . ever since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for me. It's . . . made a big difference.
Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate, less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.
* * *
Bridge, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up."Eisen acknowledged the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and studied the tactical display with a critical eye. This was the period of greatest danger in any squadron operation, when ships performed their transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't be emerging in the middle of an enemy fleet.
They weren't taking any chances this time. Coventry would go through first, ready to engage anything waiting near the other end of the jump point. The destroyer that followed her would jump at the first sign of trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.
That would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how Jason Bondarevsky felt about flying point on this mission. He was supposed to be one of Admiral Tolwyn's shining young proteges, but apparently the admiral's patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.
Eisen glanced uneasily at the admiral. He was dressed to perfection, uniform starched and crisp, every hair in place. But Tolwyn did look nervous, pacing restlessly back and forth behind the Sensor Officer's station. For all the man's air of confidence, it was clear that he had his share of worries.
"Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported. "Jump field forming . . . there she goes!"
Tolwyn glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the final countdown, Captain," he ordered.
For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on board he'd interfered in routine ship's operations: barking orders, taking over briefings, dressing down crew members who didn't live up to his image of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that could guarantee the success of the mission.
But perhaps Tolwyn had good reason to be concerned. Eisen leaned forward in his chair and repeated the Admiral's order. Commander Gessler slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.
"NOW, JUMP STATIONS, JUMP STATIONS," the computer announced. "FIVE MINUTES TO JUMP SEQUENCE START."
The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this operation would go by the numbers after all. . . .
"Remember, Captain, Behemoth will be five minutes behind us all the way," Tolwyn said. "I expect response times to be tight. We can't afford a screw-up. Not now."
"Yes, Admiral," Eisen said. They'd been over it all a dozen times before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
* * *
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Loki System
"And five . . . and four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."Jumpshock!
Blair's guts twisted and churned as the carrier went through transition. No matter how often he experienced it, he could never get used to the sensation. The physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there was always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness that left him confused, numb.