"If they're hidden, how do we locate them?" Blair asked. "Transponders?"
Paladin nodded. "Aye. They'll respond on a very high band, and only when you fire a query at them. Believe me, laddie, we've done everything we can tae make this work."
"You're sure Colonel Devereaux got all the way and set up all three depots?" Eisen asked.
"She did," Paladin said quietly. "She managed tae send out a coded signal, before the cats took her ship. A scout ship posted in the Oort Cloud monitored it and brought word tae us." He paused. "It was frae them we learned of the capture. . . and the execution, as well. Then the cats put it out on their propaganda broadcasts. . . ."
"And you really think this plan can work?" Blair said quietly, changing the subject. He didn t want to think about Angel's death, not now. "Aye, laddie, it will work. Because it has to."
The spy shut off the monitor as the briefing dispersed. It seemed that the threat to Kilrah was not over yet, even with the destruction of Behemoth. Thrakhath's instructions didn't cover this eventuality, and there would be no ships lurking nearby to pick up another broadcast.
If the spy was to alert the Prince of this new danger it would require careful preparation indeed. But it had to be done. . . .
For the glory of Kilrah!
CHAPTER XXVII
Blair stared at the flight deck through the transparent wall of Flight Control, studying the lines of the last of the new fighters as it rolled slowly to a halt inside the hangar area. On Paladin's orders, the Excaliburs came from Eagle in exchange for Gold Squadron's Thunderbolts. They certainly looked impressive enough. Blair hoped a few days of patrols would give the pilots a chance to get used to them before they went into action in Paladin's crazy scheme to attack Kilrah. "I hope they're all they're cracked up to be," he said quietly.
"Believe me, skipper, they're the hottest birds that ever hauled jets off a carrier deck," Rachel Coriolis said. She wore an expression of sheer joy as she contemplated the new craft. "These beauties are a mechanic's dream. At long last, I get to really show what I can do."
"Oh, I don't know, Chief," Blair said, glancing at her enraptured face and giving her a smile. "I've been pretty impressed right from the start."
"Yeah, but you haven't seen everything, not by a long shot," she said, flashing an answering grin. She moved a little closer to him and lowered her voice. "It might not be proper protocol to make the first move with an officer and all . . . but how about we get together later on and I'll show you the rest? Sooner or later, you and me, we've got to let go of the ghosts. Figure out if the parts'll fit somewhere else . . . if you know what I mean?"
Blair hesitated, looking into her dark eyes. He couldn't now deny being attracted to Rachel, her quiet strength and her irreverent humor. Always before it seemed too much like a betrayal of Angel. . . .
But Angel was gone, and she would have been the first one to want him to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. Rachel had already helped him over the first, most difficult adjustment. It seemed right, somehow, that they travel further down the road she helped him find that led out of the darkness.
"You think our parts might mesh, Chief?" he asked her, his smile broadening.
"You never know until you take a test run," she said. "Tonight, maybe?"
"Tonight," he agreed quietly.
He was almost surprised at the intensity of the emotion behind that one simple word.
Blair looked up at Lieutenant Rollins and gave him a curt nod. "Sure. Pull up a chair." He hesitated, studying the young communications officer's worried expression. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"
Rollins sat down, looking uncomfortable. "I think I've finally turned up something solid, Colonel. In that . . . matter Cobra and I've been looking into."
"And that is?"
"I figured out where I'd seen that harmonic pattern before," Rollins told him. "It's been used a time or two in psychiatric work. Personality overlays . . ." Rollins hesitated. "Sometimes, with a subject, you want to be able to switch from a substitute personality to the original, or back again. They use it in therapy, overlaying a well-adjusted behavior pattern over a personality that's got problems, but the doctors want to be able to retrieve the original identity, locate the root of the problem."
"Yeah, I've heard about it. You think it applies here?"
"If I'm right, the Kilrathi might have used that message from Thrakhath as a carrier for a personality trigger. When it was played, it brought up a different personality in a Kilrathi agent on board." Rollins hesitated. "If Cobra's right, it would have brought back an original personality in Hobbes, something overlaid by the one we've known all along. Or . . ."
"Or what?" Blair demanded.
"I . . . was thinking about what you said. About Cobra. She admitted there was something familiar about the signal, but she didn't say what. But it set me to thinking. What if the signal was supposed to bring up an implanted personality in her . . . something programmed by the Kilrathi to make her work as a spy. Hell, she might not even be aware of it any more, if the work was sophisticated enough."
Blair looked down at his drink. "Once again, there's no real proof," he said slowly. "We can hatch theories until the sun goes nova, but without real evidence . . .
"I know, sir," Rollins said, biting his lower lip and looking worried. "But . . . hell, I don't know what to think any more or who to trust. I think I've identified another part of Thrakhath's transmission that carries a low-frequency side message, but it seems like it's a pretty old code. It was discontinued a while back, and is no longer in our current files. I'm still trying to reconstruct it. Maybe we'll know more then. But meantime, what do I do? Tell Cobra? If she's the spy . . .
"Keep it to yourself, Lieutenant," Blair said. His wrist implant chimed a reminder. "Damn. I've got a meeting with Paladin and the Captain." He stood up. "You keep working on that signal, Lieutenant. Crack it fast because we have to find out if there really is a leak — before we start General Taggart's new mission.
"I'll say," Chief Coriolis said, looking up from where she was kneeling, checking the locking mechanism on the forward landing gear "This is one nice piece of machinery."
"Where's Ski, Chief?" Cobra asked. Technician First Class Glazowski was her usual plane captain, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Had to put all the Gold Squadron plane captains through a crash course on how to care and feed these beauties," Rachel told her. "I'm the only one who's up on the specs at the moment. Don't worry, he'll be done by the time your patrol gets back." She looked around. "Who's going out with you?"
"Vaquero," Cobra said. "Except he's late, as usual." She moved over to the cockpit ladder. "I swear he'll be late to his own cantina opening."
"I'll have Flight Control put out a call for him," Rachel said. "You need any help strapping on this baby?"
"Nah. Looks like you're overworked as it is."
"I'll say. I'm supposed to have five techs on every bird. Today I've only got three to get both you guys up and flying." The tech looked disgusted. "My watch roster looks thinner every day, seems like."
"Well, I can run through my checklist just fine by myself. Just don't forget to send somebody out here to give me my clearance when it's time to launch!"
Rachel chuckled and turned away. Buckley paused at the bottom of the ladder and cocked her head to one side. Something . . . someone was moving around on the other side of the Excalibur.
She set her helmet and gauntlets down on the wing and ducked under the fuselage to investigate. From what Rachel just said there shouldn't have been any technicians working in that corner of the bay. . . .
Something struck her in the stomach as she straightened, knocking her backward against the hull of the fighter with such force that she banged her head. As she shook it, trying to clear her blurring vision and the ringing in her ears, she became aware of the pain in her abdomen. Her fingers, clutching at the spot, came away sticky with blood
And then her vision did clear, for a moment, as she slumped to the deck. The bulky figure standing over her might have stepped out of her worst nightmare.
"Hobbes . . ." she gasped. Then blackness took her.
Lieutenant Ion Radescu, the duty Flight Controller, gave her a grin. "Come on, Rachel, you know you love it. What would your life be without fighters to work over, huh? '
"A hell of a lot cleaner," she said, returning his smile. Since Admiral Tolwyn's departure, she'd gone right back to her old habits of dress.
Radescu chuckled and turned to his console. "Okay, boys and girls, let's get this show started." He thumbed a mike switch. "Prowler Flight, this is Control. Radio check."
"Prowler Two," Vaquero said. "Read you five by five."
There was a moment of silence before Cobra's voice came on the speakers. "Clear signal."
The FCO frowned. "Prowler One, I'm not getting anything on video from you. You got a fault showing?"
Again there was a pause. "Negative."
"Damned thing ought to be working, Rachel said, joining Radescu at the console. Those birds are so new you can still smell the fresh paint."
"Want to have a look?" Radescu asked.
"It ain't enough to get a down-gripe," Rachel told him. "Long as audio's working, I don't see a problem." She paused. "I'll take a look when they get back in."
"Okay, Chief," the FCO nodded. "Prowler Flight cleared to launch."
Out on the flight deck below them, the fighters rolled into position in their launch tubes. Green lights flashed on Radescu's board. "Launch when ready," he ordered.
And the two Excaliburs hurtled into space.
Rachel turned away. "I'm gonna grab me a cup of something hot and then check on my students in Ready Room Three," she said over her shoulder. "Yell if you need me — The intercom shrilled. "Flight Control, Bay Twelve," a hoarse voice was loud over the speaker. "I just found Cobra down here. She's hurt . . . real bad!"
"Cobra?" Rachel and Radescu spoke at the same moment.
"What the hell . . . ?" the FCO added. "Rachel, get down there and find out what's going on." He was already punching in a combination on the intercom "Bridge, this is Flight Control. We have a problem . . ."
Blair nodded as Paladin finished. "With luck, the Excaliburs will cloak before the cats see us out there, and we can reach the jump point without ever being noticed. Very pretty planning, General."
Taggart grinned. "Another fine product of the Covert Ops planning staff," he said. "Just remember, laddie, that the cloak's nae good at close range. It hides ye from sensors, but it doesna make you invisible."
"I'm still not very happy about sending the fighters through blind." Eisen spoke up for the first time since the briefing had started. "They'll have no support . . . and if they run into trouble before they refuel they won't be able to recharge their jump generators and make it back here safely. If this really is a back door into Kilrah, wouldn't it be better going in with them?"
"We dinna ken how well defended the jump point might be," Paladin said. "The fighters will have to decloak to jump, of course, and they'll be detected as they enter the system. But if they cloak right away, they can evade any reception committees in the neighborhood. Send a carrier in, and we stir up a hornet's nest."
"I appreciate the concern, Captain," Blair added, meeting Eisen's eyes. "Fact is, our chances of getting back aren't that good one way or another. I'm treating this as a one-way mission . . . volunteers only. If we can get back, great. But none of us will be under any illusions."
"Laddie —" Paladin began. He was cut off by the ululation of an alarm siren.
"Flight deck. Emergency." The voice on the tannoy belonged to Rollins, but it was almost unrecognizable, choked with emotion. "We have a problem on the flight deck!"
"Blair, get down there," Eisen rasped, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge . . ."
"On my way," Blair said. He was already halfway to the door, but Paladin, despite his age and bulk, was right behind him. They raced to the elevator, all pretense of officer s dignity forgotten.
Rachel met them at the door to the hangar deck. "Bay Twelve," she said, grim-faced. The two men didn't wait for an explanation. They hurried down the row of fighter bays to the empty space that had housed the Excalibur assigned to Lieutenant Buckley.
Cobra was lying near the back of the bay, half hidden by a rack of testing equipment. There was blood on the deck where she'd been dragged to the niche, and a larger pool of blood around her. Someone had tried to staunch her wounds with a makeshift bandage, but it wasn't controlling the flow of blood. Blair knelt beside her and lifted it to examine her injuries. Four deep slashes cut across her stomach, and the sight of those wounds made Blair, hardened veteran that he was, turn his head away.
He had seen that kind of disemboweling cut before after the ground fighting on Muspelheim a decade ago. The cuts could only have been made by a Kilrathi's claws.
Blair tried to ignore the nausea welling up inside him. Cobra's eyes fluttered open. "Colonel . . ." she gasped.
"Hobbes?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"He . . . hit me. Don't know why . . ."
"I do," Paladin said grimly. He held up a holo-cassette. "He must have dropped this when he dragged her over here."
Taggart pressed a button, and a small holographic image formed in the air above Cobra. It took Blair a moment to recognize the scene. It was a view of Eisen's ready room, shot from a high angle. The three figures there belonged to Eisen, Paladin, and Blair.
"This is the Temblor Bomb," Paladin's image said. "It was developed by Doctor Philip Severin, one of the top research men in the Confederation. It's been undergoing tests for some time now . . . nearly a decade, in fact."
Taggart switched it off. "The briefing . . ."
"All this time," Blair said slowly, shaking his head. "All this time, he's had us bugged. . . .
Rachel returned, with a team of medics running after her. Paladin moved away to give them room to work, while Blair cradled her head and shoulders in his arms. "We'll get you to sick bay," he told her.
"Too late . . . for me," she gasped out. "Get Hobbes. You still have time . . ."
He could almost feel the life ebbing out of her as the awareness faded from her eyes. One of the medics shook his head. "It's no good, sir," he said. "She's gone."
Blair lowered her head to the deck gently and stood up. "What about Hobbes?" he asked Rachel, voice flat and harsh. "Any idea where he is?"
"He took Cobra's fighter," she said. "Launched with Vaquero a few minutes ago. He must have had a tape of her voice to answer the radio check."
Flint appeared at the mouth of the bay, running. She pulled up short at the sight of Cobra, then fixed her eyes on Blair. "Prowler One just broke off the patrol route," she said, breathing hard. "Fired on Vaquero when he tried to intercept." She paused. "The fighter's heading for the Freya jump point, maximum speed Vaquero's pursuing.
Blair looked at Paladin. "Even without that holo, Hobbes can tell them about the plan. About the caches . . ."
Taggart nodded. "If he makes it through the jump point, it's all over, lad," he said.
"Not yet, it isn't," Blair said. He looked at Rachel. Which of the Excaliburs is prepped for Alert Five?"
"Three-oh-four," she said "Maniac's bird."
"Get it on the line now. And get me a flight suit." He turned to Flint. "You get to Flight Control. Order Vaquero to keep up the chase. Stop that bastard at all costs, or at least slow him down until I get there."
He looked back down at Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and rage. "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes . . ."
Blair turned away and started toward Maniac's fighter, grim and determined. Hobbes had betrayed them . . . and now the renegade had to be stopped before he destroyed everything.
Blair muttered a curse under his breath. Even with the Excalibur's superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake Vaquero and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and keep him busy, but it was an uneven match. Hobbes had always been a good pilot, but Blair had never expected to see him matched against one of his own comrades.
On his sensor screen, he saw Hobbes making a long slow loop, circling back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already taken damage to his engines, and was having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.
"He's coming in again . . ." Lopez said. "Firing . . ."
A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It must have been a fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed and weaved in pursuit of Ralgha's fighter. Hobbes tried to dodge it, but it caught him across the port-side shield. Lopez let out a whoop and dove. Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.
"All right!" Lopez shouted. "That one's for Cobra! Get ready to say good-bye, Hobbes."
"Not today, I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathi's fighter released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.
"Cristos . . . I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos . . .
And then he was gone.
"God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."
"Is that you. . . old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."
"Deal with this . . . old friend!" Blair shouted. Ralgha's Excalibur was just coming into extreme range, and Blair let loose a volley of blaster fire. But Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.
Ralgha turned away, as if to run. Blair's hands clenched on the steering yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away . . .
But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too much of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into the area and since Hobbes could only be heading for the Freya jump point to warn the Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.
Ralgha suddenly rolled up and back, a classic Immelman maneuver that almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again as he dodged the Kilrathi's fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves. But he wasn't flying quite the way he usually did. There was something different in his style, more reckless, more aggressive. More like the Kilrathi Blair usually met in battle.
As Hobbes sped past, Blair checked his sensor readouts on the other Excalibur. Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If the port shield went down, Ralgha would be vulnerable, and he was sure to be sensitive to that weakness. Hobbes had used all of his missiles to knock out Lopez, giving Blair a significant advantage.
The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him. He let Hobbes finish his turn, then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a charge right at the other fighter, a move he was sure Hobbes would never expect from him. Blaster fire raked across his forward shields, but he ignored it, even when the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were going down . . .
Ralgha stopped firing, his weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi swerved sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire. The two fighters were close together now, and Blair had to kill his momentum quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.
The Terran allowed himself a grim smile and locked on a pair of heat-seekers. As Ralgha finished his turn and exposed his tail, Blair let the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.
"Impressive, my friend," Hobbes said as the barrage struck home. "Impressive . . . I fear that you have bested me . . . Now I shall never see Kilrah again."
The missiles detonated almost simultaneously as the Excalibur's rear shields went down. The fighter came apart.
Blair thought he heard Hobbes call out his name before the fireball consumed his craft.
"Excalibur three-o-four," he said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. He couldn't feel anything, either sadness or satisfaction, at the knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes . . . is gone. I'm coming in."
CHAPTER XXVIII
A reminder of Ralgha's home . . .
Ralgha . . . Hobbes . . . It surprised Blair to realize how deep this wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas, flown with him, loved him like a brother over the better part of fifteen long years. When others had raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in Hobbes, the one being Blair would have trusted to the bitter end. . . and beyond. Yet Hobbes betrayed him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge of that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.
He turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the door, punching for Terra-normal lights and lower heat and humidity than Ralgha had preferred. The changes helped him push away the bitter thoughts of Hobbes, but not far enough for any real peace of mind.
No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth comb in hopes of finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert Ops. But it was one of his duties, as wing commander, to deal with the personal property of any pilot who died while under his command, and much as he wanted to delegate it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had no idea where it would go when Paladin was through with it. Usually personal effects were returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?
He defected in the company of a retainer named Kirha. Had the retainer been another agent? Or legitimate? Blair wasn't even sure if the other Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St. John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't heard anything of Hunter for a long time.
Well, if nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned to the Empire when the war was over, if it ever was over. Perhaps Hobbes still had family somewhere. He claimed they had all died before his defection, but that could have been yet another lie.
Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more, about Hobbes . . . or about anything else.
A slender box lying on the bunk drew his eye, and Blair crossed the room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector, much like the one Angel had sent him. Curious, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed the switch.
A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.
"Colonel Blair," the holographic figure said in Ralgha's familiar tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me to provide an explanation for my actions."
"You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct, the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by Imperial Security at the behest of Prince Thrakhath. You have never met the real Ralgha nar Hhallas, nor would you have become his friend, for he was and is dedicated to the service of the Empire Only the construct-personality could become your comrade and friend. I myself was entirely unaware of my true self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, the message where you were given your Kilrathi title, the Heart of the Tiger. Embedded in combination with a signal embedded in that transmission, the phrase 'Heart of the Tiger' was the trigger that awakened my true personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages within it that gave me my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no choice but to act as I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am the Heart of the Tiger."
The Kilrathi paused for a long time. His expression was one Blair had never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi do not surrender, my old friend, and neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race and obedient to my duty, I have been forced to betray you. For though I am no longer the same being you once named Hobbes and befriended when I was alone among strangers, I retain a full memory of everything that Ralgha thought and did. I remember you, Colonel, for what you were and are, and know that you are an honorable warrior. If I could have performed my duty without betraying you, I would have done so, but that was not possible. And if we meet again . . . we will have no choice but to perform our duties . . . with honor."
"I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in battle. But if we do, I will salute you as a warrior . . . and I will mourn you, as a friend lost to me forever."
The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained there a long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.
He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.
It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you here. Captain called down to Flight Control asking after the final operations plan for this mission of the General's." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning out the cat's stuff, huh?"
Blair shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Just . . . an inventory. Before the captain gets started with the investigation . . ."
"Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into . . everything, huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"
Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.
"Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across, Marshall said.
Blair surged out of the bunk and caught him by the collar, raising a hand to strike the man. All his anger had came rushing out, and all he wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.
"Temper, temper," Marshall said. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish, Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to lose any more wingmen. Not now.
Blair dropped his hand and let go of Marshall's collar. The major took a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.
"For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.
"I am?"
"Yeah. Yeah, there's precious few of us left, Major. Two Excaliburs destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only four of us left in Gold Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face. "I'd deck you right now, Maniac, and to hell with the consequences. But I figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."
Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right. You never thought I was any good before. So why would you want me this time?"
"Simple," Blair told him. "Odds are none of us are coming back from this one, but I figure you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down. So maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's over and done with."
Marshall looked at him doubtfully, as if uncertain how serious Blair was. "You're crazy, man," he said.
Blair didn't answer him. He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started the inventory, ignoring Marshall until the other man snorted again and left the cabin.
After Maniac left, he took time out to use the intercom to pass a message to Eisen, identifying the computer file that held the work the flight wing staff had put into refining Paladin's attack plan. Then he finished up in Ralgha's cabin and left, locking the door behind him with a security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.
He still had other unpleasant duties to take care of however. The next one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold Squadron. He halted in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG — LT. MITCHELL LOPEZ and set down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.
Blair touched the buzzer beside the door and stepped back. It took a few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights were out, but a figure was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.
"Come in," Vagabond said. There was little of his usual bantering manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I do for you?"
Blair kicked the cargo module through the door and stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, he said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced this part of the job alone, as he had in Ralgha's quarters. "I just . . . I came to round up Vaquero's stuff. Shuttle's heading back to the Eagle later today, and I figured they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump . . ."
"In case we don't make it," Chang finished the thought for him. He raised his voice slightly. "Lights."
The computer brought the light level up. Under the illumination, the lieutenant's expression was bleak.
"Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair said quietly. "I know how you feel . . . this mess is getting to all of us. But we've all got to get a grip. Bounce back."
"The cliche of the week," Chang said. He pointed to one of the lockers on the far wall. "That one's Vaquero's. Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."
Blair nodded and crossed to the locker, opening it with a security magnakey that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy. Evidently Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions in the short time he'd been aboard Victory.
"Tell me this much, Colonel," Vagabond said from behind him. "Rumor mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it true?"
Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah. A shot . . . a pretty damned long one, but a shot."
"Good." Chang gave a curt nod. "Good. Because I want a piece of the bastards."
"Are you sure? You were the one who had doubts about Behemoth, as I recall. And the new mission's also designed to knock out Kilrah. No ifs, ands, buts, or maybes . . ."
Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it, the kid didn't have to die like that. He was going to retire, open his cantina. He had it all planned out, and that bastard Hobbes snuffed him out. And Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line, but this . . . it's just wrong."
Blair fixed him with a level stare. "I hear you, Vagabond. I've been there myself, and not just this cruise, either. But you can't let it eat away at you." He pointed to the locker. "Do you know how much I hate this ritual? As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm to Vaquero s family . . . you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son and the way he died. What am I supposed to tell them? That my best friend turned traitor and killed him in a sneak attack? That I might have stopped it if I hadn't been so convinced that Hobbes was one of the good guys?" He shook his head.
Vagabond shrugged and sighed. "I used to think I could keep myself apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional on duty, and the squadron clown in the rec room. But for the first time, here on Victory, I actually felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real friends . . . Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is to see the end of it all . . . one way or another."
Blair didn't reply right away. Vagabond's words struck a familiar chord. "The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang," he said at last. "It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage you to opt out of it, since you were pretty well set against bombing civilian targets. Now . . . hell, I don't have enough pilots in Gold Squadron as it is. If you really want in, I'll be glad to have you there. But if you're not sure, speak up now. So I can try to get someone else checked out on the Excalibur from one of the other outfits."
Vagabond shook his head. "Don't bother. I'm in."
"It's nice to know you can count on . . . people." Blair turned back to the locker, saw Vaquero's prized old guitar. He picked it up, ran his fingers over each string. "His family will want this, I suppose . . ." he said softly. Then, with another flash of anger, he went on. "It just isn't fair, Chang. That kid should never have been a pilot."
"But he was," Vagabond told him. "A good one, too. We're all going to miss him, before this thing is over."
Together, they emptied out the locker and packed Vaquero's gear in the cargo module. When it was done, Blair tagged it and left it outside the door for a work detail to pick up later. He fetched a second module from a storeroom nearby and headed for his last stop. He knew this one would be the most difficult of all.
Cobra had shared her quarters with Flint, and the lieutenant opened the door at Blair's signal. She saw the cargo module and nodded. "Cobra's stuff, huh?"
"Yeah." He followed her in. "Er . . . you knew her pretty well, didn't you?"
"As well as anyone, I guess," she said. "Laurel didn't make a lot of friends."
"I guess not." Blair looked away. "Fact is, I'm supposed to send her effects to her family, write a note, the usual routine. But I don't even know if she has a family. Her file was pretty thin."
"We were the only family she had," Flint said softly.
"I didn't treat her very well, for family," Blair said, looking away. "I trusted Hobbes, not her . . ."
"You had your reasons," she replied. "Blaming yourself won't change what happened . . . won't bring Cobra back, or Vaquero, either."
"Maybe you're right. I don't know any more. It seems like every choice I've made, every turn I've taken since I came on board this ship has been wrong. I'm starting to second-guess myself on everything."
Flint hesitated a moment before responding, her look intent, searching for something in his face. "Everything? Does that mean your romance with your little grease monkey has fallen through?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He was still feeling bad about breaking his date with Rachel the night before, but under the circumstances he hadn't felt like seeing anyone.
She looked away. "I just thought . . . you could do a lot better, you know?"
"No, I don't know," Blair told her. "Rachel's been a good friend to me . . . more than a friend." He studied her. "I know you thought there might be something between you and me. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea about how I felt."
"Just how do you feel?" she demanded.
"You've been a good friend, too, Flint. Hell, I probably owe you my life, after Delius. And under other circumstances, things might have gone further between us."
"Other circumstances . . . ?"
"Don't you get it, Flint? Rachel's not a pilot. You are. And after Angel — I just don't think I could handle getting involved with another pilot. Especially one who might end up flying on my wing. "He paused. "Truth is, it isn't fair to either one of you, now. When we hit Kilrah, odds are none of us are coming back. So any romance I get into now is strictly short-term."
"Maybe that's all there is for any of us, now," Flint said quietly. "If this next fight goes against us, there won't be time left for anyone."
Blair nodded. "That's true enough. Look . . . I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."
"I'm grown up," she told him. "I can handle rejection. But I don't take kindly to losing out to some mechanic who smells like synlubes and uses grease for make-up."
He looked away, feeling helpless. "If it helps any, I doubt she and I are going anywhere, now."
Flints look was cold. "Do what you like, flyboy, '' she said. "Doesn't matter to me. And like you said, this next op's probably going to be the last, right? For all of us."
"It's a volunteer mission, Flint. You don't have to fly it. Maybe you'd be better off staying with the ship."
She shook her head. "You've been telling me not to put my feelings ahead of my duty, and that's just what I'm going to do now. I will be in on the kill, all right. Just try and stop me." Flint paused. "But I'll give you a word of warning, Colonel. I may try to keep my personal feelings on a leash, but I don't make any guarantees. And it might not be such a good idea for you to pick a wingman you've just kicked in the teeth. If you take my meaning. . . sir."
Blair had no answer for that. He left Flint to pack up Cobra's gear, and headed back to his office to think.
Sometimes it was easier to face the enemy than it was to deal with the people he cared about most.
It was a powerful force, but nowhere near the size of the fleet that had held the Kilrathi at Terra. Yet this was supposed to be Earth's decisive strike, the knockout punch that would end the war.
Blair watched the other ships. and doubted.
"You look like you could use some company, Rachel Coriolis said from behind him.
Blair turned in his chair. "Rachel . . . I thought you had the duty until seventeen hundred hours."
"This is just a break," she said. We've still got a lot to get done before the jump to Hyperion tomorrow, so I'm grabbing a bite to eat now and then pulling a double shift." She mustered a weary smile. "So, are you going to invite a girl to sit down, or what?"
"Sure, sure," he said hurriedly. "Please. Sorry . . ."
Rachel laughed. "So, the rough, tough pilot goes to pieces under pressure." She took the seat across from him, her eyes searching his face under a worried frown. "What's the matter? Is it . . . Hobbes?"
He shook his head. "Not that . . . not really. Fact is . . . it's, well, it's us."
"Us? As in you plus me equals us?"
"Yeah. Look, Rachel, I started thinking some things over today, and I realized something. Yesterday I was all set for a nice little seduction scene. Dinner. Music. A quiet talk that could lead to . . . whatever." He looked away. "After what happened . . ."
"Hey, I understood then. I understand now. We'll still have our time together."
"Maybe it was best that we couldn't make it happen," he went on doggedly. "It might be the best thing if we don't try to push it now . . ."
"Are you backing out on me?" Her expression hovered between concern and anger. "I thought . . ."
"Look, Rachel, by this time tomorrow, God only knows where I'll be. Even if we carry out the mission, the deck's stacked against any of us coming back from Kilrah. It isn't fair to start something with you that I might not be able to finish. I wouldn't want you to have to go through what I did . . . with Angel."
"Pilots . . ." She shook her head. "They'd rather crash and burn than make a commitment. Look, Chris, I've been there, remember? I know what it's like. And I also know that if we keep putting our own lives aside because of what might happen tomorrow, eventually we'll run out of tomorrows. We'll never have anything to look back at, anything to remember except the war, just fighting and killing. I want something else to remember . . . whether it's one night, or an eternity. Don't you?"
"Do you really mean that? You want to go ahead, even knowing it might not be more than one night? ''
She met his eyes and nodded. "I'd rather we had just one night together. Especially if the alternative is . . . never having any time at all."
"Your shift . . ."
"Ends at midnight. I'll skip the dinner and the music if you'll be there for me when I come . . ."
"Midnight, then." She stood when he did, and they came together in a long, lingering kiss. "Midnight . . ."
CHAPTER XXIX
To the real Heart of the Tiger, he thought idly.
"Excalibur three-zero-zero, clear and under power," Blair said aloud. "Lancelot Flight, form on me and proceed as planned."
The other three pilots acknowledged, closing around him. Four Excalibur fighters, to attack the Imperial homeworld. It still seemed like sheer madness. But this time it was truly mankind's last chance for victory.
"Lancelot Flight, Lancelot Flight, this is Round Table," Eisen's voice crackled over the comm channel. "Good luck to you all . . . and Godspeed."
Blair didn't reply. Instead he checked his power levels, then spoke to the other pilots. "Go to cloaks . . . now!" he ordered, switching on his own cloaking system. There was no apparent effect, other than the sudden increase in the fighter's power drain. Weapons and shields were useless while the shroud concealed the craft, but detection would be nearly impossible. Already the other Excaliburs had vanished. He was all alone in an endless night.
Paladin nodded. "Aye. They'll respond on a very high band, and only when you fire a query at them. Believe me, laddie, we've done everything we can tae make this work."
"You're sure Colonel Devereaux got all the way and set up all three depots?" Eisen asked.
"She did," Paladin said quietly. "She managed tae send out a coded signal, before the cats took her ship. A scout ship posted in the Oort Cloud monitored it and brought word tae us." He paused. "It was frae them we learned of the capture. . . and the execution, as well. Then the cats put it out on their propaganda broadcasts. . . ."
"And you really think this plan can work?" Blair said quietly, changing the subject. He didn t want to think about Angel's death, not now. "Aye, laddie, it will work. Because it has to."
* * *
Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"Because it has to." The image on the screen was too small to pick up details, but the voices had been clear enough. It had been a good idea, placing cameras where they might pick up important meetings.The spy shut off the monitor as the briefing dispersed. It seemed that the threat to Kilrah was not over yet, even with the destruction of Behemoth. Thrakhath's instructions didn't cover this eventuality, and there would be no ships lurking nearby to pick up another broadcast.
If the spy was to alert the Prince of this new danger it would require careful preparation indeed. But it had to be done. . . .
For the glory of Kilrah!
CHAPTER XXVII
Flight Control, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"That's the last of them, Colonel. Eight Excaliburs, all ready for action."Blair stared at the flight deck through the transparent wall of Flight Control, studying the lines of the last of the new fighters as it rolled slowly to a halt inside the hangar area. On Paladin's orders, the Excaliburs came from Eagle in exchange for Gold Squadron's Thunderbolts. They certainly looked impressive enough. Blair hoped a few days of patrols would give the pilots a chance to get used to them before they went into action in Paladin's crazy scheme to attack Kilrah. "I hope they're all they're cracked up to be," he said quietly.
"Believe me, skipper, they're the hottest birds that ever hauled jets off a carrier deck," Rachel Coriolis said. She wore an expression of sheer joy as she contemplated the new craft. "These beauties are a mechanic's dream. At long last, I get to really show what I can do."
"Oh, I don't know, Chief," Blair said, glancing at her enraptured face and giving her a smile. "I've been pretty impressed right from the start."
"Yeah, but you haven't seen everything, not by a long shot," she said, flashing an answering grin. She moved a little closer to him and lowered her voice. "It might not be proper protocol to make the first move with an officer and all . . . but how about we get together later on and I'll show you the rest? Sooner or later, you and me, we've got to let go of the ghosts. Figure out if the parts'll fit somewhere else . . . if you know what I mean?"
Blair hesitated, looking into her dark eyes. He couldn't now deny being attracted to Rachel, her quiet strength and her irreverent humor. Always before it seemed too much like a betrayal of Angel. . . .
But Angel was gone, and she would have been the first one to want him to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. Rachel had already helped him over the first, most difficult adjustment. It seemed right, somehow, that they travel further down the road she helped him find that led out of the darkness.
"You think our parts might mesh, Chief?" he asked her, his smile broadening.
"You never know until you take a test run," she said. "Tonight, maybe?"
"Tonight," he agreed quietly.
He was almost surprised at the intensity of the emotion behind that one simple word.
* * *
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"Got a minute, Colonel? Before I have to go on watch?"Blair looked up at Lieutenant Rollins and gave him a curt nod. "Sure. Pull up a chair." He hesitated, studying the young communications officer's worried expression. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"
Rollins sat down, looking uncomfortable. "I think I've finally turned up something solid, Colonel. In that . . . matter Cobra and I've been looking into."
"And that is?"
"I figured out where I'd seen that harmonic pattern before," Rollins told him. "It's been used a time or two in psychiatric work. Personality overlays . . ." Rollins hesitated. "Sometimes, with a subject, you want to be able to switch from a substitute personality to the original, or back again. They use it in therapy, overlaying a well-adjusted behavior pattern over a personality that's got problems, but the doctors want to be able to retrieve the original identity, locate the root of the problem."
"Yeah, I've heard about it. You think it applies here?"
"If I'm right, the Kilrathi might have used that message from Thrakhath as a carrier for a personality trigger. When it was played, it brought up a different personality in a Kilrathi agent on board." Rollins hesitated. "If Cobra's right, it would have brought back an original personality in Hobbes, something overlaid by the one we've known all along. Or . . ."
"Or what?" Blair demanded.
"I . . . was thinking about what you said. About Cobra. She admitted there was something familiar about the signal, but she didn't say what. But it set me to thinking. What if the signal was supposed to bring up an implanted personality in her . . . something programmed by the Kilrathi to make her work as a spy. Hell, she might not even be aware of it any more, if the work was sophisticated enough."
Blair looked down at his drink. "Once again, there's no real proof," he said slowly. "We can hatch theories until the sun goes nova, but without real evidence . . .
"I know, sir," Rollins said, biting his lower lip and looking worried. "But . . . hell, I don't know what to think any more or who to trust. I think I've identified another part of Thrakhath's transmission that carries a low-frequency side message, but it seems like it's a pretty old code. It was discontinued a while back, and is no longer in our current files. I'm still trying to reconstruct it. Maybe we'll know more then. But meantime, what do I do? Tell Cobra? If she's the spy . . .
"Keep it to yourself, Lieutenant," Blair said. His wrist implant chimed a reminder. "Damn. I've got a meeting with Paladin and the Captain." He stood up. "You keep working on that signal, Lieutenant. Crack it fast because we have to find out if there really is a leak — before we start General Taggart's new mission.
* * *
Flight Deck, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
Lieutenant Laurel Buckley studied the sleek lines of the Excalibur and gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Man, oh man, that is a thing of beauty," she said softly. Cobra was looking forward to trying the new craft out, even if it was only a routine patrol."I'll say," Chief Coriolis said, looking up from where she was kneeling, checking the locking mechanism on the forward landing gear "This is one nice piece of machinery."
"Where's Ski, Chief?" Cobra asked. Technician First Class Glazowski was her usual plane captain, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Had to put all the Gold Squadron plane captains through a crash course on how to care and feed these beauties," Rachel told her. "I'm the only one who's up on the specs at the moment. Don't worry, he'll be done by the time your patrol gets back." She looked around. "Who's going out with you?"
"Vaquero," Cobra said. "Except he's late, as usual." She moved over to the cockpit ladder. "I swear he'll be late to his own cantina opening."
"I'll have Flight Control put out a call for him," Rachel said. "You need any help strapping on this baby?"
"Nah. Looks like you're overworked as it is."
"I'll say. I'm supposed to have five techs on every bird. Today I've only got three to get both you guys up and flying." The tech looked disgusted. "My watch roster looks thinner every day, seems like."
"Well, I can run through my checklist just fine by myself. Just don't forget to send somebody out here to give me my clearance when it's time to launch!"
Rachel chuckled and turned away. Buckley paused at the bottom of the ladder and cocked her head to one side. Something . . . someone was moving around on the other side of the Excalibur.
She set her helmet and gauntlets down on the wing and ducked under the fuselage to investigate. From what Rachel just said there shouldn't have been any technicians working in that corner of the bay. . . .
Something struck her in the stomach as she straightened, knocking her backward against the hull of the fighter with such force that she banged her head. As she shook it, trying to clear her blurring vision and the ringing in her ears, she became aware of the pain in her abdomen. Her fingers, clutching at the spot, came away sticky with blood
And then her vision did clear, for a moment, as she slumped to the deck. The bulky figure standing over her might have stepped out of her worst nightmare.
"Hobbes . . ." she gasped. Then blackness took her.
* * *
Flight Control, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
Rachel Coriolis entered the Flight Control Center and dropped into the nearest vacant seat. "God, I'll be glad to get some sack time," she said. She suppressed a grin as she remembered the plans she'd made with Blair. She doubted either one of them would get much sack time tonight. "They're all yours, Captain. And good riddance."Lieutenant Ion Radescu, the duty Flight Controller, gave her a grin. "Come on, Rachel, you know you love it. What would your life be without fighters to work over, huh? '
"A hell of a lot cleaner," she said, returning his smile. Since Admiral Tolwyn's departure, she'd gone right back to her old habits of dress.
Radescu chuckled and turned to his console. "Okay, boys and girls, let's get this show started." He thumbed a mike switch. "Prowler Flight, this is Control. Radio check."
"Prowler Two," Vaquero said. "Read you five by five."
There was a moment of silence before Cobra's voice came on the speakers. "Clear signal."
The FCO frowned. "Prowler One, I'm not getting anything on video from you. You got a fault showing?"
Again there was a pause. "Negative."
"Damned thing ought to be working, Rachel said, joining Radescu at the console. Those birds are so new you can still smell the fresh paint."
"Want to have a look?" Radescu asked.
"It ain't enough to get a down-gripe," Rachel told him. "Long as audio's working, I don't see a problem." She paused. "I'll take a look when they get back in."
"Okay, Chief," the FCO nodded. "Prowler Flight cleared to launch."
Out on the flight deck below them, the fighters rolled into position in their launch tubes. Green lights flashed on Radescu's board. "Launch when ready," he ordered.
And the two Excaliburs hurtled into space.
Rachel turned away. "I'm gonna grab me a cup of something hot and then check on my students in Ready Room Three," she said over her shoulder. "Yell if you need me — The intercom shrilled. "Flight Control, Bay Twelve," a hoarse voice was loud over the speaker. "I just found Cobra down here. She's hurt . . . real bad!"
"Cobra?" Rachel and Radescu spoke at the same moment.
"What the hell . . . ?" the FCO added. "Rachel, get down there and find out what's going on." He was already punching in a combination on the intercom "Bridge, this is Flight Control. We have a problem . . ."
* * *
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
"Our job, then, is tae remain clear of the fighting unless absolutely necessary. Let the rest of the fleet thoroughly engage the bloody moggies and then slip around to the back door, the jump point to Kilrah. Then, laddie, your squadron will launch."Blair nodded as Paladin finished. "With luck, the Excaliburs will cloak before the cats see us out there, and we can reach the jump point without ever being noticed. Very pretty planning, General."
Taggart grinned. "Another fine product of the Covert Ops planning staff," he said. "Just remember, laddie, that the cloak's nae good at close range. It hides ye from sensors, but it doesna make you invisible."
"I'm still not very happy about sending the fighters through blind." Eisen spoke up for the first time since the briefing had started. "They'll have no support . . . and if they run into trouble before they refuel they won't be able to recharge their jump generators and make it back here safely. If this really is a back door into Kilrah, wouldn't it be better going in with them?"
"We dinna ken how well defended the jump point might be," Paladin said. "The fighters will have to decloak to jump, of course, and they'll be detected as they enter the system. But if they cloak right away, they can evade any reception committees in the neighborhood. Send a carrier in, and we stir up a hornet's nest."
"I appreciate the concern, Captain," Blair added, meeting Eisen's eyes. "Fact is, our chances of getting back aren't that good one way or another. I'm treating this as a one-way mission . . . volunteers only. If we can get back, great. But none of us will be under any illusions."
"Laddie —" Paladin began. He was cut off by the ululation of an alarm siren.
"Flight deck. Emergency." The voice on the tannoy belonged to Rollins, but it was almost unrecognizable, choked with emotion. "We have a problem on the flight deck!"
"Blair, get down there," Eisen rasped, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge . . ."
"On my way," Blair said. He was already halfway to the door, but Paladin, despite his age and bulk, was right behind him. They raced to the elevator, all pretense of officer s dignity forgotten.
Rachel met them at the door to the hangar deck. "Bay Twelve," she said, grim-faced. The two men didn't wait for an explanation. They hurried down the row of fighter bays to the empty space that had housed the Excalibur assigned to Lieutenant Buckley.
Cobra was lying near the back of the bay, half hidden by a rack of testing equipment. There was blood on the deck where she'd been dragged to the niche, and a larger pool of blood around her. Someone had tried to staunch her wounds with a makeshift bandage, but it wasn't controlling the flow of blood. Blair knelt beside her and lifted it to examine her injuries. Four deep slashes cut across her stomach, and the sight of those wounds made Blair, hardened veteran that he was, turn his head away.
He had seen that kind of disemboweling cut before after the ground fighting on Muspelheim a decade ago. The cuts could only have been made by a Kilrathi's claws.
Blair tried to ignore the nausea welling up inside him. Cobra's eyes fluttered open. "Colonel . . ." she gasped.
"Hobbes?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"He . . . hit me. Don't know why . . ."
"I do," Paladin said grimly. He held up a holo-cassette. "He must have dropped this when he dragged her over here."
Taggart pressed a button, and a small holographic image formed in the air above Cobra. It took Blair a moment to recognize the scene. It was a view of Eisen's ready room, shot from a high angle. The three figures there belonged to Eisen, Paladin, and Blair.
"This is the Temblor Bomb," Paladin's image said. "It was developed by Doctor Philip Severin, one of the top research men in the Confederation. It's been undergoing tests for some time now . . . nearly a decade, in fact."
Taggart switched it off. "The briefing . . ."
"All this time," Blair said slowly, shaking his head. "All this time, he's had us bugged. . . .
Rachel returned, with a team of medics running after her. Paladin moved away to give them room to work, while Blair cradled her head and shoulders in his arms. "We'll get you to sick bay," he told her.
"Too late . . . for me," she gasped out. "Get Hobbes. You still have time . . ."
He could almost feel the life ebbing out of her as the awareness faded from her eyes. One of the medics shook his head. "It's no good, sir," he said. "She's gone."
Blair lowered her head to the deck gently and stood up. "What about Hobbes?" he asked Rachel, voice flat and harsh. "Any idea where he is?"
"He took Cobra's fighter," she said. "Launched with Vaquero a few minutes ago. He must have had a tape of her voice to answer the radio check."
Flint appeared at the mouth of the bay, running. She pulled up short at the sight of Cobra, then fixed her eyes on Blair. "Prowler One just broke off the patrol route," she said, breathing hard. "Fired on Vaquero when he tried to intercept." She paused. "The fighter's heading for the Freya jump point, maximum speed Vaquero's pursuing.
Blair looked at Paladin. "Even without that holo, Hobbes can tell them about the plan. About the caches . . ."
Taggart nodded. "If he makes it through the jump point, it's all over, lad," he said.
"Not yet, it isn't," Blair said. He looked at Rachel. Which of the Excaliburs is prepped for Alert Five?"
"Three-oh-four," she said "Maniac's bird."
"Get it on the line now. And get me a flight suit." He turned to Flint. "You get to Flight Control. Order Vaquero to keep up the chase. Stop that bastard at all costs, or at least slow him down until I get there."
He looked back down at Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and rage. "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes . . ."
Blair turned away and started toward Maniac's fighter, grim and determined. Hobbes had betrayed them . . . and now the renegade had to be stopped before he destroyed everything.
* * *
Excalibur 304.
Blackmane System
"Victory, Victory, I need help out here! He s flying rings around me!"Blair muttered a curse under his breath. Even with the Excalibur's superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake Vaquero and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and keep him busy, but it was an uneven match. Hobbes had always been a good pilot, but Blair had never expected to see him matched against one of his own comrades.
On his sensor screen, he saw Hobbes making a long slow loop, circling back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already taken damage to his engines, and was having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.
"He's coming in again . . ." Lopez said. "Firing . . ."
A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It must have been a fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed and weaved in pursuit of Ralgha's fighter. Hobbes tried to dodge it, but it caught him across the port-side shield. Lopez let out a whoop and dove. Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.
"All right!" Lopez shouted. "That one's for Cobra! Get ready to say good-bye, Hobbes."
"Not today, I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathi's fighter released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.
"Cristos . . . I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos . . .
And then he was gone.
"God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."
"Is that you. . . old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."
"Deal with this . . . old friend!" Blair shouted. Ralgha's Excalibur was just coming into extreme range, and Blair let loose a volley of blaster fire. But Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.
Ralgha turned away, as if to run. Blair's hands clenched on the steering yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away . . .
But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too much of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into the area and since Hobbes could only be heading for the Freya jump point to warn the Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.
Ralgha suddenly rolled up and back, a classic Immelman maneuver that almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again as he dodged the Kilrathi's fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves. But he wasn't flying quite the way he usually did. There was something different in his style, more reckless, more aggressive. More like the Kilrathi Blair usually met in battle.
As Hobbes sped past, Blair checked his sensor readouts on the other Excalibur. Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If the port shield went down, Ralgha would be vulnerable, and he was sure to be sensitive to that weakness. Hobbes had used all of his missiles to knock out Lopez, giving Blair a significant advantage.
The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him. He let Hobbes finish his turn, then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a charge right at the other fighter, a move he was sure Hobbes would never expect from him. Blaster fire raked across his forward shields, but he ignored it, even when the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were going down . . .
Ralgha stopped firing, his weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi swerved sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire. The two fighters were close together now, and Blair had to kill his momentum quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.
The Terran allowed himself a grim smile and locked on a pair of heat-seekers. As Ralgha finished his turn and exposed his tail, Blair let the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.
"Impressive, my friend," Hobbes said as the barrage struck home. "Impressive . . . I fear that you have bested me . . . Now I shall never see Kilrah again."
The missiles detonated almost simultaneously as the Excalibur's rear shields went down. The fighter came apart.
Blair thought he heard Hobbes call out his name before the fireball consumed his craft.
"Excalibur three-o-four," he said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. He couldn't feel anything, either sadness or satisfaction, at the knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes . . . is gone. I'm coming in."
CHAPTER XXVIII
Flight Wing Quarters, TCS Victory.
Blackmane System
Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to ask questions, or to offer comments. He didn't think he could face anyone just now, especially not here, in the quarters that had belonged to Ralgha nar Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on automatically. They were set to the dim reddish hue Hobbes favored, a reminder of Kilrah's K6 star.A reminder of Ralgha's home . . .
Ralgha . . . Hobbes . . . It surprised Blair to realize how deep this wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas, flown with him, loved him like a brother over the better part of fifteen long years. When others had raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in Hobbes, the one being Blair would have trusted to the bitter end. . . and beyond. Yet Hobbes betrayed him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge of that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.
He turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the door, punching for Terra-normal lights and lower heat and humidity than Ralgha had preferred. The changes helped him push away the bitter thoughts of Hobbes, but not far enough for any real peace of mind.
No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth comb in hopes of finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert Ops. But it was one of his duties, as wing commander, to deal with the personal property of any pilot who died while under his command, and much as he wanted to delegate it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had no idea where it would go when Paladin was through with it. Usually personal effects were returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?
He defected in the company of a retainer named Kirha. Had the retainer been another agent? Or legitimate? Blair wasn't even sure if the other Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St. John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't heard anything of Hunter for a long time.
Well, if nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned to the Empire when the war was over, if it ever was over. Perhaps Hobbes still had family somewhere. He claimed they had all died before his defection, but that could have been yet another lie.
Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more, about Hobbes . . . or about anything else.
A slender box lying on the bunk drew his eye, and Blair crossed the room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector, much like the one Angel had sent him. Curious, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed the switch.
A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.
"Colonel Blair," the holographic figure said in Ralgha's familiar tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me to provide an explanation for my actions."
"You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct, the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by Imperial Security at the behest of Prince Thrakhath. You have never met the real Ralgha nar Hhallas, nor would you have become his friend, for he was and is dedicated to the service of the Empire Only the construct-personality could become your comrade and friend. I myself was entirely unaware of my true self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, the message where you were given your Kilrathi title, the Heart of the Tiger. Embedded in combination with a signal embedded in that transmission, the phrase 'Heart of the Tiger' was the trigger that awakened my true personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages within it that gave me my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no choice but to act as I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am the Heart of the Tiger."
The Kilrathi paused for a long time. His expression was one Blair had never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi do not surrender, my old friend, and neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race and obedient to my duty, I have been forced to betray you. For though I am no longer the same being you once named Hobbes and befriended when I was alone among strangers, I retain a full memory of everything that Ralgha thought and did. I remember you, Colonel, for what you were and are, and know that you are an honorable warrior. If I could have performed my duty without betraying you, I would have done so, but that was not possible. And if we meet again . . . we will have no choice but to perform our duties . . . with honor."
"I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in battle. But if we do, I will salute you as a warrior . . . and I will mourn you, as a friend lost to me forever."
The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained there a long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.
He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.
It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you here. Captain called down to Flight Control asking after the final operations plan for this mission of the General's." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning out the cat's stuff, huh?"
Blair shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Just . . . an inventory. Before the captain gets started with the investigation . . ."
"Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into . . everything, huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"
Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.
"Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across, Marshall said.
Blair surged out of the bunk and caught him by the collar, raising a hand to strike the man. All his anger had came rushing out, and all he wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.
"Temper, temper," Marshall said. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish, Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to lose any more wingmen. Not now.
Blair dropped his hand and let go of Marshall's collar. The major took a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.
"For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.
"I am?"
"Yeah. Yeah, there's precious few of us left, Major. Two Excaliburs destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only four of us left in Gold Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face. "I'd deck you right now, Maniac, and to hell with the consequences. But I figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."
Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right. You never thought I was any good before. So why would you want me this time?"
"Simple," Blair told him. "Odds are none of us are coming back from this one, but I figure you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down. So maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's over and done with."
Marshall looked at him doubtfully, as if uncertain how serious Blair was. "You're crazy, man," he said.
Blair didn't answer him. He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started the inventory, ignoring Marshall until the other man snorted again and left the cabin.
After Maniac left, he took time out to use the intercom to pass a message to Eisen, identifying the computer file that held the work the flight wing staff had put into refining Paladin's attack plan. Then he finished up in Ralgha's cabin and left, locking the door behind him with a security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.
He still had other unpleasant duties to take care of however. The next one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold Squadron. He halted in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG — LT. MITCHELL LOPEZ and set down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.
Blair touched the buzzer beside the door and stepped back. It took a few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights were out, but a figure was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.
"Come in," Vagabond said. There was little of his usual bantering manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I do for you?"
Blair kicked the cargo module through the door and stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, he said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced this part of the job alone, as he had in Ralgha's quarters. "I just . . . I came to round up Vaquero's stuff. Shuttle's heading back to the Eagle later today, and I figured they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump . . ."
"In case we don't make it," Chang finished the thought for him. He raised his voice slightly. "Lights."
The computer brought the light level up. Under the illumination, the lieutenant's expression was bleak.
"Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair said quietly. "I know how you feel . . . this mess is getting to all of us. But we've all got to get a grip. Bounce back."
"The cliche of the week," Chang said. He pointed to one of the lockers on the far wall. "That one's Vaquero's. Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."
Blair nodded and crossed to the locker, opening it with a security magnakey that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy. Evidently Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions in the short time he'd been aboard Victory.
"Tell me this much, Colonel," Vagabond said from behind him. "Rumor mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it true?"
Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah. A shot . . . a pretty damned long one, but a shot."
"Good." Chang gave a curt nod. "Good. Because I want a piece of the bastards."
"Are you sure? You were the one who had doubts about Behemoth, as I recall. And the new mission's also designed to knock out Kilrah. No ifs, ands, buts, or maybes . . ."
Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it, the kid didn't have to die like that. He was going to retire, open his cantina. He had it all planned out, and that bastard Hobbes snuffed him out. And Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line, but this . . . it's just wrong."
Blair fixed him with a level stare. "I hear you, Vagabond. I've been there myself, and not just this cruise, either. But you can't let it eat away at you." He pointed to the locker. "Do you know how much I hate this ritual? As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm to Vaquero s family . . . you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son and the way he died. What am I supposed to tell them? That my best friend turned traitor and killed him in a sneak attack? That I might have stopped it if I hadn't been so convinced that Hobbes was one of the good guys?" He shook his head.
Vagabond shrugged and sighed. "I used to think I could keep myself apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional on duty, and the squadron clown in the rec room. But for the first time, here on Victory, I actually felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real friends . . . Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is to see the end of it all . . . one way or another."
Blair didn't reply right away. Vagabond's words struck a familiar chord. "The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang," he said at last. "It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage you to opt out of it, since you were pretty well set against bombing civilian targets. Now . . . hell, I don't have enough pilots in Gold Squadron as it is. If you really want in, I'll be glad to have you there. But if you're not sure, speak up now. So I can try to get someone else checked out on the Excalibur from one of the other outfits."
Vagabond shook his head. "Don't bother. I'm in."
"It's nice to know you can count on . . . people." Blair turned back to the locker, saw Vaquero's prized old guitar. He picked it up, ran his fingers over each string. "His family will want this, I suppose . . ." he said softly. Then, with another flash of anger, he went on. "It just isn't fair, Chang. That kid should never have been a pilot."
"But he was," Vagabond told him. "A good one, too. We're all going to miss him, before this thing is over."
Together, they emptied out the locker and packed Vaquero's gear in the cargo module. When it was done, Blair tagged it and left it outside the door for a work detail to pick up later. He fetched a second module from a storeroom nearby and headed for his last stop. He knew this one would be the most difficult of all.
Cobra had shared her quarters with Flint, and the lieutenant opened the door at Blair's signal. She saw the cargo module and nodded. "Cobra's stuff, huh?"
"Yeah." He followed her in. "Er . . . you knew her pretty well, didn't you?"
"As well as anyone, I guess," she said. "Laurel didn't make a lot of friends."
"I guess not." Blair looked away. "Fact is, I'm supposed to send her effects to her family, write a note, the usual routine. But I don't even know if she has a family. Her file was pretty thin."
"We were the only family she had," Flint said softly.
"I didn't treat her very well, for family," Blair said, looking away. "I trusted Hobbes, not her . . ."
"You had your reasons," she replied. "Blaming yourself won't change what happened . . . won't bring Cobra back, or Vaquero, either."
"Maybe you're right. I don't know any more. It seems like every choice I've made, every turn I've taken since I came on board this ship has been wrong. I'm starting to second-guess myself on everything."
Flint hesitated a moment before responding, her look intent, searching for something in his face. "Everything? Does that mean your romance with your little grease monkey has fallen through?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He was still feeling bad about breaking his date with Rachel the night before, but under the circumstances he hadn't felt like seeing anyone.
She looked away. "I just thought . . . you could do a lot better, you know?"
"No, I don't know," Blair told her. "Rachel's been a good friend to me . . . more than a friend." He studied her. "I know you thought there might be something between you and me. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea about how I felt."
"Just how do you feel?" she demanded.
"You've been a good friend, too, Flint. Hell, I probably owe you my life, after Delius. And under other circumstances, things might have gone further between us."
"Other circumstances . . . ?"
"Don't you get it, Flint? Rachel's not a pilot. You are. And after Angel — I just don't think I could handle getting involved with another pilot. Especially one who might end up flying on my wing. "He paused. "Truth is, it isn't fair to either one of you, now. When we hit Kilrah, odds are none of us are coming back. So any romance I get into now is strictly short-term."
"Maybe that's all there is for any of us, now," Flint said quietly. "If this next fight goes against us, there won't be time left for anyone."
Blair nodded. "That's true enough. Look . . . I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."
"I'm grown up," she told him. "I can handle rejection. But I don't take kindly to losing out to some mechanic who smells like synlubes and uses grease for make-up."
He looked away, feeling helpless. "If it helps any, I doubt she and I are going anywhere, now."
Flints look was cold. "Do what you like, flyboy, '' she said. "Doesn't matter to me. And like you said, this next op's probably going to be the last, right? For all of us."
"It's a volunteer mission, Flint. You don't have to fly it. Maybe you'd be better off staying with the ship."
She shook her head. "You've been telling me not to put my feelings ahead of my duty, and that's just what I'm going to do now. I will be in on the kill, all right. Just try and stop me." Flint paused. "But I'll give you a word of warning, Colonel. I may try to keep my personal feelings on a leash, but I don't make any guarantees. And it might not be such a good idea for you to pick a wingman you've just kicked in the teeth. If you take my meaning. . . sir."
Blair had no answer for that. He left Flint to pack up Cobra's gear, and headed back to his office to think.
Sometimes it was easier to face the enemy than it was to deal with the people he cared about most.
* * *
Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.
Freya System
The carrier made the jump from Blackmane to the Freya System, where the High Command ordered the strike force to assemble for the attack that was supposed to cover the raid on Kilrah. Through the viewport in the rec room, Blair could see a few of the ships of the Terran fleet, some close enough to recognize shapes and configurations, others so far away that they glimmered as moving lights against the starfield.It was a powerful force, but nowhere near the size of the fleet that had held the Kilrathi at Terra. Yet this was supposed to be Earth's decisive strike, the knockout punch that would end the war.
Blair watched the other ships. and doubted.
"You look like you could use some company, Rachel Coriolis said from behind him.
Blair turned in his chair. "Rachel . . . I thought you had the duty until seventeen hundred hours."
"This is just a break," she said. We've still got a lot to get done before the jump to Hyperion tomorrow, so I'm grabbing a bite to eat now and then pulling a double shift." She mustered a weary smile. "So, are you going to invite a girl to sit down, or what?"
"Sure, sure," he said hurriedly. "Please. Sorry . . ."
Rachel laughed. "So, the rough, tough pilot goes to pieces under pressure." She took the seat across from him, her eyes searching his face under a worried frown. "What's the matter? Is it . . . Hobbes?"
He shook his head. "Not that . . . not really. Fact is . . . it's, well, it's us."
"Us? As in you plus me equals us?"
"Yeah. Look, Rachel, I started thinking some things over today, and I realized something. Yesterday I was all set for a nice little seduction scene. Dinner. Music. A quiet talk that could lead to . . . whatever." He looked away. "After what happened . . ."
"Hey, I understood then. I understand now. We'll still have our time together."
"Maybe it was best that we couldn't make it happen," he went on doggedly. "It might be the best thing if we don't try to push it now . . ."
"Are you backing out on me?" Her expression hovered between concern and anger. "I thought . . ."
"Look, Rachel, by this time tomorrow, God only knows where I'll be. Even if we carry out the mission, the deck's stacked against any of us coming back from Kilrah. It isn't fair to start something with you that I might not be able to finish. I wouldn't want you to have to go through what I did . . . with Angel."
"Pilots . . ." She shook her head. "They'd rather crash and burn than make a commitment. Look, Chris, I've been there, remember? I know what it's like. And I also know that if we keep putting our own lives aside because of what might happen tomorrow, eventually we'll run out of tomorrows. We'll never have anything to look back at, anything to remember except the war, just fighting and killing. I want something else to remember . . . whether it's one night, or an eternity. Don't you?"
"Do you really mean that? You want to go ahead, even knowing it might not be more than one night? ''
She met his eyes and nodded. "I'd rather we had just one night together. Especially if the alternative is . . . never having any time at all."
"Your shift . . ."
"Ends at midnight. I'll skip the dinner and the music if you'll be there for me when I come . . ."
"Midnight, then." She stood when he did, and they came together in a long, lingering kiss. "Midnight . . ."
CHAPTER XXIX
Excalibur 300.
Hyperion System
Acceleration pressed Blair into his seat as the Excalibur burst into open space. He cut in his engines and steered hard to port, toward the unseen jump point that would carry him to the enemy homeworld.To the real Heart of the Tiger, he thought idly.
"Excalibur three-zero-zero, clear and under power," Blair said aloud. "Lancelot Flight, form on me and proceed as planned."
The other three pilots acknowledged, closing around him. Four Excalibur fighters, to attack the Imperial homeworld. It still seemed like sheer madness. But this time it was truly mankind's last chance for victory.
"Lancelot Flight, Lancelot Flight, this is Round Table," Eisen's voice crackled over the comm channel. "Good luck to you all . . . and Godspeed."
Blair didn't reply. Instead he checked his power levels, then spoke to the other pilots. "Go to cloaks . . . now!" he ordered, switching on his own cloaking system. There was no apparent effect, other than the sudden increase in the fighter's power drain. Weapons and shields were useless while the shroud concealed the craft, but detection would be nearly impossible. Already the other Excaliburs had vanished. He was all alone in an endless night.