Tolwyn, Geoffrey's nephew.
     "Yeah go ahead, Lone Wolf."
     "I  just  heard  the  word  on Tarawa's commlink  to  our two squadrons
covering  the  ground  assault. They've been ordered to break off engagement
and withdraw out of the atmosphere."
     "Yeah, that's the  word. You got any inside stuff? What the hell is the
old man up to?"
     "Damned if I know, sir."
     "Follow orders, then,"  Hunter replied  and then  checked  through  his
channels to  make  sure that  the other squadrons were  following orders  as
well. In the heat of a successful battle like this, it was tough at times to
break an action off. There could only be one of two reasons for this, either
some major Kilrathi reinforcements had been detected and  Tolwyn was pulling
in his fighters to rearm, or  the other possibility. He  pushed that thought
aside as absurd.
     "Griffin, get us on Concordia navlock."
     "Already on, sir."
     "Let's go back and find out what the hell is going on."

     "Attention!"
     The squadron commanders, and section  officers called together for  the
staff meeting leaped out of their seats and came rigidly to attention.
     Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, strode into the briefing room. He reached
the  podium, lowered his head  for a second and then raised it again to look
out  at the men and women in the room. He felt  a  tug  at his heart at  the
sight of them.
     "Never, for God sake never, let your people get inside your  heart, for
your job is to use them,  and if need  be  kill them," a  voice whispered to
him. It was his old mentor Banbridge's classic piece of advice.
     I guess that's what separates  me from  him,  Geoff thought. With Clara
and the boys gone this is my family. It was something he never let show,  no
matter what. He knew  that  behind his back he was "the  old man," which was
the gentlest of epithets; usually it was far worse and ofttimes  even angry.
They  never  really knew how he felt, especially when  he looked  into their
eyes just before  a  strike went out, knowing that he was  ordering some  of
them to their deaths. Well, at least that's finished for the moment.
     He clicked a comm  button which opened the public  address channel  for
the entire ship.
     "All  hands,  all  hands, this  is Admiral Tolwyn,"  his  deep baritone
voice,  clipped  with  the  refined touch of  an Oxford  education,  echoing
through the ship.
     "I have just received the following communication from C-in-C ConFleet,
it reads, ‘To Tolwyn, commanding, Task Force  45.  Armistice  agreement  and
cease  fire has  been reached  with Kilrathi Empire, to  be  effective  upon
reception of this signal. All offensive operations  to cease immediately and
to  withdraw  to  navigation  point  detailed  below Repeat,  all  offensive
operations  to cease at once. Fire  only if  fired  upon.  Signed  Noragami,
commanding, Confederation Navy.' "
     He hesitated as if wanting to say something and then lowered his head
     "That is all," and clicked off the comm channel.
     He  looked  back up at his  officers  who  stood  incredulous.  In  the
corridors outside the conference room distant cheering could be heard.
     "I'm only going to say  this once," Tolwyn  said quietly. "I'm proud of
all of you for the job you've  done. In the seven years I've been in command
of Concordia  we've  taken  out eight carriers, a  score  of  capital ships,
countless fighters  and  bombers,  and  fought  in nine major fleet actions.
Concordia is not just  steel, guns and planes, in fact it is you, it is your
flesh and blood  and the spirits of all those who've  served on  her, living
and dead."
     He hesitated for a moment.
     "When it comes time for her to fight again,  I hope and pray that  I'll
be able to count on you all in our hour of need."
     "Dismissed."
     He started for the door, the room silent.
     "Damn,  we're going home!" somebody  shouted and  the room  erupted  in
cheers. Tolwyn stiffened his shoulders and walked out.
     He passed down the corridor, ignoring the cheers and the momentary lack
of discipline, retreated to his office,  closed  the door, and for the first
time  in months  poured a good stiff drink of  single malt Scotch.  Settling
back in his chair he started to  review the  first holo tapes  of the strike
mission.
     The timing was masterful, the strike  crews the finest professionals he
had  ever  served  with, nearly every Broadsword gaining lock  and launching
simultaneously. A successful strike  like that was even  more intricate than
the most finely crafted ballet, and in his eyes even more beautiful.
     Damn it.
     A knock on the door disturbed  him  and  he  set  his drink down on the
table behind his desk.
     "Come."
     The door slid open and  he could not help but allow a slight flicker of
a  smile  to  light  his  features  at the sight  of  Captain  Jason  "Bear"
Bondarevsky standing at attention in the corridor.
     "Come on in, Bear. What brings you over here anyhow."
     Jason came into the room and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
     "We'll wave regs and at  least let you have a sip," and he poured out a
thin splash of Scotch in a tumbler and passed it over.
     "Thank you, sir."
     "Have a seat."
     Jason  went  over  to the  proffered chair  by  the admiral's desk  and
settled in . He sniffed his glass and tasted the Scotch.
     "Not bad, sir."
     "The best, saved for special occasions."
     "Like this one?"
     "No, not really, I just felt a need for it."
     Jason looked down at the floor and Tolwyn could feel the tension.
     "Come on, son, out with it."
     "Sir,  something's  troubling  me,  I  thought I  better  come over and
discuss it with you privately."
     "You mean this little thing called an armistice."
     "In part," Jason said quietly.
     "Well, what is it then?"
     "Sir,  that communication from ConFleet  announcing the  armistice came
through close to fifty minutes before our strike hit the carrier."
     Tolwyn exhaled noisily and leaned back in his chair.
     "How the  hell  do you know  that, Bondarevsky?"  he  asked  quietly, a
threatening chill in his voice. "That message was directed solely to me."
     "Sir, Tarawa was the  back up carrier for  this operation. If something
should have  happened  to  Concordia  it would  have  been  my job to assume
control  of  the air  strikes. In  that situation,  I took it upon myself to
monitor all ConFleet channels and that included yours. Suppose you were hit,
sir? It  would have then been my  job  to know  the entire picture. I didn't
notice it immediately since it was  simply decoded and stored in my personal
data system.  But after  the action I was going through the signals  to dump
them off my system and I saw it."
     What Jason was confessing was  somewhat outside the regulations but  it
showed careful planning and  foresight  on his part. If something had indeed
happened to Concordia  the young officer  before him might very well have to
take full responsibility for everything that transpired.
     There was an ancient cautionary tale told in the service academies, the
incident dating back to a war once fought between England and America. In an
encounter between an American and British ship the commanding officer of the
American  vessel was mortally wounded, and  the junior officer took him down
below deck to the surgeon. In the short interval that followed all the other
officers  were hit  and, without his  even  being  aware of it,  the  junior
officer was now in command. By the time he returned to the deck his ship had
already been battered into submission  and forced to surrender  after barely
putting   up  a   fight.  The   junior   officer   was   held   responsible,
court-martialed, and found guilty of dereliction of duty,  a duty he was not
even aware had suddenly come to rest upon his shoulders. The lesson was part
of the tradition and backbone of the fleet — there is no excuse for defeat
     Geoff looked at Jason  and realized as well that he had made  a crucial
mistake in not assuming that Jason might very well be listening in.
     "And what do you think?" he finally said quietly.
     "I  lost  two  crews  in  that  attack, two  pilots  and a  gunner. I'm
wondering how their families would feel if  they  knew their kids got killed
after a war was officially over."
     Tolwyn nodded and said nothing.
     "I don't  give  a good damn about the  furballs," Jason continued, "but
five hundred or more of them died when that carrier got cooked. I don't feel
too good about that either, sir."
     "Neither do I."
     "Then why did you do it, sir?"
     "I'd rather not say, Jason, but let me ask you a question."
     "Sure."
     "If this was just another  day in the  war,  how would  you  feel about
taking out that carrier."
     "I hate losing  people, but trading  a Rapier, a Sabre and two of  your
Broadswords for a light carrier is a damn fine piece of work  in my book.  I
wish it had always been that easy."
     Tolwyn nodded.
     "That's how I still feel about it, Jason."
     "But the war's over. We were hearing the rumors even before this attack
started out.  Something about a peace party coming into power in the Empire,
Prince Thrakhath falling into disgrace, and Foreign Minister Jamison pushing
for an armistice. Damn it, sir,  they're saying it's finally over and we can
go home."
     "And do you really believe it?"
     Jason hesitated.
     "Well, do you?"
     "I want to believe it, sir."
     "Damn it, man,  that's  exactly  it. You want to  believe  it. Everyone
wants  to believe it. But  there's a hell of a long  stretch between wishing
for  something  and  actually  seeing  it  come  true.  Anyone  who believes
something  simply  because it sounds good and  he wishes it to be true is  a
damned fool and that's why I did what I did."
     "Sir?"
     "This war is not over  by  a long shot," Tolwyn growled, "and I'll kiss
the hairy backside of  the first Kilrathi I meet  if they can ever  prove it
differently to me.
     "It's too pat, it's too damn straight  forward  and simple. I  remember
once hearing a great  line about another war, ‘this is  such madness only an
idealist could  have started  it.' Well, this peace offer is the same thing,
only an idealist would be stupid enough  to believe it. By God, son, we were
finally getting an edge. We stumbled on the tactics of it all thanks to you,
realizing just how under-protected and  vulnerable their construction  sites
were. They haven't  gotten a single new  carrier on  line in the  last year.
They still outnumber  us,  but they're hurting, hurting  even worse with the
loss of their transports. We just might be turning the edge in this war, and
now the damn fool politicians go for this armistice offer."
     "So you  disobey orders on your own and decide to  keep the war going a
little longer."
     "The target was there and I took it, a carrier that if we allowed it to
get away might cost  us  fifty to a hundred pilots  the  next  time around,"
Tolwyn said quietly. "And I think that even you, Jason, who once risked your
career to try and save a ship load of Kilrathi civilians, even you down deep
agree with me."
     Jason drained the rest of the Scotch from his glass and closed his eyes
for a moment.
     "Yes, sir, I do."
     Tolwyn could  see the struggle  such an  answer had  created. From most
other officers he would have dismissed it  as brown nosing a superior but he
knew that from Jason it came from the heart.
     "Why?"
     "Like you  said," Jason replied. "It just doesn't  smell  right. I know
that even after Vukar Tag, and the Third Enigma Campaign they still have the
edge on us. For  the Kilrathi, war  is  part of the core of their soul. This
intel stuff about a  shift in the  power structure of  the  palace.  If it's
true, the new power behind the throne would have his throat ripped out if he
tried  for  a serious peace after all the  sacrifices they've endured. Now I
don't know much about Kilrathi psychology other than what I got in the naval
college  while waiting  for Tarawa to finish out  her  refitting, but I know
enough  that  the seeking of  peace other  than  after  a total  triumph  is
anathema to them.
     "Going for  peace is impossible to their  mindset. If they  were losing
there  would be only one  possible action, a  suicidal fight to  the end; if
they were winning, a fight to ultimate triumph. There is no inbetween. Their
society functions primarily through submission to strength, with the  one in
power  gaining  complete loyalty by refraining from killing  the one who has
submitted. But since we are not of the blood, we are therefore inferior, and
as such it is impossible to submit to us. There might be exceptions, such as
that warrior  who serves Hunter, but that was through direct orders from his
superior."
     "So if  the emperor or whomever is behind the  emperor orders it,  then
why not peace?"
     "Because  the power  at the  top derives its strength through conflict.
They  know that if their aggressive  instincts are not diverted  outwards it
will turn inwards  and the families  will eventually destroy each other. And
besides, it's one thing for a lone warrior to submit, but for the highest of
noble  blood  to  do  so,  to  submit  to  someone  not of  equal blood,  is
impossible."
     "Precisely," Geoff  said  quietly, inwardly pleased  as  if  a favorite
pupil or son had mastered an intricate question.
     He felt a  flash of  warmth for  Jason,  remembering the relief he felt
when  he had jumped into  the heart of the  Empire to  pull  Tarawa out  and
discovering  that  the ship  was  still  alive.  He  felt the warmth as well
because it  was Jason who  had taken his nephew out to war as a spoiled brat
and brought him back as a man.
     "This whole  thing is a set-up,  I'm convinced of  it; and  I tell  you
this,  Jason,  if our government falls for it, all our butts will be in  the
wringer."
     "I best get  back  to my ship,"  Jason said  quietly  and  he stood up,
putting his glass down on the side table.
     "Jason?"
     "Sir?"
     "What do you plan to do about my violation of orders?"
     "If I'm asked about it,  sir, I plan to  tell the truth." He hesitated.
"I  have to tell the  truth, that you launched an attack  after knowing that
the  initial cease fire  had been agreed to. To  do  anything  else would be
dishonorable."
     Tolwyn smiled.
     "You're a good officer, son. I've always  been proud  of  you; I know I
always will be."
     He extended his hand and Jason took it.
     "Let's hope I'm wrong about this armistice, but I know I'm not."


        CHAPTER TWO

     Jason Bondarevsky  winced from  the  glare of the  lights. Damn, how he
hated  the press. He had endured "the treatment"  before when he had brought
Tarawa  back to Earth  for  refitting after  the raid  to Kilrah. The  press
swarmed over the ship, poking cameras in  his face,  asking the same asinine
questions over and over again, probing far too deeply into parts of the raid
he simply wanted  to forget. When one  had finally hit him  with a  question
about  the  death  of  Svetlana,  asking how  he  felt  while  watching  his
girlfriend  die, he had to be restrained from punching the reporter's lights
out, a fleet PR officer, all smoothness and charm, separating the two.
     The  press madness  flared up  again  when Jason was presented with the
Medal of Honor and yet again when the absolutely ridiculous holo movie about
his   raid,  First  to  Kilrah,  came   out.  The  film  was  a  humiliating
embarrassment, especially since the plot had little to  do  with the  actual
raid,  spending most of its time focused on his doomed affair with Svetlana,
with half  a dozen steamy scenes padded  in. It still made him boil that the
holo spent  precious little time  on  the hundreds of others who had fought,
sacrificed, and died with him. He wanted to take the damn money the producer
had given him and jam it down the lying scum's throat after seeing the film,
which he had  been promised would be  shot as a straight forward documentary
honoring those who had served. The only satisfaction he got out of the whole
fiasco was in donating every dollar he earned from the film to a scholarship
fund set up  for children  of the  Marines and  naval personnel lost  in the
raid.
     And now he was stuck under the lights again, all because he had taken a
wrong turn while looking for a bathroom. The same lousy reporter who was far
too curious about Svetlana  had seen  him  first and rushed over, the others
moving like a herd of cattle  when  the word spread that  "the guy they made
the  movie about,"  was  present  as  a  staff  officer  for  the  armistice
conference.
     "So whatya think of  the war ending? It's Bondevsky, isn't  it?" one of
them shouted, aiming his holo recorder at Jason's face.
     "That's  Bondarevsky,"  Jason  said quietly,  remembering  how  his old
captain O'Brian had always mispronounced the name.
     "Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?"
     "First of all, negotiations  for an armistice do not mean  that the war
has ended. There's a big difference between an armistice  and formal  peace,
he tried to  explain patiently. "Other than that, no  comment," and he tried
to shoulder his way through the crush.
     "Still  hate the  Kilrathi,  is that it? Seems like  you fleet officers
don't want peace," a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.
     Jason looked back at the fat-faced reporter.
     "I'm a captain in the fleet. I'm a professional, I try to do my job and
leave the hating to others."
     "Even though they killed your lover, that Marine, Susan wasn't it?"
     He hesitated,  wanting  to  turn and belt  the reporter in the face, or
better  yet strap him into  a  tail gunner's seat  and  take  him  out for a
mission to see what it was really like. Though he hated  to do so, he turned
away and continued down the corridor, shouldering his way through the crush.
     "Military's gonna be out of work, that's what's  got  them pissed off,"
he heard a reporter sneering.
     He  turned, knowing he  shouldn't, but  he simply  couldn't take it any
longer. He put a finger into the man's face.
     "What have you been doing the last couple of years?"
     The man looked at him defiantly.
     "Working for the holos."
     "Where?"
     "On Earth. United Broadcasting."
     "While you've been sitting on your fat butt and grinning at  the camera
I've watched hundreds  of thousands die. I've seen entire continents on fire
from a thousand warhead bombardment, I've watched carriers bursting silently
in space, a thousand men and  women spilling out, their blood boiling in the
vacuum. I've heard the screams of my comrades as their fighters burned,  and
they were trapped, unable to eject. I've lost more  friends than you'll ever
have,  you belly crawling excuse for  a worm. So don't you ever  dare say to
me, or anyone else, that we  want a war. We know what the hell the price  is
while all you know is how to stuff your face and bloat your pride."
     He turned and stalked off, hearing  more than one reporter  chuckle and
give a  word  of support,  but most of  them looked at him with  a  superior
disdain, as  if  he was an arrogant  ignorant child  who  had just thrown  a
tantrum.
     A  Fleet public relations officer slipped  in beside Jason, grabbed him
by the arm and hustled him along.
     "That wasn't very  smart, sir,"  she whispered in his ear, while at the
same  time  smiling  to the press,  and  quickly  moved him  back  down  the
corridor.
     "Go to hell. I'm here  as  an aide to Admiral Tolwyn, but I'm not going
to be insulted."
     "Then stick to your  job as  an aide, things are  bad enough as is with
the damned press without you making it worse," she hissed in his ear.
     Jason forced back an angry retort  while the  other  officer seemed  to
instantly shift gears, smiling, holding up  her hand to the press, repeating
that  they'd have a story  soon  enough and  finally hustled Jason through a
door.
     "Next time you need to find a bathroom, sir," the officer said quietly,
"for heavens sake, don't wander into the press area. Those bastards are like
sharks looking for blood."
     "Well, where the hell is the bathroom?"
     The officer shook her head.
     "No time. The  meetings about to start up again  and  it wouldn't  look
good for you, a mere captain, to come wandering in late."
     Jason sighed and the officer pointed him to an airlock door.
     He suddenly felt self conscious.
     "Do I look all right?"
     She smiled, reaching up to adjust the  Medal of Honor which hung from a
blue sash around his throat.
     "Fine,  sir,  and paused for an instant. "And by the way I'm behind you
one hundred per cent with what you said back there, sir."
     He  forced  a  smile  and went  through the  airlock  and back into the
conference room.
     For  a frontier orbital base the room  was  richly appointed, with dark
wood paneled walls, soft indirect lighting, and even a real oak table taking
up most of the center  of the room. The  chairs  around the conference table
were all high backed, heavily cushioned and covered in the dark navy blue of
the fleet. In front of each desk was a small ensign denoting the rank of the
military officers present, and most of them were three and four stars.
     The  short  recess was  nearly  over  and Jason  moved to  his position
sitting directly behind Admiral Tolwyn. He looked over at Hunter, who Tolwyn
had picked as his second aide for this meeting, and Ian winked.
     "Make it?"
     "No and I'm ready to burst," Jason groaned and Hunter smiled.
     Why Tolwyn had picked  the two of them  to serve as his  aides at  this
meeting was beyond Jason. He knew  the admiral's regular staff officers were
seething over  being cut out of this armistice meeting and  Jason could only
surmise  that in  part  it  was  an act  of friendship, to  let him in at an
historic moment,  but also  as a sort of window dressing  for Tolwyn to have
two of his most decorated and famous officers sitting directly behind him.
     He looked around  the  circular table and saw  that nearly everyone was
back from the short recess, aides  sitting erect behind  their superiors who
were talking softly to each  other, some  serious, others chuckling  over  a
shared  witticism. Most of the laughter came from  the civilian side  of the
room. A  door at  the  far  side  of the room  opened and everyone rose, the
military  personnel  coming  to  stiff attention  as  the  President of  the
Confederation, Harold Rodham, stepped into the room. Jason had first met him
at  the  Medal of  Honor presentation and was  surprised with  how  short he
really was, something the holo films never seemed to pick up on.
     "Be seated, please," Rodham said quietly.
     Jason could feel the electric tension rippling through the room.
     "I'm prepared to hear any last minute presentations, but I want it done
in a calm and logical fashion."
     Jason knew that it was futile. In any  other setting, without  a sea of
admiral, commandant and generals' stars around the table he might even  have
been tempted to speak up but Admiral Tolwyn relieved him of  that by  coming
to his feet.
     "Admiral Tolwyn," Rodham said nodding his head.
     Tolwyn  looked around  the room and then focused  his attention  on the
civilians sitting around Rodham.
     "You are  all well  aware that I am the most  junior officer sitting at
this table; perhaps for that reason it might be best for me, as a front line
officer, to review one more time our objections to this armistice which  you
seem so intent on formalizing."
     Jason could see Rodham bristle slightly.
     "What you are  agreeing to is  a freezing in place of all  forces until
such time as a peace commission can be established, agreeable to both sides,
who   will  then  negotiate  a  permanent  cease  fire  between  the  Terran
Confederation and the Kilrathi Empire.  At the same time you are agreeing to
a freezing of all construction  of military ships,  the refitting of vessels
currently in dry dock, and the enlistment of new personnel."
     Rodham gave a curt nod of reply.
     "I find it difficult at best to accept this."
     "You're  in  the military and  don't  you  forget  that  you  are under
civilian  control,  so you d better accept it," Rhonda Jamison,  the foreign
minister who had been the key negotiator for the armistice announced coldly.
Rodham extended his hand towards Jamison as if to calm her.
     "Go on, Admiral."
     "I am not a politician, I am a warrior,  following in the thousand year
tradition of my family who served in the  ancient navy,  army, and air force
of  Britain and  the space forces of the Confederation . My  family has seen
the best of those  moments, proud of the  memory of six Victoria  Crosses in
our  past.  Tolwyns  served  at  Waterloo,  on the Somme,  in the  Battle of
Britain, at Minsk and the  siege of London and shed  their blood  heavily in
this latest  war. We have  seen the best and we  have endured the worst, and
sir, I fear that this decision might  very well produce  the most disastrous
defeat in the history of the human race, and perhaps even spell its eventual
annihilation."
     Jamison sniffed and then shook her head angrily.
     "Admiral, we are not discussing genealogy or ancient history, a passion
I  find  many military men are fond of indulging in. We  are discussing real
politics, the here and now."
     "And so am  I,"  Tolwyn replied. "Eighteen  months ago I feared that at
best the  war would  simply drag on forever and more likely would eventually
lead to our defeat. And then, with  new tactical innovations and  the latest
improvements in technology we appear to have not only  reached a balance but
in fact, for the first  time in thirty years of fighting, appear  to have at
least gained an edge. We found two weak spots: their logistical support, and
their construction. We  found the ways to  hit at them,  to slip  past their
main battle fleet and we are hurting them. Our intelligence net has detected
that some ships are forced  to go into action with less than seventy percent
of  their  standard armaments.  We've  noticed  dozens  of small signs.  The
crucial, the absolutely crucial element in this is to  keep the  pressure on
them, not to let it up."
     Jason could see the clear division in the room, the military personnel,
especially  the  front  line  fleet commanders, nodding  in  agreement,  the
civilian personnel sitting quietly.
     "Don't  let the pressure off  now, I'm begging  you, reminding you that
we've lost millions upon millions of our finest to get to this point. Now is
when  we  should  be  tightening  the  screws,  hitting  them  all out  with
everything we have. Until  you stopped us ten days ago. Operation Red  Three
held the promise of inflicting serious losses on the Empire  — it might have
permanently put them off balance.
     "Might have," Jamison  replied. "That is always  part of your  military
jargon, might have. There was  no guarantee. In earlier testimony today  you
heard  Admiral  Banbridge  state  that Kilrathi  front  line  carriers still
outnumbered ours  by nearly two  to  one.  Simulation studies  of Red  Three
demonstrated  that the  probability  for full success  was less  than twenty
percent, and there was a twenty-five percent chance of a reversal and a loss
of most  of  our escort carriers  with little if anything gained.  You might
take such  things lightly, Admiral, after all  you would be  secure in  your
heavy carrier, but I lost  a son  on  one of those suicide  missions you and
your people so blithely send out."
     Tolwyn glared at Jamison.
     Her loss was well known  and she  made a point of attacking  the  fleet
whenever possible as a result.  He could feel some sympathy for her,  but on
the other side of the coin  was the fact that there was hardly anyone in the
room who had not  lost  loved ones  in  this war and  to  accuse him of  not
feeling that pain was enraging.
     He focused his thoughts and pushed on.
     "With  support  it  would have worked. But you obviously don't  want to
give that support now."
     "The question is moot," Admiral  Banbridge interjected, looking over at
Tolwyn, extending his hand in a calming gesture. "Red Three was scrubbed ten
days ago and is impossible now to restart. Kilrathi  intelligence definitely
has the plans by now."
     "You just  don't get  the  whole  picture,  do you,  Admiral?"  Jamison
snapped. "Do you know just how much it  costs to build and  launch one fleet
carrier?
     "Seventy three  billion and some change," Jamison continued, not giving
Tolwyn a chance  to  interject. "A full  compliment of fighters  another ten
billion. In  the  last three years we've lost over one  and a half  trillion
dollars worth of carriers and fighters."
     "I  rather think of it  as some  fine young men and women that we lost,
such as your son," Tolwyn bristled.
     Jamison stared at Tolwyn with hate filled eyes.
     "You can think of it that way," Jamison replied, "but I and the rest of
the government also have  to look at the war from a financial light. It cost
nearly eight trillion a  year to run  the war and  we have a deficit of over
forty trillion. It'll take generations just to pay  that off.  Shortages are
wide spread,  in a  fair part of the Confederation  rationing  of everything
from fuel  to nylon to  eggs is  in place.  You say  we  shouldn't give  the
Kilrathi  a  breather?  I think rather  it  is  we who are  lucky to have  a
breather. The civilian population is  war weary, Tolwyn and after thirty-two
years  of fighting  I  think  we have  had enough and  for  that  matter the
Kilrathi  have had  enough  as well. I'm  sick to death of the  old military
logic of having to waste more blood to somehow uphold the honor of those who
are already  dead.  It's time to let the dead rest, Admiral. Let's finish it
now and get on with the peace."
     "I  find it difficult to accept that  a full accounting of the Kilrathi
armed forces has actually been reached," Tolwyn replied, falling back on the
second position of his argument. "I find it difficult to accept that  we are
actually allowing Kilrathi  personnel into Confederation  space as observers
and in general I find it  difficult  to accept that our  leaders would be so
foolish as to actually believe this entire affair."
     The  civilians in the room  bristled,  but Rodham held  up his hand and
nodded for Tolwyn to continue.
     "In the two years prior to your agreement to this armistice we  dealt a
series  of bitter reversals to the Kilrathi. It  must have  had an impact on
their morale.  As you  know, the young captain behind  me," and he paused to
nod back towards Jason, "took part in the destruction  of six carriers right
on the doorstep of the Imperial home planet.
     "Now is not  the  time to call an armistice;  now, if anything, is  the
time to jack the pressure up to the breaking point. I've  heard some of  you
say  that we  don't really understand the Kilrathi, that  down deep they are
just like us. I don't think so. Maybe  there'll come a day when we can  live
peacefully  with them, but unfortunately it is  not now.  We must deal  with
them  through strength.  All our psy-ops  studies  have  shown  that  if the
Kilrathi have contempt for anything it is for one who displays hesitation or
weakness. Even their word for such a person, tuka, is spoken with a sneering
contempt, a word so  insulting that a Kilrathi challenged with such  a smear
will fight to  the death. And I tell you now that we  are tuka in their eyes
if we fall for this subterfuge."
     There  was an  angry ripple in the  room and  even  Tolwyn's  superiors
stirred uncomfortably.
     "Only now are we really starting to learn of their political and social
system. Take that information and use it, consider the suggestion formulated
by the psy-ops division, plan K-7, which called for specific strikes against
the holdings  of  only  one or two families, making  them  share an  unequal
burden and perhaps cause a permanent rift triggering a civil war. Now is not
the time to stop, it's the time to finish this war on our terms."
     Jason could sense the frustration and heartbreak in Tolwyn's  voice and
looking  around  the room he  saw  the  division  in  feelings, some present
nodding their heads in agreement, while others  sat in silence, their  faces
like masks.
     We are making  the agreement on our  terms,"  Jamison retorted sharply,
her voice hard with anger.
     "Our observation teams have been granted full access to  Kilrathi  ship
yards  as  a  gesture  of  good  faith  to  see  that  no  further  military
construction takes place.  They're  pulling back  their  frontier bases  and
limiting patrols to light corvette-size ships within the demilitarized zone.
I've spent countless hours hashing out the details of this with Baron Jukaga
and I know that he is just  as fervent in  his desire to see this war end as
we are."
     "He is a liar."
     A bit  startled, all  in the room turned to  the Firekka representative
who throughout the two long days of meetings had remained silent.
     Rikik, the flock leader of her  world, stood  up  and  cocked her head,
looking  about the  room.  The Firekka were  something  of  a strange sight,
looking  like eight foot  parrots  one  only encountered  in  nightmares  or
hallucinations after a few too many drinks. Jason looked over at Hunter, who
had helped to save Rikik's life after she was taken prisoner by the Kilrathi
and his friend grinned.
     "Baron Jukaga is a liar,"  Rikik announced, looking about the room. "If
you humans are so  foolish as to  believe his words  then  you  are  doomed.
Remember my planet, the  only world we lived upon, was  attacked by them for
their  Sivar ritual. Millions  of my flock died, our cities were smashed. It
will be  a generation or more before we  recover. I cannot now believe  that
you will agree to this foolishness."
     "My good friend," Rodham  said quietly, smiling as if Rikik were an old
companion who might have spoken  out of turn. "Remember we too have suffered
in this  war.  It  has  lasted for over thirty  years. More  than a  hundred
colonial  worlds, and half  a  dozen  primary planets have been  devastated.
Billions have died, billions,"  he paused for  a moment, his features pained
and Jason  knew  it was not an act, for Rodham's  youngest daughter had been
killed during the First Enigma campaign.
     He cleared his throat and continued.
     "Thirty years of our blood, our wealth, and all our ingenuity  has been
poured into this conflict. Think of what we could have done with all that we
have spent  and lost if it had  only been applied to our continued  peaceful
expansion into the universe.
     "Admiral Tolwyn claims  that the  tide was  starting  to  turn. I don't
think so.  We have become like two wrestlers  of equal strength, locked in a
hold neither can use to bring his opponent down, and yet unable to break the
hold of his opponent. How much longer must this go on? Another thirty years,
another  generation dead and  still no end  in sight, until finally, one day
we'll  have bombed and burned and  stabbed  each other back  into the  stone
age?"
     "Baron Jukaga has offered a way out, to simply stop the killing. It  is
just that simple. We simply agree to stop. I know you in  the military don't
like  this; you're thinking of all  your comrades who have  died and now you
wonder for what? I'll tell you that they did die  for  something.  It wasn't
victory, since that is impossible, but they  did prevent defeat. To call for
the  war to continue now with the argument  that  the sacrifice had to  mean
something  is simply  to ask for the pouring of yet more blood on the graves
of those who do not want it."
     He hesitated for a moment.
     "I do not want my grandchildren to die the way my daughter has. I think
she would want them to live, to grow up without fear and live in peace."
     "They'll  die,  only  it'll  be  worse.  At  least your  daughter  died
fighting, your  grandchildren will die  having  their  throats  cut  for the
Sivar, the way my people died," Rikik cried, her voice shrill.
     "I  think that's out  of order and insensitive," an aide sitting behind
Rodham snapped angrily.
     "One can't worry about  being sensitive when the issue is the  survival
of a  nation or of an entire race," Rikik said in reply. "I'm sick  to death
of  the  word sensitivity when it is a mask for those  who  wish  to advance
their own cause at the  expense of  others. If the  Confederation is foolish
enough  to  take this  deal,  then  I will  take  the  Firekka  out  of  the
Confederation.
     "And who will protect you then?" Jamison replied sarcastically.
     "You did a damn poor job of protecting us when the Kilrathi hit us last
time,  your  fleet withdrawing ‘out  of  strategic  necessity,' I  think you
called it. It  couldn't be any  worse on  our own, and  I'll tell  you this,
there'll be more than one frontier colonial world  that will go with us. You
don't even  see  members  of the Landreich worlds or  the  Grovsner colonies
here, since they want no part of this peace."
     "That's  treason,"  Jamison  sputtered, "and  if  the  colonial  worlds
violate the armistice they will be disciplined.
     "No, its survival and mark my words, there'll come a day when you  will
choke on the papers  you plan to sign here this day. And as for disciplining
the colonial worlds, just try it," Rikik said with a cold laugh.
     She looked  around the room, more than  one  of  the military personnel
looking at  her  and nodding. Without  another word she drew back  from  the
table and stalked from the room, followed by her one aide.
     "Old K'Kai sure has taught her niece well," Hunter  whispered, waving a
slight greeting to his Firekka comrade as she followed her  niece out of the
room.
     There was a moment of uneasy silence.
     "I think that continued debate on this subject will only serve to cause
more animosity and outbreaks," Rodham finally said.  "I thank all of you for
your input over the last two days regarding this issue.
     "Here it comes, Ian whispered.
     "I plan  to sign the articles of the armistice within the hour and with
it establish a bilateral peace commission to work towards a permanent treaty
between the Terran Confederation and the Kilrathi Empire. You are invited to
join me if you wish. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen."
     Rodham stood up and walked out  of  the room, followed by the civilians
and staff.
     "Damn them to hell!"
     Jason looked over at Admiral Banbridge who flung his memo computer down
on the table and stormed out of the room through the opposite door.
     Tolwyn turned and looked back at Ian.
     "Well,  your  Firekka friends  sure played a damn  fine scene," he said
with a grin.
     "Think they'd really do it?" Jason asked, turning to Ian.
     Ian smiled.
     "Those birds  might  not look  like much when  you first meet them, but
I'll tell you this,  they make  the  finest  liquor  in this  corner  of the
universe and straight or drunk when they make a promise they keep it."
     "What about that threat of the  colonies not observing the  armistice?"
Jason asked.
     "Let's not talk  of  that now, Tolwyn  said quietly. "Shall we go watch
the show?"
     Though he  hated to admit it, Jason found that he  actually did want to
see  what was already being hailed as  the most historic moment in a hundred
years, as if all the victories and even the  defeats of the war  had already
become secondary.
     Tolwyn stood  up and started for the door that Rodham had gone through.
Admiral  Noragami, head of  the  Joint Chiefs of Staff came around  from the
other side of the table and approached Tolwyn.
     "Nice try, Geoff, but it was doomed from the start."
     Tolwyn nodded.
     "I heard that a little  something regarding you has  just come to light
as well," Nuragami said quietly.
     Tolwyn merely smiled and Nuragami extended his hand.
     "Take care  of yourself, Geoff," Nuragami said and turning he  went out
the  opposite door taken  by Banbridge.  Knowing how Tolwyn  felt  about the
whole affair,  Jason was more  than a little surprised  that his admiral was
not boycotting the signing as well.
     They  passed down a long corridor lined with Marine security guards and
stepped into an open cavernous hall which served  as the hangar bay for this
deep  space base,  the  vacuum of space  on the other side kept out  by  the
magnetic lock field
     How many times have I looked  out a bay like that,  h