"Recon  work,"  Blair repeated. "That'll be quite a  change, after what
we've been doing."
     "It'll be difficult and dangerous,"  Tolwyn  said.  We  can't afford to
send large  forces in anywhere, for fear of putting the cats on guard. We've
got a handful of carriers going  out  individually into  the selected target
systems. Victory's drawn Ariel, where we're fairly certain we've got a  very
suitable Kilrathi base to test."
     "Ariel's  a  pretty tough nut,"  Blair  commented. "I  hope you're  not
expecting us to take them on single-handed."
     "The system is inside  the Caliban Nebula,"  Eisen said. "Dust  and gas
and  energy discharges  will play hell with  shipboard sensors . . . on both
sides.  We  can sneak in, gather as  much information as possible, and sneak
out again and probably never tip the cats off that we were there. Maybe even
pull off a few ambushes along the way."
     Tolwyn nodded. "You'll actually have  it  better than some of the other
carriers on this  duty,"  he  said.  "And when you  get back, the  admiral's
already  decided  that Victory will get the  real plum job. Flagship for the
Behemoth Squadron . . . so you'll be in on the kill, as it were."
     "Flagship?  Us?"  Blair  raised his  eyebrows.  "Your  uncle must  have
developed a sudden taste for slumming, if he's not going to go out in one of
the big boys."
     "Victory has its . . . compensations, Colonel," Tolwyn told him.  "Like
a genuine  expert on Kilrathi psychology, your buddy Hobbes. You also have a
one-time  Intelligence  source with specialized  knowledge  of cat behavior,
too.  I think the name is Lieutenant Buckley. In fact, the admiral  had this
in mind when he assigned you here as wing commander."
     "That  was  before Locanda," Blair said, "before  things escalated. You
mean Tolwyn planned to use this Behemoth thing even before the cats  started
with the bioweaponry?"
     "Some of the data we  later  decoded from  that deep intel probe Tarawa
had on  board, leading  into the discovery of  the  Kilrathi super-carriers,
contained information about the bio  program. That's why we've  been running
the race to get the new weapons on line and why Behemoth sails now, ready or
not. Locanda  was a horrible tragedy,  but  thank God it wasn't one  of  the
innerworlds or Earth — and believe me, that will be their next target."
     Blair  held up his hand.  "Never mind, Kevin,"  he said.  "Don't try to
explain.  I  know your  uncle well enough to  know what he had  in mind. And
why."
     "Just what are you getting at, Blair?" Eisen asked.
     He shrugged. "It's just that the admiral has always been . . . zealous,
sir. I've  served with him a few  times, and  he's always been  the same. He
wants to win the war . . . Admiral Geoff Tolwyn, himself. He'd love it if he
could  lead the  ConFleet to victory,  sign the papers that ended the war in
orbit  over Kilrah . . . whatever.  And if  Behemoth can  make it  possible,
he'll use it . . . and the devil take moral questions and anything else that
stands in the way."
     Eisen's frown deepened. "I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this,
Colonel,"  he said  slowly.  "Its coming  dangerously  close to  libeling  a
superior officer."
     "Maybe  so, Captain," Blair said, shrugging  again. "But it isn't libel
when you're telling the truth."  He shot  the younger Tolwyn a look. "Sorry,
Kevin. I know he's family but . . . well, you know how I've always felt."
     "You haven't  said  anything  I haven't  thought a  dozen  times  over,
Colonel," Tolwyn said. "But, like the Captain says, we'd better stick to the
briefing."
     "Agreed. What else do we need to know about?"
     "Captain  Eisen's  been  bruising  a lot of ears back  at  HQ about the
flight  wing's  shortages.  I've   brought  out  authorization  for  you  to
requisition fighters, munitions parts, and stores from Blackmane Base before
the  last  load  goes  out next week. They've got  all types  of fighters in
mothballs there already, so that won't be a problem."
     "The real shortage is in pilots," Blair said. "We have nine empty slots
to fill."
     "You won't  get all  of them, I'll tell you that much up front," Tolwyn
said.  "I've already spoken to the base commandant. You'll get four or five,
no more. Sorry I couldn't do better." Tolwyn looked wistful.  "I'd volunteer
for a slot myself, but the admiral would never approve it."
     "I wish you could," Blair  told him. "Well, four or five is better than
none at  all. Major Mbuto  lost  five ships at Locanda Four, so  she'll  get
first call on any pilots we do get. I just hope to God it's enough."
     "It has to be, Colonel," Eisen said. "Now that we finally have a ray of
hope that we might see the end of this damned war, it has to be enough."

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Okay,  skipper,  this one checks out  too. Looks like  those no-talent
bums  at Blackmane Base actually  sent  us some  real fighters, and not just
junk off the scrap line."
     Blair checked off the last of the new fighters on his portable computer
pad and nodded.  "I'll  breathe a little easier now, Chief," he  told Rachel
Coriolis. "I was  starting to think we'd never get  the replacement fighters
aboard."
     Four days  had passed since Kevin Tolwyn was whisked aboard his courier
ship to report to  his uncle,  and in that time, Blair's life became nothing
but a string of petty frustrations. The  worst  problem  was  expediting the
requisitions Tolwyn issued to Blackmane  Base in the  midst of the chaos and
confusion  which reigned during the last days of the base's closing process.
But  after  many shouting matches over  the comm channel,  Blair finally got
results. Now  he possessed a full contingent of fighters in Victory's hangar
deck, store rooms bulging  with spare parts  and  stores  of all kinds,  and
three new pilots to assign to Mbuto's interceptor squadron. It was progress,
of a sort. But it had been slow  going for a  time, and Blair  was worn  out
with the constant strain of it all.
     A tractor towed the fighter, a  Longbow looking as if it had never been
flown, toward a storage bay. The flight deck was bustling with activity, but
for the  moment Blair and  Rachel were out of problems.  It  was a  rare yet
pleasant feeling.
     "Uh . . . skipper?" Rachel spoke with none of her accustomed brashness.
"Can we chat? Off the record . . ."
     "Isn't that the way we usually do it?" Blair asked her.
     "Yeah,"  the chief  admitted.  "That's one of  the  things I like about
you." She hesitated "And the  fact that I do like  you is why I want  to say
this . . ."
     "Spit it out, Chief," he said as she paused again.
     "You've got this . . .  look in  your eyes that I've seen  before," she
said slowly. "I had this guy, see? A pilot. One day  he saw his wingman  get
fried,  and he came  in blaming himself for  it. Didn't matter what  I said,
what anybody said, he was convinced he let old Shooter down."
     "And?" Blair prompted.
     A few days later . . . he took an Arrow out and just kept on going. Hit
a jump  point  just as the Kilrathi were coming through. There were a lot of
fireworks . . ." She trailed off, her  eyes focused  on someplace  far away.
"They never found him . . . not even a debris field.  He might still be  out
there, for all I know."
     "I'm . . . sorry," Blair said quietly. "But. . . why tell me about it?"
     "That  look in your eye,  it's like the  one he had  before he cracked,
skipper." She paused again. "You want to talk? I may  be a lowly techie. but
I've got a sympathetic ear."
     Blair didn't  answer for a  long time. "I had . . . have . . . someone,
too. I don't know which it is, any more. She got caught up in some hush-hush
mission,  and  nobody's heard  from her for months. Maybe she's  managed  to
sidestep the whole war-ditched in  neutral  territory somewhere. But  I keep
having  these nightmares about her . . He looked away. "I keep thinking, one
way or the other I would hear . . . only I haven't heard, and I'm afraid . .
. you know."
     Rachel nodded. "I know.  Maybe your gal and my guy found each other out
there."
     He forced a smile. "Yeah . . . maybe so. At least they'd both be alive,
then . . ."
     "Yeah,  but on the other hand if I found out he'd been making time with
some hot-shot lady  pilot, I'd have to  kill him  myself when he finally got
back." She managed a laugh.
     After a moment, Blair joined in. It felt good to laugh.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Scotch," Blair  said,  perching  on  a  stool at the bar.  "Preferably
something that's at least been in the same sector as Scotland, this time."
     Rostov  grinned  at  him. "There's a  war on, Colonel. You  gotta  take
whatever they hand you, da?"
     Maniac   Marshall  was   sitting  further  down  the  bar,  studying  a
holomagazine and sipping at a  tall  glass of beer. He looked up as  if only
just  noticing  Blair's arrival.  "Well, well,  honoring  the  peasants with
another  visit, eh, Colonel?  Shall  I kiss your ring, or will a reverential
bow be enough?" He mimicked the slight bow Hobbes often made.
     "Can't we  have  a  truce, at  least for tonight, Maniac?"  Blair  said
wearily. "I'm not in the mood for sniping."
     "Hah!  You looked like you were in a pretty good mood down there in the
hangar deck today," Marshall said. "What's the matter, loverboy? You put the
moves on everybody's favorite grease monkey and get yourself shot down?"
     Blair frowned. "I didn't ‘put the moves' on her . . .
     "Hey,  man, it's all right, really it is," Maniac told him with a grin.
"I mean, even a high flyer like you has to have an off day now and then.  Of
course, I doubt it'd take a whole hell of a  lot of high-risk maneuvering to
get into her pants, but maybe you're just out of practice . . ."
     "So  what's  your excuse,  then, Maniac?" Blair  asked. "You must  have
tried out your usual wit and charm on the lady. Did you crash and burn?"
     "Yeah, right," Marshall said, looking away. "As if I'd waste my time on
some  punked-out little  techie. Of course, you  never  did have  any taste.
First that snotty French bitch . . . now. . . . Wise up, Blaze-Away. There's
a lot better to choose from on this tub than that cheap slut . . .
     Blair was  out of his seat and  beside Marshall in a single quick move.
He grabbed  the front of Maniac's  uniform  and hauled him to his feet. "Get
this, Marshall, and get it good,"  he hissed. "You can talk about me any way
you want to. But I won't tolerate you running down anyone in this wing, man,
woman .  . .  or  cat. And if you  want  to keep using  that nose to breathe
through,  you won't ever insult Angel again . . . or Rachel Coriolis either,
for that matter. You getting any of this, mister?"
     Maniac pulled  back, freeing himself  from Blair's  grip and holding up
both hands. "Whoa! Back off, man. He studied Blair for a moment. "Looks like
you've got a real case, after all. Question is, which one's the lucky girl?"
     Blair took another  step  forward. "I told  you  to lay off, Major," he
said slowly.
     "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke, man.  I'm sorry."
Maniac turned to leave, then faced  Blair one more time. "But listen to  me,
Colonel,  sir.  If you don't start loosening up  pretty damn  quick.  you're
cruising for a  psych  hearing.  You're  tighter than  a vacuum  seal and  I
wouldn't like to be around when everything blows out."
     "Mind  your own business,  Maniac, and let me worry about  mine," Blair
told him. "And in the meantime, just stay out of my way."


        CHAPTER XVII

     TCS Victory Ariel System

     In due course,  Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling by way of a
jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of  the Caliban Nebula, the
system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many other
smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk  in the system as well. Ariel
I  was  never judged  worthwhile as  a  potential colony, but  Confederation
Intelligence  sources had long identified it  as a  major  headquarters  for
Kilrathi  raiders.  Previous Terran attempts to deal with the base  met with
little success, thanks  to the strength of the ground-based defenses  on the
planet and  the  difficulties  of  mounting  operations  within  the nebula.
Long-range  sensors  were  virtually  useless,  and  even  shortrange  scans
required more time, more power, and  more computer interpolation than usual,
which made for many extra problems.
     But the conditions  also helped  hide Victory from detection, as  Eisen
had  explained  during  the  original  briefing. The Kilrathi  maintained  a
network of detection  buoys  around the planet  and  near most  of the  jump
points, but  away from those the Terran  carrier  was able to avoid  contact
from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was almost
as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard the ship.
     On  the  other hand, the sensor  limitations  cut  both ways. Blair was
forced  to  double patrols again  just  to sweep  nearby space  for Kilrathi
shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection
buoys to  put  fighters close enough  to  Ariel  I  to  conduct  the surveys
Headquarters needed. Over the  course of  nearly two weeks, the flight  wing
operated  at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably
took its toll on people and equipment alike.
     Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.

     Flight Control, TCS Victory Ariel System

     Blair came out of the  elevator next to Flight  Control and nearly  ran
into Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in  one hand and
a half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air
of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.
     "Can't talk  now, skipper,"  she said, hardly slowing her pace  at all.
"All  you  fighter jocks were so damned eager to  draw recon work. Well, now
you  got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep
you flying."
     "Okay,  okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On  behalf  of the
entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell ‘em
to clear it with you first."
     She  grinned as she dodged  past  him  and into the lift.  "Maybe if us
techs had  a say  in things  you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in  so
much trouble."
     The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight
Control.
     There were only  routine patrols out  now  no survey missions,  so  the
chamber  was manned at minimal  levels. The relative calm in the  room was a
stark contrast to  the scene  visible through the  windows  overlooking  the
hangar deck,  where  technicians  and fighter crews were  hard  at  work  on
maintenance,  repairs,  and mission prep  for  the next  batch  of launches,
scheduled to  begin shortly. The bustle  of activity would have been a scene
of utter  confusion  to the uninitiated, but Blair  recognized the order and
purpose underlying  the chaos.  It  was  the  dance  of the deck, the almost
rhythmic cycle that made any pilot's heart beat just a little bit faster.
     He  became  aware of another figure standing  by the windows,  intently
watching. It was Cobra, wearing her  flight suit and carrying a helmet under
one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her entirely,
changing her customary bitter moodiness  into a  genuine  look of enthusiasm
and anticipation.
     "About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we
showed ‘em."
     "Lieutenant," he said quietly.
     She looked at him. "Sir?"
     "I don't recall ever seeing that  before,"  he  said.  When she  looked
confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It  looks good.
Suits you."
     The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a
change. I can almost smell ‘em, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get
a couple of them in my sights sometime soon . . ."
     He  raised  an  eyebrow.  "Well, being on the  offensive seems to  have
helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."
     "Scuttlebutt says we're here  to scout the cats out  for a real attack.
That HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they  belong. I  want
to be here for the kill. I didn't become a  pilot just to baby-sit bases and
such."
     Blair  frowned  He supposed  the  spread of  rumors about  the Behemoth
project was almost inevitable. Nothing stayed secret  on a ship in space for
very  long  it  seemed,  despite  the best efforts of  Confed  security.  He
wondered if Rollins had been leaking  information, or if  this story started
somewhere else.
     At any rate, at least  this rumor  was having a more positive effect on
morale than some of the earlier ones.
     "Look, Cobra, I'm glad to  see that smile, I really am, Blair told her.
"But you've got to be pumped on every mission, not just the ones you like."
     "Point  taken,  Colonel,"  she said  slowly. The smile had  faded  now.
"Well, I guess I'd better get down to the launch bay. I'm up  in fifteen . .
."
     After she  left, Blair frowned at his own reflection in the window. For
some reason  he  could never  find  the right  things to say when talking to
Lieutenant Buckley. Why couldn't he have  allowed  her to enjoy her newfound
enthusiasm for Victory's current operation? Instead, he'd managed to deflate
her just when it seemed she  was ready  to  start letting  down the barriers
which kept her apart from the rest of the wing.
     Sometimes he wondered if he would ever really get a handle on his job.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Ariel System

     "Pull up a  chair, Colonel, and join me. I'll  stand  you to the  first
round."
     Acknowledging Vagabond's greeting  with a nod and  a  smile, Blair took
the chair  opposite him. Lieutenant Chang played with the inevitable deck of
cards in front of him, and if the continual cycle of missions was getting to
him it didn't  show  in his grinning face. The  pilot  might have been fresh
from leave instead of unwinding after flying a survey sweep with Hobbes only
a few hours earlier.
     "You must be getting pretty lonely if you want to buy your CO a drink,"
Blair commented. "What's the matter? You already clean everybody else out?"
     "Unfortunately, it  doesn't take too long to  get  a reputation, if you
know what  I mean. And even the new chums  from Blackmane  caught on  to  me
after a few days.  Gets pretty tough to get up a game when everyone's afraid
to take you on. Know  what I mean?" Chang held up the deck. "C'mon, Colonel.
Why don't you  try  your luck?"  Without waiting  for an  answer, he started
dealing.
     "Whoa, there, sharpie,"  Blair  said, holding up a  hand.  "Don't I  at
least get to cut the deck?"
     Vagabond laughed and gathered in the cards  again.  "You'd be surprised
how many rookies just  ante up and look surprised when they lose  the  first
pot."
     "Well,  they deserve  what  they  get,  then." He took the  cards  from
Vagabond and shuffled the deck with  practiced ease, getting a reluctant nod
of admiration from the Chinese pilot. "Me,  I've been around. And early on I
discovered  the  two things you  never leave to somebody else: shuffling the
cards and checking your ordinance."
     Chang accepted the deck from Blair and started to deal again. Though he
was still smiling, there was  a troubled look in his eyes. "This mission . .
. you know there are stories going around about some superweapon. That's why
we're supposed to be running recon.
     "You know, Lieutenant, that if the info wasn't officially released then
I can't comment on it one way or the other," Blair said quietly. "Rumors are
just that-rumors. Even if I knew anything, I couldn't talk about it."
     "Yeah, I know."  Vagabond looked at his hand for a moment, then laid it
on the table.  "Look, Colonel, I know  you can't spill any secrets, but  the
stuff I've been hearing . . . it really bugs me."
     "How so?" Blair asked.  He  laid his own cards  aside  and met  Chang's
level gaze.
     "Word is  this  weapon, whatever  it  is,  will scorch  a whole  damned
planet. A  strategic weapon, I guess  the brass  would call it. And I'm  not
sure I want to be part of something like that."
     "Conscience bothering you, Lieutenant?"
     "Yeah, it is, Colonel.  I didn't sign on to  be  part of something that
kills civilians,  whether  they're people or cats or  something slimy living
under the  rocks  on  Alphacent." Vagabond  looked  down at the table. "Some
folks  take the war real personal, like  Cobra and Flint. But that's not me.
When I wax somebody out  on the  firing line.  I  like to think  it's a fair
fight. That he's got an equal chance to nail me. Pretty stupid, I guess, but
that's the way it is."
     Blair nodded,  understanding. He shared Vagabond's doubts. "Fact is,  I
understand  you  a lot better  than I'll ever understand Cobra or Flint. The
last thing you need in the cockpit with  you is hate. And I think you really
have to hate before you could go along with something as horrible as wasting
an entire planet, civilians and all." He hesitated. "Look, secrets aside . .
. if you've heard  the rumors  right,  we're scouting  for this new  weapon,
right?"
     Vagabond nodded.
     "All  right, then,  we're  surveying a planet we know has nothing but a
military installation on it. No colony.  No civilians, or at least  none who
aren't  involved  in  base operations somehow.  Seems  to  me  if there is a
superweapon, HQ must figure on aiming at a military target."
     "Maybe so," Chang said, nodding  but still looking uncharacteristically
serious. "Maybe so." He paused "Still it bothers me a little.  I mean, maybe
they'd start with a base  like  this. But where does it end? HQ's got a real
bad  habit  of  labeling  every  target  a  military installation, even when
they're not. So, what if we cross the line later?"
     Blair looked away,  uncomfortable. He  was  thinking of  Kevin Tolwyn's
comments about  Kilrah,  and about the Covert Ops plan that apparently could
only be used against the enemy homeworld. If the Kilrathi didn't comply with
the threat posed by the Behemoth, where would HQ draw the line?
     And,  more importantly,  where would he stand if  the  next target  did
include large numbers of civilians? Just how  badly did he  want this war to
end?
     He looked back at  Vagabond. "Hey,  we're  the good guys, remember?" he
said, forcing a smile. "We don't kill the  innocents. That's  supposed to be
the  difference  between  us and them,  you  know? Inwardly  he felt  like a
hypocrite,  but he couldn't admit his own doubts to Chang without confirming
the stories about the mission.
     The Chinese  pilot touched  the deck  with  one slender  finger. ‘Well,
Colonel,  the way I figure it, it's a lot like  cards. A lot of people never
think to cut the deck before they see what they're getting dealt."

     Wing Commander's Quarters, TCS Victory Ariel System

     "Colonel  Blair to  Flight Control! Colonel  Blair  to Flight  Control!
Urgent!"
     Blair  flung down the PDP he was studying and swung his feet out of the
bunk This was not  a General Quarters alarm, but the voice on the intercom —
Flint's  voice  —  sounded worried. A sinking feeling gripped  his  stomach.
Vaquero and Flash were on survey duty tonight.
     With the Wing already short-handed and Flint still grounded,  Blair had
been  forced  to  rotate  wingman assignments  frequently  since  the  Ariel
operation began. That meant he couldn't always keep Flash under the watchful
eyes of Hobbes or  himself any more. And  Vaquero, experienced  as he  might
have been,  was what  pilots referred to as an "RV," a Recon Virgin, someone
who  had  never  conducted  behind-the-lines  reconnaissance  missions.  The
combination  was  potentially  explosive, but Blair had simply  run  out  of
options.
     He forgot his usual rule about not running and raced down the  corridor
to the lift, hoping he  was wrong. If Flash and Vaquero had run into trouble
out there, it would be his fault for letting the two of them team up. . . .
     Flight  Control was fully  manned,  and  the tense  atmosphere that met
Blair as the doors slid open for him did  nothing to calm  his  fears. Flint
had the duty  as Officer of the Watch,  her  suspended flight status leaving
her plenty of time to serve in such shipboard wing duties.
     "What have  you  got?"  he  asked  crisply,  joining her  at  the  Duty
Officer's command console.
     "Trouble, sir," Flint said "Flash and Vaquero were on their way back in
when  they read  a  bogie  on their short-range  scanners, and  Major Dillon
decided  they should check it out. He ordered Vaquero to back him up  before
we could countermand the orders from here, and since they were already right
on top of the Kilrathi . . ."
     "Any idea what they're up against?"
     "At least six  Dralthi, Colonel," Flint told him. "But Vaquero reported
he was getting some other readings that might  have been something bigger, a
whole lot bigger."
     "Christ," Blair muttered. "Probably a transport . . . but it might be a
cap ship under fighter escort. How're they doing so far?"
     "Holding their own, but they haven't been able to obey recall and break
away. The Dralthi keep swarming them." Flint looked  apologetic. "We  didn't
want to  commit the ready  alert  birds  without  your say-so,  Colonel. The
standing orders are to avoid a fight.''
     "Yeah, I know. I  helped draft ‘em,  remember?" Blair realized his tone
had been sharper than he'd intended. "You did well, Lieutenant. Okay,  who's
on ready alert?"
     "Maniac and Vagabond," Flint said. "They're in their fighters and ready
to launch."
     "Good. Launch immediately,  then. But tell  the flight crew  to get two
more Thunderbolts ready for launch."
     "Who's on deck, Colonel?" There was a faint light of hope in her eyes.
     "I'll  take one. Call  Hobbes to fly wingman with me."  He saw her face
fall, disappointed. "I  know you want back on the roster, Flint, but I don't
have time to discuss  it tonight. Call out Hobbes. I'll be in the ready room
suiting up.  Put  through a call  to the captain and  route it  to me there.
He'll have to know what we're getting into."
     "Aye, aye, sir," she said, voice flat.
     He had his flight suit on and  was wrestling with his boots when a  vid
screen  came  to  life  on one wall of the Gold Squadron  ready room.  Eisen
looked like he'd been  asleep. "They tell me you have a situation, Colonel,"
he said.
     "We certainly do, sir," Blair  told him. "Two of my pilots  ran into  a
Kilrathi  flight and have become heavily engaged. I've got two more  on  the
way to back them  up, and Hobbes and I  are joining the party as soon as our
fighters  are  prepped."  Hobbes  came into the  ready room as he  spoke and
crossed to his locker.
     "That's  a pretty  strong response, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "Just
how many Kilrathi did your people run into out there, anyway?"
     "That's  not  clear yet, sir," Blair  said. "That's why I'm flying  the
extra cover. There could be a cap ship involved, too. We're not sure yet."
     "Damned  sensor  clutter," Eisen  said, nodding. "Well I guess all good
things must come to an end. After all this, the furballs won't be letting us
sneak  around any more. We'll  have to hope we've got all the data HQ wants,
because I'm ordering a withdrawal to the jump point ASAP."
     "Agreed, sir" Blair said, "though  I'd appreciate  it if you'd hold off
until we're back. I wouldn't want to misplace the Victory  in the middle  of
this mess."
     Eisen  chuckled. "Oh,  I think we can  wait for you Colonel. Just don't
keep us waiting too long, okay?" He cut the intercom without  waiting or  an
answer.
     "Another flight together, my friend,"  Hobbes  commented. "I am glad It
has been too long since you were on my wing."
     "Yeah, I'll say." Blair picked up his helmet and looked at the renegade
Kilrathi pilot for a long moment. "Do you ever find yourself wishing for the
old days, Hobbes? Back when we were junior pilots, flying for the sheer hell
of it all? Sometimes  I'd give everything I've  got to be  back on  the  old
Tiger's Claw with you, and Angel, and Paladin, and the rest of the old gang.
No decisions to make, nothing to worry about but flying . . ."
     Hobbes shook his head. "I do not think about that time often,  I fear,"
he said. "It  was a  period of great  stress for me,  as  you may  remember.
Trying to prove myself  to you  all." Ralgha's expression became bleak. "But
sometimes, in my dreams, I find myself yearning  for the days  before I left
the Empire. Once, long ago, I did not have doubts about my own  kind. I knew
my place in the universe,  and I  was proud of it. Those are the days I find
myself remembering." He picked up his  helmet and fell in beside Blair. "But
the past is gone, my friend. All we have now is the present."
     "And the future?" Blair asked.
     Hobbes shook his head. "For many years I have known that I have no real
future. In peace or in war, my own kind reject me and your kind, with only a
few exceptions, shun me. What future do I have, save to fight and die in the
cockpit  of my fighter? Sometimes I  feel that I am  somehow bound up in the
whole outcome of this war, that I might play a key part in victory or defeat
before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate, hovering over  me .
.  ."  He  looked  at  Blair.  "It  is  not  a  concept  easily  grasped  by
non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand."
     "Come on, Hobbes," Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had given
into  his alien  soul. "Let's get  down to  the flight line. That's  all the
future either of us can afford to worry about for now."

     Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Ariel System

     "Lord Prince, we  have  a report  of enemy activity  in  the  system. A
convoy is under attack by Terran fighters."
     Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study  Melek  in  the dull red
light of the  audience chamber. "They  dare attack us  here,  in  our space?
Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda."
     Melek bowed acknowledgement. "You did say you expected them to respond,
Lord Prince," he  pointed out. "Intercepted radio traffic indicates that the
Terran ships may be from the Victory."
     "So  . . ." Thrakhath turned the report over in  his mind. "This . .  .
complicates our response. I had not  looked for them to be ready for further
operations for some time to come.  We must drive them out .  . . and we must
discourage them from  looking toward this system any further. It would be an
embarrassment if they were  to  plan to demonstrate their  new  weapon  here
before the fleet was fully assembled."
     "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said, "though it would be  a worthy  irony if
they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap."
     Thrakhath  gestured negation. "No. No, I  do not want to stage  a major
battle here.  Not when  the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When
the Terrans  reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I  want
no chance of mistakes when it comes  time to destroy it. We must . . .  urge
them to take an interest in some other system, not this one." He paused. "So
we  must  threaten  their ship, but  ultimately  allow  it  to  escape  with
sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to
cover  the  jump  points  to Locanda,  Delius, and  Caliban.  And  have  all
squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect."
     Melek bowed again. "As you direct, Lord Prince."
     Thrakhath watched him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to
show for an instant. It was unfortunate that the  Terrans must be allowed to
win free in the end. He  would have relished the destruction of that carrier
. . . but it carried the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing
could be allowed to interfere with that now.


        CHAPTER XVIII

     Thunderbolt 300 Ariel System

     "Victory,  Victory,  this  is Backstop Leader,"  Blair said,  hoping he
didn't sound  as  tired  and  discouraged as he  felt.  "Requesting  landing
clearance. Over."
     "Roger that, Leader," Rollins  replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job
out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two."
     Blair  went through  the approach checklist  by rote, his mind  ranging
back to the mission they just completed in support  of Flash and Vaquero. By
the  time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall  and Chang had already joined  up
with  the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the
Dralthi.  But  Major Dillon not  only  insisted  that he  didn't really need
support, he  had actually  been eager to seek out  the larger contact at the
edge of their scanning range to try to score  a real  kill, a cap ship kill.
Blair  barely arrived  in time to keep Maniac  from agreeing with  the idea.
Thereafter,  they  were  dogged   by  Kilrathi  fighters   but  not  pressed
particularly  hard.  The  most  difficult  mission  problems were  the  ones
associated with reining in the two majors.
     Vaquero's fighter incurred  damage during  the fighting and  the  pilot
himself  sounded shaky.  He  was waved off Victory's flight deck three times
before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This
worried  Blair  even more  than  Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always
struck him  as steady and reliable, but  plainly he  took  more than  just a
physical pounding on the line this time.
     Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself  to concentrate
on  the  final approach.  He  was the last  man inside, and  by the time  he
clambered  down  the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes,
were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.
     The  Kilrathi  pilot  looked  at him with  a very  human  expression of
concern on his  alien  visage.  "Are  you well, my friend? You seemed .  . .
distracted,  near the  end. By more  than just the need to  control our more
spirited comrades."
     "Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks
who still think  this  is all some  kind of big game.  And  tired  of  . . .
everything."
     He  wasn't sure  Ralgha could understand  his mood. They had accounted,
among the six of them,  for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run
it  was just another number to  be totaled for the  kill board.  It wouldn't
matter  a bit the next time  they went into  battle.  There were always more
Kilrathi to replace the ones who died,  and Blair was getting sick of having
to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.
     "It was  good, though, to fly  a combat  mission  again," Ralgha  said,
clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words  and tone.
"To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test
my skills, since we started this mission."
     "Yeah," Blair  said.  Though  he didn't  share  in  the  sentiment,  he
understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his
emotions and  reactions were still those  of his predator species.  "Yeah, I
suppose all  this  skulking and hiding's  been pretty  rough on you. Maybe a
little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."
     Hobbes caught something of  his real feelings that time, and cocked his
head to one  side  as he regarded Blair. "It is strange,"  he said. "We  are
very different, you and I, though I  would say you are closest to me  of all
the  humans I  know.  Your kind  does not relish  conflict,  though you have
proven very able warriors. But the  Kilrathi spirit . . . despite  the skill
and  courage  demanded in flying  is never  entirely satisfied  by combat in
space."
     "You  like it  up  close  and personal," Blair said, mustering a  faint
smile.
     The Kilrathi  renegade  raised a paw, allowed  his  sheathed  claws  to
extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can speak or
walk. To your species this seems . . .  what is the word? Savage? Primitive?
But it is fundamental to who and what we are."
     Blair's eyes narrowed.  "Then  how  can Thrakhath  order the  death  of
millions with  bioweapons? That's about as  impersonal a  weapon  as you can
use."
     "Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in  his  own way, I fear," Ralgha
said slowly. "When he looks at  humans, he sees  only animals, fit for labor
or food  or prey in a hunt. It  is not an attitude that  is  held by all  my
kind, but it  is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile
Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar  . .  .
conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"
     Blair shrugged,  then  nodded reluctantly.  "I guess we  do. But .  . .
killing is killing.  Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because
you have  to . .  .  to  defend  yourself,  your people,  your civilization.
Whether it's hand-to-hand  fighting,  or  dogfighting, or  bombing  a  whole
damned planet out  of  existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we
each have to decide whether what we're protecting is  worth the  death we're
being asked to deal out."
     "This  is not normally  a question a Kilrathi  needs to ask himself, my
friend," Hobbes said  slowly. He fixed Blair  with a long, penetrating look.
"And in all honesty,  there are times I wish your kind had  not taught me to
ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."

     Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Ariel System

     Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready  room before
even exchanging  their  flight suits for  more  comfortable  clothing. Eisen
looked  worried  as he sat opposite them. He energized the holographic chart
display on his desk top.
     "I  know you  just got back from  a tough  one, but I doubt you'll have
much  chance  to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're on
course for the jump  point to the Caliban System. It has the closest  Confed
military  facility,  although it's a  small  one, just  an outpost. The main
advantage  as  I  see it is that it's like  this system,  inside the nebula,
which means  we can hope  to elude a  Kilrathi pursuit  quickly even if they
should  chase us  through the jump point. That  could be important,  if they
have any kind of fleet following us at all."
     "You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.
     "As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went out
that there were Terrans in the neighborhood,"  Eisen said grimly. "If I  was
the  cat CO in these parts, I'd do  my best to block as many jump  points as
possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from  Hobbes to Blair.
"That's  another  reason  to  go  for  Caliban,  though.  They might  not be
expecting a  withdrawal to such  a minor system. Maybe that  jump point will
have  fewer  defenders .  . . maybe  none at all, if their  fleet isn't very
strong in these parts."
     "Don't  count  on  it, sir,"  Blair said.  "I've  been  going over  the
incoming  survey reports.  While  we  haven't seen much in open space, there
were indications of tremendous shuttle  traffic over the  base on One, and a
fair number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they  would
leave all that unprotected, do you?"
     Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't.  A big fleet here. .
.  that sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He  glanced  at  Ralgha  and
changed  the  subject. "All  the more reason, though, to hope we can get the
hell out of here without running into too much  opposition. And if we do . .
. we try to shake them as best we can and still make jump."
     "Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you
have any special orders for us, sir?"
     "I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead  of us when we
approach  the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited, I
want an idea of  what's waiting for us before we  blunder into the middle of
it. The  timing will be  tricky. You'll have to stay out long enough to give
us our sneak  peek at  the situation, and maybe to discourage the  bad  guys
from  interfering  with  our  approach.  But then you'll  have to  get  your
fighters aboard fast, before we jump .  . . and possibly under fire. Anybody
who misses the boat is stuck." His  eyes  narrowed. "We can't afford another
incident like Locanda, for instance. I do