mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid. "Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the right buttons to push." Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at Rachel. "I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?" Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy." She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those things just postpone the inevitable." "I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it like that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ." "Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out on the cats — look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again." He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about, . . I hope you're not thinking. . . ." Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say . . . Let's just say you're a man I could care about . . . if there was nothing else holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no matter what." "I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends, my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth." "Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of . . . a friend." Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory Torgo System "All right, last item on the list," Blair said, ticking off another point on his personal data display. "Captain says we re due for a visit from some VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen hundred hours. We need to police the flight deck and hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching shipshape. Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail." Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?" Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron, all chuckled. Ralgha. sitting in the corner of the office away from the others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling boredom. "Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?" No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes was the last to leave and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days." Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled. "Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ." "I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human couldn't easily fathom. ‘We have been friends for many years, you and I. Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your pain over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now." "Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?" The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans . . . have rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I . . . regret her passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely. "If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid." The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will see, before the end." "I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend." Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it. Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office. "What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the desk and resuming his own seat. "Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's broadcast, before the battle at Delius." Blair frowned. "What about it?" "We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you, and then . . . well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op. They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up." "Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with everything blazing while we were still at Delius station they could've had Victory for breakfast . . . and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?" "It could be, Colonel," Rollins said. "The question is, why?" Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was something . . . familiar about that transmission." "What's that supposed to mean?" She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar. It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it." "Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. ‘Rollins, can you shed any light on it?" "Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much. Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . . if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. . . all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple." Cobra bit her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know what you told me about accusations. About wanting proof. . . and I don't have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me in the brig over it. I think there could have been some kind of hidden signal in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent." "You're talking about Hobbes, of course," Blair said, frowning. "Lieutenant . . ." "I didn't say it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra said. "But we know the cats have agents in the Confederation." Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I think you should hear her out on this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard." "Like how they keep throwing us softballs in tight corners," Buckley amplified. "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if you think about it. They could make jump points disappear, but the second one stayed open for us. And it wasn't defended, either." Blair looked from one to the other. "It still isn't proof of anything except the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last. "You know where I stand. I don't like having accusations leveled at Hobbes, and all you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked down at his desk. "It's a very serious charge to make . . ." "Hell, Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean, he's a Kilrathi, and you know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't prove anything." She Laughed, a short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi spy. You love the cats . . . a cat, at least, and you were in command when things went sour at Locanda Four. All I'm saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit. I think we have to consider it." "All right, Lieutenant. I'll consider it." Blair leaned back in his chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves. Have you talked with anyone else?" "No, sir.' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but Cobra wanted to come to you first." "I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this thing, sir," she amplified. "Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?" "Yes, sir," Rollins said. Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said. "All right. Dismissed, then." They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round them up, if you please." "Yes, sir," he responded. Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much stock do you put in all this?" "Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here." "How much of this is your idea?" Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all this, Colonel?" Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together, Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about him now." "She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir." "True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one he could talk to, under these circumstances. ‘There s another possibility I can't help but think about, Lieutenant." "Sir?" "Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any of that from your sources?" "Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe, but nothing solid." "I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got through debriefing so they were ‘rescued' and brought back to Terran space." "You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell, Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!" "As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in there somewhere? Maybe there were — orders, for instance. But a clever spy might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in an acceptable direction." "Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it, Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an actress, making believe she hated the cats so much." "It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had." "Why are you telling me this, sir?" "I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like Ralgha's cabin, for example." "So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?" "I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it. Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand. "And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . . it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this whole mess objectively." "I'll. .. do what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant. "But I'm not sure I'll like it." "You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be done." "Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly. Flight Deck, TCS Victory Torgo System "Ship's company, atten-SHUN!" Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself. He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all. He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers faults, to think of the ship as his home? The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck, gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel. The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him, Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer, the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel. Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute. Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you." Blair saluted, saying nothing. He turned back to Eisen. "This is the beginning of a momentous campaign, Captain. The end of the war is in sight at last." He gestured toward a second shuttle that was just opening up to disgorge the rest of his staff and entourage. "Let's get to work, gentlemen," Tolwyn announced and he headed for the bridge. Blair fell in behind the Admiral. Geoff Tolwyn had a reputation as a man who got things done . . . he hoped the man would live up to that reputation now. CHAPTER XXIII Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Torgo System "Scotch," Blair told Rostov. "Make it a double." "Sounds like you're having a bad day, Colonel. That was Flint, coming toward the bar behind him. "Not looking forward to dinner with the Admiral?" As he took his glass from Rostov and turned to meet her, Blair's look was sour. "Let's just say there are things I like better . . . like being out on the firing line with my missiles gone and my shield generators down." She smiled. "Must feel like old home week, though. I mean, Maniac, and Hobbes, and now Admiral Tolwyn. And Thrakhath, for that matter. Who's next?" For a moment he saw Angel in his mind's eye, and it must have shown in his expression. Flint's smile vanished. "Sorry . . ." she said. "That was stupid of me. I should have realized . . ." "Never mind, Blair said, shaking his head. "It was just force of habit, I guess. I get to thinking about the people I've flown with, and she's right at the top of the list." "I know," Flint said quietly. "It was that way with Davie too. One minute, you're fine. The next . . . Bamm! The memories just won't let go." "Yeah." He took a sip. "Look, Flint, I never took the time to thank you for what you did back there at Delius. I was just about ready to circle back and go after Thrakhath. You're the one who got through to me. I won't forget it." "You did it for me," she said. "And took a lot more risks. I was just looking out for my wingman." Flint hesitated. "Angel — Colonel Devereaux — tell me about her. She was in Covert Ops, wasn't she?" Blair studied her through narrowed eyes. "I didn't think that was common knowledge," he said slowly. "Are you a mind-reader, or have you been cultivating some of Rollins' sources?" She laughed. "Neither one. Just . . . a student of history. I try to make it a point to study things and people. For instance, the way I hear it, you and Admiral Tolwyn have crossed paths a time or two before." "Bumped heads is more like it," Blair told her. "He's a good man, in his own way. I just have a little trouble dealing with his ambition. It puts lives on the line. And he's always been big on rules and regulations." "I know the type," Flint said. "He knows the rulebook backwards and forwards . . . he just doesn't know anything about the human heart." "Can't argue with you there, Flint," he said. His mind went back to that time aboard the Tiger's Claw, when the admiral made the carrier the flagship of a ramshackle squadron. He took her into action against overwhelming odds to hold off a Kilrathi fleet until Terran relief forces could arrive. At the height of the action he relieved old Captain Thorn, the ship's commanding officer, and filed charges against him for cowardice in the face of the enemy. Thorn had later been reinstated, but no one serving with the old man ever quite forgot the day. There was a short, awkward silence before Flint spoke again. "I . . . I was serious about wanting to hear about Angel. If it would help to talk about her at all . . . well, I'm a good listener." Blair hesitated. "I appreciate it, Flint, I really do. But. . ." He shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm . . . supposed to meet someone." At that moment the door opened and Rachel Coriolis came in, greeting him with a cheerful wave. Flint looked from Rachel to Blair. "I see. I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you moved quite that fast. Colonel." She turned and walked away before he could respond. Admiral's Quarters, TCS Victory Torgo System Admiral Tolwyn took over a set of interconnected compartments one deck below the bridge; one of these was converted into a dining room with a table able to seat twelve. Blair was the first to arrive, and Tolwyn greeted him with a hearty smile and a handshake. "Ah, Colonel," he said expansively. "Let's hope that this is our last cruise together." Blair felt a flicker of apprehension. The comment could be interpreted several different ways and he wondered if subconsciously Tolwyn was revealing an anxiety about his plan to end the war. Tolwyn glanced around the room. Though clean and reasonably neat, there was no disguising the fading paintwork, the frayed carpets, or the general air of age and neglect that permeated the entire ship. "I never dreamed that we'd be reduced to pulling ships like this back into the front line. The Battle of Terra put us on the ropes, no matter what the government is now saying about it being a glorious victory. One more victory like that and the human race will be a forgotten footnote in the history of the universe!" Tolwyn looked away for a moment. "When will this end," he whispered. Blair watched him closely, surprised at the clear evidence of strain. "She's a good ship, Admiral," Blair said quietly. "And Eisen's a good captain. We haven't had much time for spit and polish lately. The Kilrathi have been keeping us busy. "Indeed." Tolwyn looked back up, barely regaining his composure. "I've been following your operations with some interest, Colonel. You ran into our old friend Thrakhath, I hear." "Yes, sir," Blair admitted, trying to keep his voice level. He looked away, thinking about Angel again. "I was sorry to hear about Colonel Devereaux," Tolwyn went on, almost as if he was reading Blair's mind. "A pity, really. General Taggart made a mistake, committing her to his little project before a final decision was made. "When did you know she was dead?" Blair demanded. "The information couldn't be released," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm sorry Blair, we had to keep our sources safe. It was strictly ‘need-to-know material. You understand." "What I understand, sir, is that you and General Taggart have been competing over your damned secret projects and Angel got caught in the middle." Blair gave Tolwyn an angry look. "And now it's our turn. Victory's . . . and mine. I don't much care what happens to me any more, Admiral, but I hope you don't make these other people pay the same kind of price Angel already shelled out just to prove that your damned gun works the way you said it would." "Still the same old Chris Blair," Tolwyn said evenly. "Always tilting at windmills. Look, Colonel, I know you don't like my methods, but the fact is that I get things done. I first got involved with the early planning; of Project Behemoth nearly ten years ago. I got pulled from my job as head of Terran Defense to bring it on-line and I'm going to see it through to the end. And God help anyone who stands in my way, even a living legend like yourself. Son, I know you don t like some of the implications behind this project, but it is kill or be killed. It's that simple." "I'm all for ending the war, Admiral," Blair told him. "And if it means giving you the credit — and a shot at being the next Confederation President, no doubt — that's fine by me. But I won't stand by and watch you trample good people in the dirt. Captain Eisen, for instance. What are your plans for him? Are you planning on usurping command of this ship the same way you did on Tiger's Claw?" "I'd be careful regarding my choice of words if I were you, Colonel," Tolwyn said. "Admirals, by definition, do not usurp command. Captain Eisen retains his post . . . but I am in overall command of this mission. Period." He turned away from Blair. "I had hoped that we would finally achieve a measure of respect for one another after all this time, Colonel. I am the first to admit that I once misjudged you, back at the start of your career, with the Tiger's Claw incident. Perhaps now you are misjudging me. Still, you'll obey your orders, like a good soldier, won't you, Blair? No matter where they end up taking you." Blair studied the slender, elegant back for a long moment in dawning understanding. "All that guff Kevin handed us about warning shots . . . We're headed to Kilrah with that thing, aren't we? No matter what . . ." The Admiral turned back to him. "What would you aim for if you had the biggest gun in the universe? When are you going to realize, Colonel, that we're playing for keeps here? I would have thought you, if anyone, would approve . . . after what happened to Angel." He had trouble framing a reply. There was a part of Blair that agreed with Tolwyn. After what happened to Angel, he wanted nothing more than revenge, and if that meant taking apart all of Kilrah . . . But despite the rage inside him, Blair couldn't see himself taking part in the destruction of an entire race. The door buzzed before he could come up with an answer. As Tolwyn admitted Captain Eisen and Commander Gessler, Victory's First Officer, Blair found himself wondering if the admiral might be right after all. Perhaps all that really mattered, in the end, was winning. He was very quiet over dinner that evening. Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory Torgo System The atmosphere in the ready room was tense as Blair entered. It was strange for Eisen to be relegated to a chair at the foot of the table, while Tolwyn presided in the captain's accustomed place. The sight sent a little shiver down Blair's back, making him think of Tiger's Claw and Captain Thorn, all those years ago. Commander Gessler and Colonel Ralgha were also present, as was Kevin Tolwyn and another of the admiral's aides, Commander Fairfax, representing the carrier's intelligence department. They watched the admiral expectantly as he settled into his seat and switched on the map table's holographic projector. "Gentlemen," he said, smiling with the pride of a father displaying photos of his firstborn. "I give you the Confederation's finest achievement . . . the Behemoth." The image was ugly, an ungainly, bulky, barrel-shaped monstrosity that dwarfed the Confed dreadnought shown alongside it for scale. A few dozen ships the size of Victory could have fit in the enormous maw at one end of the barrel. Behemoth might well have been the largest spacecraft ever constructed, certainly the largest ship to sail under Confederation colors. "This device is the product of a decade of research and development by some of the finest scientific minds in the Confederation," Tolwyn continued. "It is the weapon that will bring an end to this war once and for all." The view changed from an external shot to a computer schematic as Tolwyn continued. Taking up a laser pointer, he used its narrow light beam to highlight features as he spoke. "Behemoth is a series of linked superconducting energy amplification conduits, focusing an output of five hundred million gigawatts into one lancing point. A target at the end of that point is destroyed . . . utterly. And the energy released by the impact is enormous: devastating. Even the scientists can't say for sure whether the energy beam itself would destroy an entire planet, but they do agree that the resultant seismic stresses should be enough to tear it apart, particularly a world like Kilrah which is already highly unstable. The upshot, gentlemen, is this. Behemoth can destroy worlds, and properly employed it can knock the Kilrathi Empire out of the war in a few short strokes." Some of the others made suitably impressed noises, but Blair remained silent. He was still thinking over his own distinctly mixed reaction to the weapon's capabilities. "We would have liked another year or two for testing and development," Tolwyn said. "Unfortunately circumstances have forced me to order the weapon to be deployed now." He gave Blair a long, hard stare. "We are in danger of suffering attacks similar to the biological devastation on Locanda Four, perhaps against more vital targets." "Seems a pretty large escalation, Admiral," Blair said. "The truth is, Colonel, that even without the biological attack, the Confederation is in trouble." Tolwyn looked around the room, speaking more softly now. "This is not for public consumption, of course. It remains classified. But the Kilrathi are winning on just about every front, and if the worst-case scenario were to come true they would be in a position to land troops on Terra herself within another six months. We have to use Behemoth, gentlemen. And we have to use it now." Once that information sank in, he used the pointer again. "Because of the accelerated deployment, the ship's defensive systems are . . . somewhat incomplete. There are a few, shall we say . . . soft spots . . . located here . . . and here . . . where the shields are thin and there's been no time to complete keel mounts or add extra shield generators or defensive laser turrets. "Those soft spots could spell real trouble, Admiral," Blair commented. "Looks like a couple of well-placed shots could take that monster out." Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "That is why your flight wing is being assigned the job of protecting Behemoth, Colonel," he said. "I expect you to be especially aware of the vulnerable points. Make sure your people know what must be protected, under any circumstances. Make no mistake, Colonel, gentlemen. This weapon is our last hope. Nothing must be permitted to get through to threaten it." "Protecting the weapon will be a large task, Admiral," Hobbes said slowly. "It makes a . . . very big target." "Hmmph." Tolwyn looked at Ralgha for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. "Colonel full data on the defense of Behemoth will be made available to your people for analysis. Major Tolwyn will also assist you in programming a series of simulations so that they can practice before we begin the actual deployment." "Sir, the wings pretty short-handed. What's the chance of getting some new blood to bring us up to strength?" "We're damned short-handed as it is, Blair," the admiral told him "Two carriers just passed through last week and pretty well cleaned out Torgo's replacement pilot pool. However, I did arrange to rotate your bomber squadron off the ship and replace them with a second point-defense squadron. Victory won't be called upon to perform offensive operations this time out, and the additional Hellcats will be used to cover the Behemoth." Blair frowned. Something told him that behind Tolwyn's smooth explanation there were other problems he wasn't willing to discuss. The admiral had more than his share of political enemies within the High Command, and it was likely that he'd found it necessary to tread on a lot of toes to get his Behemoth project approved. Not everyone would share his belief that this overgrown cannon could bring the war to an end, and Blair could see stubborn rivals of Tolwyn's digging in their heels and refusing to give him all of the ships and men he wanted. Very likely he snagged Victory because she was widely perceived as the fleet's poor relation. That raised other questions about the whole affair. Tolwyn was convinced he was on the winning track with Behemoth, but what was the High Command really planning, at this juncture? If they didn't agree with Tolwyn's threat assessments, they might be looking for the admiral to fall on his face. "Now. . . as to operational planning. Behemoth is undergoing final power-up tests this afternoon. By eighteen hundred hours standard tomorrow evening, we will leave the Torgo Proving Area and proceed in company with the weapons platform to the Blackmane jump point." He looked at Eisen. "It's plain from your reports that Ariel is a totally unsuitable test site for the weapon. Luckily, Captain Moran and the Hermes turned up a much more likely target: Loki Six. There is a jump point to the system from Blackmane, so we will pass directly between jump points in the Blackmane System and then transit to Loki." Fairfax cleared his throat. "I've reviewed the data downloaded from HQ on the Hermes survey mission. Loki Six is a fairly minor Kilrathi outpost. Not likely to be heavily defended. In fact, it's only apparent purpose is to serve as a sort of advanced base for raiders passing through the Ariel System." He looked doubtful. "I'm not sure what kind of a message we'll send the Kilrathi by destroying the outpost. A larger facility would have been better. The Empire may not take the hint if all they lose is a second-rate base." Tolwyn gave him a stern look. "If Loki doesn't give them the right message, we'll give them something bigger to think about." He shot Blair a glance. "We have to take this one step at a time, gentlemen. But one way or another, Behemoth is going to end this war." On the map table, the schematics of the weapons platform were replaced by a chart of the Loki System. "We will proceed from the jump point to here . . . Loki Eight, a gas giant. Behemoth will require fuel, which we can skim from the gas giant's atmosphere. Then we will move to this position, near Loki Six, and begin the firing sequence. Throughout the operation, gentlemen, we will be accompanied by a small escort squadron, three destroyers. They will be used for advanced scouting, and as general support vessels. But Victory and her fighters will have the primary responsibility of providing close support to Behemoth. I want you to be clear on this. The mission stands or falls on this ship's ability to protect that weapon." Tolwyn's look was challenging. "Any questions?" There were none, and Tolwyn turned his intense gaze on Hobbes. "Colonel Ralgha, I would like you to work with Commander Fairfax and my staff over the next several days. You're the closest thing we have to a genuine expert on the Kilrathi mind. I'd like you to help us develop some likely models of how the Empire will react. To the destruction of Loki Six, and to other measures we may be forced to take if that doesn't bring them to the peace table." Hobbes inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral," he rumbled. "I warn you, though, that I cannot predict the reactions of my . . . former comrades . . . with any degree of certainty. Anything I suggest will necessarily be . . . imperfect at best." "It will do, Colonel. It will do." Tolwyn glanced around the room again, then nodded crisply. "Very well. That's an overview of the situation. You'll each be receiving detailed orders as needed. In the meantime, you're dismissed. Blair took a last look at Tolwyn before he left The admiral was studying the map of the Loki system intently, the expression on his face one of anticipation and undisguised eagerness. He wasn't sure he cared for the look in the man s eyes. It promised victory or death with no middle ground, and no room to adapt to circumstances. Flight Control. TCS Victory Torgo System "Okay," Blair said into the microphone. "That's it. End simulation." Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel." "It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave those weak spots uncovered." "You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked. "Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning, after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest. And study that database. Now. . . dismissed." You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin. "Don't tell me you've become a convert." "Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for the ink!" Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if he thought it would get him a tactical advantage." "Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes. "What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the chance?" "I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind." Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong." He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel." Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself afterward, whichever course you took?" CHAPTER XXIV Communication Center, TCS Victory Torgo System The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen through a bully night vision device, the room glowed with an eerie greenish light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the Communications center except when the ship was at General Quarters, and the intruder was confident that no one would notice this stealthy foray. Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed as the computer responded to the intruder's commands. ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES. The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's tracks afterward with a voice record . . . IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION. It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in. Another console came to life across the room. TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES. Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared. COORDINATES ACCEPTED