ast slow him down until I get there."
     He looked back down at  Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and
rage.  "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes  . .
."
     Blair  turned  away  and  started  toward  Maniac's  fighter,  grim and
determined. Hobbes  had betrayed them  . . . and now the renegade had  to be
stopped before he destroyed everything.

     Excalibur 304 Blackmane System

     "Victory, Victory, I need help out here! He s flying rings around me!"
     Blair  muttered  a curse  under his  breath.  Even with the Excalibur's
superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake  Vaquero
and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and keep him busy,
but it was an uneven match.  Hobbes had always  been a good pilot, but Blair
had never expected to see him matched against one of his own comrades.
     On his sensor screen, he  saw Hobbes  making a long slow loop, circling
back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already  taken damage to his engines, and was
having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.
     "He's coming in again . . ." Lopez said. "Firing . . ."
     A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It
must have been a  fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed  and
weaved in pursuit  of Ralgha's fighter.  Hobbes tried  to dodge it,  but  it
caught him  across  the port-side  shield. Lopez let  out a whoop and  dove.
Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.
     "All right!"  Lopez shouted.  "That one's for Cobra!  Get ready to  say
good-bye, Hobbes."
     "Not today,  I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathi's fighter
released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.
     "Cristos . . . I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos . . .
     And then he was gone.
     "God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."
     "Is  that you.  . . old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded
like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you
turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."
     "Deal with this . . . old  friend!"  Blair shouted. Ralgha's  Excalibur
was just coming into extreme range, and  Blair let loose a volley of blaster
fire. But Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.
     Ralgha turned  away,  as  if  to  run. Blair's  hands  clenched  on the
steering yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away .
. .
     But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too much
of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into the area
and since Hobbes could only be heading for  the Freya jump point to warn the
Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.
     Ralgha suddenly rolled up  and back,  a classic  Immelman maneuver that
almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again  as he dodged the  Kilrathi's
fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves. But he wasn't
flying quite the  way he usually did.  There was something different  in his
style, more reckless, more  aggressive. More like the Kilrathi Blair usually
met in battle.
     As Hobbes sped  past, Blair  checked  his sensor  readouts on the other
Excalibur.  Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If  the port shield
went  down, Ralgha  would be vulnerable, and he was sure  to be sensitive to
that  weakness. Hobbes had  used  all of his  missiles to knock  out  Lopez,
giving Blair a significant advantage.
     The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him.  He
let Hobbes  finish his turn,  then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a
charge right at the  other fighter, a  move he was  sure Hobbes  would never
expect  from  him.  Blaster fire raked across  his  forward shields,  but he
ignored it, even when  the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were
going down . . .
     Ralgha stopped  firing, his  weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi  swerved
sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire.  The
two fighters  were close  together now,  and Blair  had to kill his momentum
quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.
     The  Terran  allowed himself a  grim  smile  and  locked  on a pair  of
heat-seekers.  As Ralgha finished  his  turn and exposed his tail, Blair let
the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.
     "Impressive,  my  friend,"  Hobbes said as  the  barrage  struck  home.
"Impressive . . . I fear that you have bested me . . . Now I shall never see
Kilrah again."
     The missiles  detonated almost simultaneously as  the  Excalibur's rear
shields went down. The fighter came apart.
     Blair thought he heard  Hobbes  call out  his name before the  fireball
consumed his craft.
     "Excalibur three-o-four,"  he said, his voice sounding dead in  his own
ears.  He  couldn't  feel anything,  either sadness or  satisfaction, at the
knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes . . . is gone. I'm coming in."


        CHAPTER XXVIII

     Flight Wing Quarters, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly
inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to ask
questions, or to offer comments.  He didn't think he could  face anyone just
now, especially not here, in  the quarters  that had  belonged to Ralgha nar
Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on automatically.
They were set to the dim reddish hue  Hobbes favored, a reminder of Kilrah's
K6 star.
     A reminder of Ralgha's home . . .
     Ralgha . . . Hobbes . .  . It surprised Blair to realize how  deep this
wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas,
flown  with him,  loved him like a brother  over the better  part of fifteen
long years. When others had  raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in
Hobbes,  the  one being Blair would have trusted to  the bitter end. . . and
beyond.  Yet  Hobbes betrayed  him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge  of
that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.
     He  turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the  door, punching
for  Terra-normal  lights  and  lower  heat  and  humidity  than  Ralgha had
preferred. The  changes helped him push away the bitter  thoughts of Hobbes,
but not far enough for any real peace of mind.
     No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth
comb in hopes of  finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't
plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert  Ops. But it was one  of
his  duties, as  wing commander, to deal  with the personal property  of any
pilot who died while  under his command, and much as he wanted  to  delegate
it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least
take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had  no idea where it
would  go when  Paladin  was through with  it. Usually personal effects were
returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?
     He defected in the company of a retainer named  Kirha. Had the retainer
been another  agent? Or legitimate?  Blair  wasn't even  sure  if  the other
Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to
a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St.  John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't
heard anything of Hunter for a long time.
     Well, if  nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned
to the Empire  when the  war  was over, if it ever was  over. Perhaps Hobbes
still  had family  somewhere.  He  claimed  they  had all  died  before  his
defection, but that could have been yet another lie.
     Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more,
about Hobbes . . . or about anything else.
     A slender  box lying on  the bunk drew his  eye,  and Blair crossed the
room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector,  much like the one Angel
had sent him. Curious,  Blair sat  on the edge  of the bed  and  thumbed the
switch.
     A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.
     "Colonel  Blair,"  the  holographic figure  said in  Ralgha's  familiar
tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me
to provide an explanation for my actions."
     "You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct,
the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by  Imperial
Security at  the behest  of Prince  Thrakhath. You have  never met  the real
Ralgha nar Hhallas, nor  would you have become his friend, for he was and is
dedicated to the service of the Empire Only the construct-personality  could
become your comrade  and  friend.  I myself was  entirely unaware of my true
self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, the
message where you  were given your Kilrathi title,  the Heart of  the Tiger.
Embedded in  combination  with a  signal  embedded in that transmission, the
phrase  ‘Heart  of  the  Tiger'  was  the  trigger  that  awakened  my  true
personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages  within it
that  gave me  my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that
day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no  choice but to
act as  I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am
the Heart of the Tiger."
     The Kilrathi paused for a long  time. His expression  was one Blair had
never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in
two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi  do not surrender, my old friend, and
neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race
and obedient to my duty, I have been  forced  to betray you. For though I am
no longer the  same being you once named  Hobbes and  befriended when  I was
alone among strangers, I retain  a  full  memory of  everything  that Ralgha
thought and did. I remember  you, Colonel,  for  what you were and are,  and
know that  you are an  honorable warrior. If I could  have performed my duty
without betraying you, I would have done so,  but that was not possible. And
if we meet again .  . . we will have no choice but to perform our duties . .
. with honor."
     "I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in  battle.
But if we  do, I will salute you as a warrior . . . and I will mourn you, as
a friend lost to me forever."
     The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the
tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained  there a
long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.
     He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.
     It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you  here.  Captain called down to
Flight  Control  asking  after the final operations plan for this mission of
the General's." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning
out the cat's stuff, huh?"
     Blair shook  his head.  "Not yet," he  said. "Just  . . . an inventory.
Before the captain gets started with the investigation . . ."
     "Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into . . everything,
huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"
     Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.
     "Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across, Marshall said.
     Blair surged out of the  bunk and caught  him by the collar, raising  a
hand  to  strike  the man.  All his anger  had  came rushing out, and all he
wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.
     "Temper, temper,"  Marshall said.  "You shouldn't  start something  you
can't finish,  Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to  lose any more
wingmen. Not now.
     Blair dropped his hand and  let go of Marshall's collar. The major took
a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.
     "For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.
     "I am?"
     "Yeah.  Yeah, there's  precious few of us left, Major.  Two  Excaliburs
destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only  four of us left  in Gold
Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face.
"I'd deck  you right now, Maniac, and to  hell with the  consequences. But I
figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."
     Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right.  You never thought I was any good before.
So why would you want me this time?"
     "Simple," Blair  told  him. "Odds are none of us  are coming back  from
this  one, but I figure  you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down.  So
maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's
over and done with."
     Marshall looked at  him doubtfully, as if uncertain  how  serious Blair
was. "You're crazy, man," he said.
     Blair didn't answer him.  He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started
the inventory, ignoring  Marshall until the other man snorted again and left
the cabin.
     After  Maniac left, he took  time out to  use  the intercom  to pass  a
message to  Eisen,  identifying  the computer  file that held the  work  the
flight  wing  staff had  put  into  refining Paladin's attack  plan. Then he
finished up in Ralgha's cabin and  left,  locking the door behind him with a
security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.
     He still had  other unpleasant duties to take care of however. The next
one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing
officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold  Squadron. He halted
in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG — LT. MITCHELL  LOPEZ and set
down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.
     Blair touched the buzzer  beside the door and stepped  back.  It took a
few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights  were out, but a  figure
was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.
     "Come  in,"  Vagabond  said. There  was  little of his usual  bantering
manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I
do for you?"
     Blair  kicked  the cargo  module  through the door and stepped  inside,
letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, he
said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced  this  part  of the job
alone, as he had in  Ralgha's  quarters. "I  just .  . . I came to round  up
Vaquero's  stuff.  Shuttle's heading back to  the Eagle later  today,  and I
figured  they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump .
. ."
     "In  case  we don't make  it,"  Chang finished  the thought for him. He
raised his voice slightly. "Lights."
     The  computer brought the light level up.  Under the  illumination, the
lieutenant's expression was bleak.
     "Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair  said quietly. "I know how  you
feel . .  . this mess is getting to all  of us. But we've all  got  to get a
grip. Bounce back."
     "The clichů of the week," Chang  said. He pointed to one of the lockers
on the  far wall. "That one's  Vaquero's.  Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot
paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."
     Blair nodded and crossed to the  locker, opening  it  with  a  security
magnakey  that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy. Evidently
Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions in the
short time he'd been aboard Victory.
     "Tell  me  this much,  Colonel," Vagabond said from  behind him. "Rumor
mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it
true?"
     Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah.  A shot . . . a  pretty damned long
one, but a shot."
     "Good." Chang gave a  curt nod. "Good.  ‘Cause  I want a  piece  of the
bastards."
     "Are you sure?  You  were the one who had doubts about  Behemoth, as  I
recall. And  the new mission's  also designed to knock out  Kilrah.  No ifs,
ands, buts, or maybes . . ."
     Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it, the
kid didn't have to die like that. He was going  to retire, open his cantina.
He  had it all  planned out,  and that bastard  Hobbes  snuffed him out. And
Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line, but this
. . . it's just wrong."
     Blair fixed  him with  a level stare. "I  hear you, Vagabond. I've been
there myself, and not  just  this cruise, either.  But you can't let it  eat
away at you." He pointed to the locker. "Do  you  know how much  I hate this
ritual? As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm  to Vaquero s family
. . . you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son
and the way  he died. What  am  I supposed to tell them? That my best friend
turned  traitor and killed him  in a sneak attack? That I might have stopped
it  if I hadn't been so  convinced that Hobbes was one of the good guys?" He
shook his head.
     Vagabond  shrugged and  sighed.  "I used to think I  could  keep myself
apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional  on duty, and the squadron
clown  in the rec room. But for the first  time, here on Victory, I actually
felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real friends . .
. Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is  to  see
the end of it all . . . one way or another."
     Blair  didn't  reply  right  away. Vagabond's  words struck a  familiar
chord. "The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang,"  he said
at last. "It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage
you  to  opt out of  it,  since you  were pretty  well  set  against bombing
civilian targets.  Now  .  . . hell, I  don't  have  enough  pilots in  Gold
Squadron as it is.  If  you really want in, I'll be  glad to have you there.
But  if  you're not sure, speak  up now.  So I can try  to  get someone else
checked out on the Excalibur from one of the other outfits."
     Vagabond shook his head. "Don't bother. I'm in."
     "It's nice to know you can count on . . . people." Blair turned back to
the  locker, saw Vaquero's  prized  old  guitar. He  picked  it up, ran  his
fingers over  each string. "His family will want this, I  suppose . .  ." he
said softly.  Then, with another flash of anger, he went on.  "It just isn't
fair, Chang. That kid should never have been a pilot."
     "But he was," Vagabond told him. "A good  one, too.  We're all going to
miss him, before this thing is over."
     Together, they emptied out the locker  and packed Vaquero's gear in the
cargo module. When it was done, Blair tagged it and left it outside the door
for a  work  detail to  pick up later. He fetched a  second  module  from  a
storeroom nearby and headed for his last stop. He knew this one would be the
most difficult of all.
     Cobra had shared her quarters with Flint, and the lieutenant opened the
door at Blair's signal. She saw the cargo module and nodded. "Cobra's stuff,
huh?"
     "Yeah." He followed her in. "Er . . . you knew her  pretty well, didn't
you?"
     "As  well  as anyone, I guess," she said. "Laurel didn't  make a lot of
friends."
     "I guess not." Blair looked away.  "Fact is,  I'm supposed  to send her
effects  to her  family, write a note, the usual  routine. But  I don't even
know if she has a family. Her file was pretty thin."
     "We were the only family she had," Flint said softly.
     "I didn't treat her  very well,  for family," Blair said, looking away.
"I trusted Hobbes, not her . . ."
     "You  had  your reasons," she replied. "Blaming yourself  won't  change
what happened . . . won't bring Cobra back, or Vaquero, either."
     "Maybe you're  right. I don't know any more. It seems like every choice
I've made, every turn I've taken since  I  came on board  this ship has been
wrong. I'm starting to second-guess myself on everything."
     Flint hesitated a moment before responding, her look intent,  searching
for  something in his face.  "Everything? Does that mean  your  romance with
your little grease monkey has fallen through?"
     "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He  was still  feeling bad
about  breaking  his  date  with  Rachel the  night  before,  but under  the
circumstances he hadn't felt like seeing anyone.
     She looked away. "I just  thought . . . you could do a lot  better, you
know?"
     "No,  I don't know," Blair told her. "Rachel's been a good friend to me
. . . more  than a friend." He  studied her. "I know you thought there might
be  something between you  and  me. I'm sorry if I gave  you the  wrong idea
about how I felt."
     "Just how do you feel?" she demanded.
     "You've been a  good  friend, too,  Flint. Hell, I probably owe  you my
life,  after Delius. And under other  circumstances, things  might have gone
further between us."
     "Other circumstances . . . ?"
     "Don't you get it,  Flint? Rachel's not a  pilot.  You are.  And  after
Angel — I  just  don't think I  could  handle getting  involved with another
pilot. Especially one who might end up flying on my wing. "He paused. "Truth
is, it isn't fair to either  one of  you, now. When we hit  Kilrah, odds are
none of us  are coming  back.  So  any romance  I get  into now  is strictly
short-term."
     "Maybe that's all there is for any of us, now," Flint said quietly. "If
this next fight goes against us, there won't be time left for anyone."
     Blair nodded. "That's true enough. Look .  . . I'm sorry. I didn't want
to hurt you."
     "I'm grown up," she told him. "I can handle rejection. But I don't take
kindly to  losing  out  to some mechanic who smells  like synlubes  and uses
grease for make-up."
     He looked away, feeling helpless. "If it helps any, I doubt she  and  I
are going anywhere, now."
     Flints look was cold. "Do what  you  like, flyboy,'' she said. "Doesn't
matter  to me.  And like you said,  this next op's probably  going to be the
last, right? For all of us."
     "It's a volunteer mission, Flint. You don't have to fly it. Maybe you'd
be better off staying with the ship."
     She  shook her  head.  "You've  been telling  me not to put my feelings
ahead of my duty, and that's just what I'm going to do now. I  will be in on
the kill, all right. Just try and stop me." Flint paused. "But I'll give you
a word of  warning, Colonel. I may try  to keep  my  personal feelings  on a
leash, but I don't make any guarantees. And it might not be such a good idea
for you to pick a  wingman you've just  kicked in  the teeth. If you take my
meaning. . . sir."
     Blair had no answer  for that. He  left  Flint to pack up Cobra's gear,
and headed back to his office to think.
     Sometimes it was easier to face  the enemy than it was to deal with the
people he cared about most.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Freya System

     The carrier made the jump from Blackmane to the Freya System, where the
High Command ordered  the strike force to assemble  for the attack  that was
supposed to cover the raid on Kilrah. Through  the viewport in the rec room,
Blair could see a few of the ships of the Terran fleet, some close enough to
recognize shapes and configurations, others so far away  that they glimmered
as moving lights against the starfield.
     It was a powerful force, but nowhere near the  size of the  fleet  that
had held the Kilrathi at Terra. Yet this was supposed to be Earth's decisive
strike, the knockout punch that would end the war.
     Blair watched the other ships. and doubted.
     "You look like you  could use some company, Rachel  Coriolis said  from
behind him.
     Blair turned in  his  chair.  "Rachel . . .  I thought you had the duty
until seventeen hundred hours."
     "This is just  a break,"  she  said. We've still got a lot to get  done
before the jump to Hyperion tomorrow, so I'm grabbing a  bite to eat now and
then pulling a double shift." She mustered a weary smile. "So, are you going
to invite a girl to sit down, or what?"
     "Sure, sure," he said hurriedly. "Please. Sorry . . ."
     Rachel laughed. "So, the  rough,  tough  pilot  goes  to  pieces  under
pressure." She took the seat across from him,  her  eyes searching  his face
under a worried frown. "What's the matter? Is it . . . Hobbes?"
     He shook  his head. "Not  that  . .  . not really. Fact is . . .  it's,
well, it's us."
     "Us? As in you plus me equals us?"
     "Yeah. Look, Rachel, I started thinking some  things  over today, and I
realized  something. Yesterday  I  was all set  for  a nice little seduction
scene.  Dinner. Music. A quiet talk that could lead to . .  . whatever."  He
looked away. "After what happened . . ."
     "Hey,  I understood  then. I understand now. We'll  still have our time
together."
     "Maybe  it  was  best  that  we couldn't make it  happen,"  he  went on
doggedly. "It might be the best thing if we don't try to push it now . . ."
     "Are you backing out on me?" Her expression hovered between concern and
anger. "I thought . . ."
     "Look, Rachel, by this  time tomorrow,  God  only knows  where I'll be.
Even  if we carry  out  the  mission, the deck's stacked against any  of  us
coming back from Kilrah. It isn't fair  to start something with you  that  I
might not be able to finish. I wouldn't want you to have  to go through what
I did . . . with Angel."
     "Pilots . . ." She shook her head. "They'd rather crash and  burn  than
make  a commitment. Look, Chris, I've been there, remember? I know what it's
like. And I also know that if we keep putting our own lives aside because of
what  might happen  tomorrow, eventually  we'll  run out of tomorrows. We'll
never have  anything to look back at, anything  to remember  except the war,
just fighting and killing. I want something  else to remember . . .  whether
it's one night, or an eternity. Don't you?"
     "Do  you really mean that? You want to go ahead, even  knowing it might
not be more than one night?''
     She  met his  eyes and  nodded.  "I'd rather  we  had  just  one  night
together.  Especially  if the alternative is . . . never  having any time at
all."
     "Your shift . . ."
     "Ends at  midnight.  I'll  skip  the dinner and the music if  you'll be
there for me when I come . . ."
     "Midnight, then." She stood when he  did, and they came together  in  a
long, lingering kiss. "Midnight . . ."


        CHAPTER XXIX

     Excalibur 300 Hyperion System

     Acceleration pressed Blair  into his  seat as the Excalibur burst  into
open space. He  cut  in his engines  and  steered hard  to port,  toward the
unseen jump point that would carry him to the enemy homeworld.
     To the real Heart of the Tiger, he thought idly.
     "Excalibur three-zero-zero,  clear and  under power," Blair said aloud.
"Lancelot Flight, form on me and proceed as planned."
     The other three pilots acknowledged, closing around him. Four Excalibur
fighters,  to  attack the Imperial  homeworld.  It  still seemed  like sheer
madness. But this time it was truly mankind's last chance for victory.
     "Lancelot Flight, Lancelot Flight, this is Round Table," Eisen's  voice
crackled over the comm channel. "Good luck to you all . . . and Godspeed."
     Blair didn't reply. Instead he  checked his power levels, then spoke to
the other pilots. "Go to cloaks . . . now!" he ordered, switching on his own
cloaking  system.  There  was  no  apparent effect,  other  than the  sudden
increase  in  the fighter's  power  drain. Weapons  and shields were useless
while  the  shroud  concealed  the  craft,  but  detection would  be  nearly
impossible. Already the other  Excaliburs had vanished.  He was all alone in
an endless night.
     He checked the  range to  the jump point, and asked the computer for an
ETA. Ten minutes. . . .
     The timing  of this  phase of the operation was  critical. The Confed's
battle  fleet  had  jumped  into  the  Hyperion  System  from  nearby Freya,
challenging  the  local Kilrathi  garrison  forces with a  series  of strike
attacks by  fighters and  capital  ships.  Victory had  remained  in reserve
throughout  nearly a  week  of  combat ops,  keeping to  the fringes  of the
action. The Kilrathi were given every opportunity to commit  their forces to
the system, and they'd pumped in enough ships to  put the  Terran fleet at a
serious disadvantage. It  was all  a part of the plan, to encourage the cats
to  thin out their  home defenses and divert attention away from Kilrah. But
it had been a costly fight already, and it was likely to get worse.
     Today the admiral commanding  the fleet had passed the word  to General
Taggart aboard Victory. There was no guarantee that the fleet could maintain
the fight for more than a few more hours. Then they would have to break off,
or go down  fighting. Paladin had  given the  orders. The attack  was  on at
last.
     The  carrier edged  toward the jump  point, seemingly  to reinforce the
Terran battle group built  around  the Hermes and  the Invincible which  had
been  heavily   engaged  in  the   area  for  several  hours.  According  to
intelligence reports,  the Kilrathi  were unaware of the Terran survey  work
done around Hyperion, and thus thought the Confederation knew nothing of the
Kilrah jump point. But they  had to  be careful to keep from  tipping  their
hands too soon.
     As  it  was, they nearly ran  into trouble  when  a Kilrathi  destroyer
escort left the enemy fleet  on course for  the jump point, but Eisen turned
the situation to their  advantage by pretending to  pursue the  enemy  ship.
That ship had passed through the  jump point less than half an hour ago, and
that transjump became the main reason for Blair's present preoccupation with
the ticking countdown clock.
     If the escort  withdrew to  Kilrah to summon additional reinforcements,
the Terrans had to hope nothing  else was waiting close to the jump point on
the other side. Otherwise  they  might be blundering into trouble before the
mission was even fairly under way.
     He checked the ETA again. Three minutes . . .

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Kilrah System

     "Message  from  the escort  Ghordax, Lord  Prince.  From the  fleet  at
Hyperion."
     Thrakhath  allowed  his  throne  to swivel  past the viewscreen  he was
contemplating so he could look down on Melek. "What is their report?"
     "'The  battle  proceeds well,  Lord Prince,'' Melek  said bowing.  "The
Terrans cannot last long."
     "So there is no further need for reinforcements, then?"
     "No, Lord Prince. None."
     "Good," Thrakhath said. "I do not wish to further disrupt  our buildup.
Is there any word from the Logistics Masters on  the timetable for launching
the Grand Fleet?"
     "Six  eights of  hours, Lord Prince. The  bombardment missiles will  be
fully loaded by then, and the fleet can break orbit any time after that."
     "Excellent. Then  we will soon be on our way to the  Terran  homeworld.
This time they shall not  turn us  back." Thrakhath turned his throne again,
gesturing to the  screen. It showed a view of Kilrah's  orbital  yards, with
capital  ships  grouped  around  orbital  depots and swarms of smaller craft
moving among them, preparing  the  Grand Fleet for the last  great campaign.
"Victory, Melek," the prince continued. "It smells sweet, does it not?"
     "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek replied dutifully.
     "Still,  there is  one thing  missing,"  Thrakhath went  on, almost  to
himself. "I can only hope for one last chance to meet the Heart of the Tiger
in battle. It will make our triumph all the more complete . . ."
     Thrakhath continued to  study the viewscreen, the  light of victory  in
his eyes.

     Excalibur 300 Kilrah System

     Jumpshock  made  Blair  sluggish, but he forcing his body  to obey  his
will, he switched power from  the  transjump  drive to the cloaking  device.
Powering up  his  engines, he steered the  fighter  out of  the jump  point,
setting course inward, toward the Kilrathi homeworld.
     On his  sensor screen,  another blip flickered  into  existence astern,
then faded a few moments later. That  was Vagabond, acting as wingman on the
mission. Maniac and Flint followed  in succession, apparently  without being
noticed. There were  no Kilrathi ships in the  immediate  area,  though  the
escort they  had  trailed in the  Hyperion System  was  at  the very edge of
detection range,  also  on course toward Kilrah.  Hopefully, if they spotted
anything suspicious at all they wouldn't  be able to react until the cloaked
Terran ships were well clear of the area.
     Blair's comm  monitor came  alive  with  an image  of Paladin. The  old
warrior had warned  him that the computers  aboard all  four fighters  would
trigger periodic briefings as they headed in  toward their goal.  This tape,
for Blair, had been personalized. Taggart smiled out at him.  "Laddie, we've
covered  this  ground backwards  and  forwards waiting  for  the mission  to
launch, but I'll give you the  straight dope one more time now. Since you're
seeing  this,  you've made the jump successfully, and you're in the Kilrathi
System  now." The screen changed to show a chart of the Kilrah star  system,
with navpoints glowing brightly.  "Your first  job, now that you're through,
is  tae bring  your fighters in tae  the first asteroid  depot. There you'll
find a stock of fuel, spares, and missiles, everything you'll need tae carry
you all the way in tae the outer moon of Kilrah." The first depot faded, and
another  more  distant  asteroid was  indicated.  "Should  ye find the first
position compromised, laddie, there  is a second choice. But remember, if ye
canna keep one depot in  reserve, there'll nae be enough fuel in  your birds
tae  get  you through  the jump  point after the mission's done.  The second
depot is supposed  to be for  the trip back but I ken well you'll do what ye
have tae if the mission depends upon it."
     Paladin's face appeared on the screen again. "Good luck, laddie. You'll
need it.
     The screen went blank.
     Blair  set his course for  the nearer depot,  knowing that  the  others
would be doing the same. They were maintaining absolute comm silence, hoping
to avoid  any detection by the Kilrathi. Surprise was their only hope  . . .
surprise sheer flying skill and pure, unadulterated good luck.
     He hoped it would be enough.

     Excalibur 302 Kilrah System

     A  warning alarm  beeped  for attention,  and Lieutenant Winston  Chang
checked  his sensor board. There was something  ahead, a powered target that
glowed amber on his screen as the computer tried to identify it as friend or
foe. A moment later,  it changed to  a reddish orange.  An enemy, then . . .
no,  two enemies, a  pair of  Darket fighters,  evidently making  a  routine
patrol sweep.
     Vagabond muttered an old  Chinese curse under his breath  and cut power
to  his engines.  The  two Darket  were dead  ahead  and only  a few hundred
kilometers  beyond  lay  the  large  asteroid  where  the  first  depot  was
established. In order  to reach their  destination,  transmitters aboard the
Excaliburs were programmed to send out  short-burst signals  to activate the
locator transponders in  the depot.  As long as those two Darket were in the
neighborhood, the  Terrans were stuck.  The  depot  might as well be  around
Sirius.
     Meanwhile, there was  another danger. If  the  Kilrathi got too  close,
they would spot the Terran ships, cloaked or not.
     The two  light fighters  were  making  a slow, graceful  turn. Vagabond
warily watched them, alert for any signs of their detecting the  location of
one  of the  Terran fighters. He wondered  about the others. Their  original
tight formation had become tenuous  en  route to the asteroid, and he was no
longer sure where any of his comrades might be.
     The Darket  were  going to pass close to him  . . . too close. Vagabond
engaged his engines again and started to bank  away,  but it  was  too late.
Suddenly the  two  Kilrathi ships  were  picking up speed, swinging  around,
pointed directly at  him. Cloaked, he had no shields.  A few shots would  be
enough to knock him out.
     He cut the cloak, shunting  power to the weapons and  shield generators
and  cutting back on his own course with a sharp pull on the steering  yoke.
Maybe  if he disposed of these two  fast enough there  would be no  time for
them to summon help.
     One of the  Darket opened fire just  as the green  light on  his shield
status display  appeared. Blasters  pounded at  the  shields,  but to little
effect.  He returned fire with blasters and a  pair of heat-seekers, closing
the range fast. The Darket's  shields crumbled  beneath the  heavy pounding,
and a moment later his beams  bored through armor and  set  off the missiles
slung under the Kilrathi crafts wings. He was  close enough now to  actually
be caught  in  the  fireball, and  the  energy release  and spinning  debris
overloaded his own shielding.
     In  that moment, the second Darket  engaged. He didn't  have to look at
the  damage control  panel  to  know  that he was  losing  armor  around his
reactor.  Desperately,  Vagabond  tried to  dodge,  but  the  controls  were
sluggish.
     He  broke comm  silence. "I  can't shake him! I'm going  up."  And just
before  the Darket fired again,  he managed to add a final plea. "Don't give
up, Colonel. You've got to take them down . . . for all  of  us  who  didn't
make it!"
     He slammed the switch to trigger his ejection system, praying he wasn't
already too late.

     Excalibur 300 Kilrah System

     Blair  saw Vagabond's Excalibur go up in  flames of fury. He let out  a
cry of rage and  grief. The Chinese pilot's last  words echoed in his  mind,
and he made a grim, silent vow that Chang's last effort wouldn't be in vain.
     Then Maniac's fighter appeared on  his sensors  swooping in from beyond
the expanding fireball. Blair spotted the Excalibur a moment later as Maniac
opened fire, battering through the Darket's shields. The fighter exploded.
     His  satisfaction  was short-lived, though.  Flint broke comm silence a
moment later. "We've got trouble, boys," she said. "Heading our way."
     Two  more Darket appeared from beyond  the bulk of the asteroid, moving
slowly  but gathering  speed as  they came. Blair's comm monitor picked up a
transmission from one of them. They were summoning help.
     "Lancelot Flight, break off  action," he ordered  sharply. "Recloak and
head for the backup rendezvous."
     It  galled him to run,  but  they didn't  have much  choice. Though the
Excaliburs could deal with  these two  fighters easily enough, they couldn't
count  on being able to  refuel and  rearm  at this  depot before a swarm of
additional Kilrathi ships turned up. A thorough search of the asteroid would
turn  up the  depot, and  if  they were  caught inside the  result  would be
disastrous.
     He  hit  his  afterburners  and  punched in the  new  course. Paladin's
warning ran through his mind. With  this depot compromised and the secondary
one depleted, the Terrans were on a one-way trip to Kilrah.
     if they made it that far.

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Kilrah System

     The Audience Hall was  empty except for  the  Crown Prince, brooding on
his throne.  Melek hastened to  the foot of  the dais, bowing low. Thrakhath
raised his head at the retainer's approach.
     "I left orders that I was not to be disturbed," the Prince rumbled.
     "An urgent message,  Lord Prince," Melek told him.  "One of our patrols
reported  engaging Terran  fighters. Here  in  our own system . . . and they
escaped using cloak technology."
     "Ape ships  . .  .  here?"  Thrakhath  straightened, eyes flashing with
anger. "Cloaked . . . spies, seeking word of our fleet, then."
     "We cannot say, Lord Prince," Melek said. "But . . . we intercepted one
exchange of  messages between  them. And our computers  have identified  the
voice of the apparent leader." He paused. "It was . . . the one named Blair.
The Heart of the Tiger."
     "Him . . ." Thrakhath stood slowly, drawing himself to his full height.
"That one would not come on a mere spy mission. Could it be . . .  could the
Terrans be planning a strike? Perhaps they plan to attack our fleet while it
is still taking on  armaments  . . .  to break up our attack  before we  can
leave orbit."
     "It is possible, Lord Prince. But we cannot be  sure." Melek hesitated.
"The cruiser Kheerakh discovered  a hidden supply cache  in an asteroid near
where the encounter took place . . .  but I  fear the  fools destroyed it by
bombardment rather than investigating."
     "I trust Kheerakh has a new captain now?"
     "Yes, Lord Prince. One who is . . . less impulsive
     "We  must look to our defenses, Melek. I do not believe the Terrans can
mount a serious threat, b