CHAPTER XVI

Blair paused at the entrance to the captain's ready room, reluctant to touch the buzzer. Victory was astir with fresh rumors today, speculations rising from the arrival of a courier ship from Sector HQ at Torgo. No one knew what word the ship brought to Eisen, but everyone was sure it heralded a change of orders, perhaps fresh action. Blair wasn't looking forward to learning what was in store for them now. He didn't feel ready to go back into action again so soon, not with the failure at Locanda still hanging over him. It wasn't something he could admit to anyone, either, not without requesting a transfer to some rear-echelon outfit, off the firing line.

As tempting as that idea might be, Christopher Blair refused to give in to it. There was no way he could let others fight the war while he sought safety. He owed it to all his comrades who had stayed and fought.

With an effort of will, he forced himself to compose his features and hit the buzzer.

"Enter," Eisen's voice came, and the door slid open.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," Blair said.

"Ah, Colonel, good." Eisen stood up, and the officer in crisp whites opposite him did likewise. "This is Major Kevin Tolwyn, from sector HQ."

"Hey, Lone Wolf," Blair said, genuinely pleased to see the younger man. He advanced to clasp Tolwyn's hand, smiling broadly. "Its been a long time, kid."

"Another old acquaintance, Colonel?" Eisen asked.

"Yes, sir," Blair responded. "We served together on the Tarawa a few years back." He looked Tolwyn over. Short, baby-faced, the nephew of Admiral Geoff Tolwyn didn't look old enough to shave, much less to be a Confed officer. "Major, now, is it? That's a pretty good bump. You were only Lieutenant Tolwyn last time I heard . . ."

Tolwyn blushed. "Brevet rank, Colonel. I made Flight Captain after the Battle of Terra, the brevet came through after I got wounded during the mop-up after Vespus." He hesitated. "I guess one fighter too many cooked off underneath me and my uncle pulled me into a staff job for awhile, he said I'd already cashed all my lucky chips in and he wasn't going to take a chance on next time."

"Staff slot, huh. I'm sorry to hear it. You should be on the flight line, kid, where you belong."

"Don't I know it," Tolwyn said. "But . . . I didn't have any say in the matter. The admiral wouldn't take no for an answer, and here I am."

Blair nodded in understanding. He'd heard stories of Admiral Tolwyn's open displays of emotion, first when he had feared Kevin missing or dead, then later when the younger man was recovered and returned to the fleet. Maybe the staff job was a real effort to keep Kevin Tolwyn out of harm's way. He was, after all, the admiral's closest surviving kin and had done more than his share of fighting while serving on the Tarawa. The Medal of Honor on his chest was more than enough proof of that.

"If I can interrupt the reunion, Colonel, I think we'd better get down to business." Eisen gestured to the chairs by his desk. As they sat down, he continued. "Major Tolwyn brings us fresh orders from HQ. It looks like the war's heating up, at least as far as we're concerned. Major?"

"The attack on Locanda Four was a real wake-up call," Tolwyn said. "We knew the cats were working on a number of strategic weapons projects, but we didn't expect them to bring them into play as long as their fleet was still able to hold its own. It s against everything in the Kilrathi philosophy to resort to this kind of blatant genocide. They're supposed to like their fights up close and personal, and this is a complete departure from everything we thought we knew about them."

"Do we have any evidence they're going to use bioweapons elsewhere?" Blair asked. "Or was this some kind of . . . special case?

"We don't know," Tolwyn said. "And that has the High Command doing some serious nail-biting, let me tell you. All we know is that the cats have escalated the war, and if we don't match the ante we might as well just fold now."

"Match the ante . . . how?" Blair asked.

"The Confederation's been working on its share of doomsday weapons, too," Tolwyn told them. "The Battle of Terra scared the hell out of all of us. The big Kilrathi offensive caught everyone off guard. I don't think I need to tell you that we're on the ropes. One more attack like that and the game's over. Remember, they managed to drop over twenty standard warheads on Earth in the last attack. If only one of them had been a bio the homeworld would be a lifeless desert today. There's no way around it, this one's to the death and we have a couple of counter punches almost ready to go."

Blair said nothing. The idea of matching the Kilrathi atrocity at Locanda with a Terran retaliation against civilians appalled him, but he tried to keep his reaction from showing in his voice or expression.

Tolwyn fixed Blair with his gaze. "One of the projects is being pushed by General Taggart and the folks at Covert Ops, and the other's my uncle's pet project. That's why he got pulled from Concordia just before it went down."

Eisen cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Major, I'd appreciate it if you'd stick to the briefing."

"Sorry, sir," Tolwyn said. "Both projects actually stem from the same basic research. It seems some of our survey work off Kilrah during Tarawa's little end run raid there a few years back has yielded some unexpected results. Kilrah is much less stable, in planetological terms, than Terra. Subject to seismic problems, quakes, volcanoes, the whole bit. Apparently there are some severe tidal stresses at work on Kilrah that render the planet extremely vulnerable to widescale seismic activity." He paused. "Given a big enough shaking, Kilrah would literally come apart.

"And HQ has a weapon that could do it?"

"More than one, Colonel. I've not been briefed on the Covert Ops project, except for generalities. But Project Behemoth, my uncle's preference, uses high-intensity energy beams on a massive scale to trigger seismic shocks. Aimed and fired properly, the Behemoth weapon could trigger the destruction of Kilrah."

"And the loss of the homeworld would cut the foundation from under the whole Empire," Eisen said slowly, with a slight smile. "It certainly is ambitious, I'll say that."

"It's genocide," Blair said quietly. "How many civilians would we be killing?"

"How many died on Locanda Four?" Tolwyn demanded. "How many more will die if they unleash their pandemic again? Look Blair, our intel people are telling us the Empire is tottering on the edge of civil war. The various clans are fed up, especially after the failure of the attack on Earth. That's why they didn't immediately launch a second attack when we had nothing left to stop them. The Emperor had to regroup — build back his fleet and keep enough forces close at home to counteract any threatened coups. It's given us the breathing room to get our new weapons on-line. If we wait any longer, though the Kilrathi might be the ones to strike first and then its us that are finished."

Blair shook his head "The end justifies the means? That wasn't what they taught back at the Academy. I thought the Confederation stood for something better than that."

Tolwyn looked away. "Yeah .. . yeah, you're right. It does." He paused. "Well, anyway, we're hoping we don't have to actually attack Kilrah. That was the deciding factor when it came down to choosing Behemoth over the Covert Ops concept. Apparently whatever they've hatched is a one-shot deal. But Behemoth is a weapon that can be used several times and the idea is to try a few very public tests on Kilrathi military bases. Let the cats draw their own conclusions about what we could do to Kilrah with the same weaponry. That's the operational plan, at least. Our hope is a good demonstration might actually push the clans into a palace coup. The Emperor and his grandson are overthrown and the other clans sue for peace."

"I guess that's better than blasting Kilrah out of existence," Blair said. "I mean, the Empire's the enemy and we have to do whatever it takes to win. But there are a lot of innocent Kilrathi out there who have nothing to do with the Emperor or Thrakhath or the whole damned war effort. Some of them are dissidents, like Hobbes was before he defected. I wouldn't want to be party to killing them all."

"Well, we'll hope it doesn't come to that," Eisen said. "I agree, it would be a nasty choice to have to make. But if we can convince them we mean business . . ."

"So what's our part in all of this?" Blair asked.

"Right now, we're still putting the finishing touches on the weapon, Tolwyn said. It won't be ready to deploy for a few more weeks. But in the meantime, we're starting to prospect the sector for a likely-looking first target. We need to conduct some extensive recon work, checking defenses, and surveying possible target planets to make sure the Behemoth will be effective against them. It wouldn't do to cruise in, open fire, and then find out the place was so tectonically dead we couldn't even cause a good earthquake."

"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."

"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.

"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?"