CHAPTER XVII

In due course, Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling by way of a jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of the Caliban Nebula, the system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many other smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk in the system as well. Ariel I was never judged worthwhile as a potential colony, but Confederation Intelligence sources had long identified it as a major headquarters for Kilrathi raiders. Previous Terran attempts to deal with the base met with little success, thanks to the strength of the ground-based defenses on the planet and the difficulties of mounting operations within the nebula. Long-range sensors were virtually useless, and even shortrange scans required more time, more power, and more computer interpolation than usual, which made for many extra problems.

But the conditions also helped hide Victory from detection, as Eisen had explained during the original briefing. The Kilrathi maintained a network of detection buoys around the planet and near most of the jump points, but away from those the Terran carrier was able to avoid contact from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was almost as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard the ship.

On the other hand, the sensor limitations cut both ways. Blair was forced to double patrols again just to sweep nearby space for Kilrathi shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection buoys to put fighters close enough to Ariel I to conduct the surveys Headquarters needed. Over the course of nearly two weeks, the flight wing operated at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably took its toll on people and equipment alike.

Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.

Blair came out of the elevator next to Flight Control and nearly ran into Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in one hand and a half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.

"Can't talk now, skipper," she said, hardly slowing her pace at all. "All you fighter jocks were so damned eager to draw recon work. Well, now you got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep you flying."

"Okay, okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On behalf of the entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell them to clear it with you first."

She grinned as she dodged past him and into the lift. "Maybe if us techs had a say in things you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in so much trouble."

The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight Control.

There were only routine patrols out now no survey missions, so the chamber was manned at minimal levels. The relative calm in the room was a stark contrast to the scene visible through the windows overlooking the hangar deck, where technicians and fighter crews were hard at work on maintenance, repairs, and mission prep for the next batch of launches, scheduled to begin shortly. The bustle of activity would have been a scene of utter confusion to the uninitiated, but Blair recognized the order and purpose underlying the chaos. It was the dance of the deck, the almost rhythmic cycle that made any pilot's heart beat just a little bit faster.

He became aware of another figure standing by the windows, intently watching. It was Cobra, wearing her flight suit and carrying a helmet under one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her entirely, changing her customary bitter moodiness into a genuine look of enthusiasm and anticipation.

"About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we showed them."

"Lieutenant," he said quietly.

She looked at him. "Sir?"

"I don't recall ever seeing that before," he said. When she looked confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It looks good. Suits you."

The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a change. I can almost smell them, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get a couple of them in my sights sometime soon . . ."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, being on the offensive seems to have helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."

"Scuttlebutt says we're here to scout the cats out for a real attack. That HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they belong. I want to be here for the kill. I didn't become a pilot just to baby-sit bases and such."

Blair frowned He supposed the spread of rumors about the Behemoth project was almost inevitable. Nothing stayed secret on a ship in space for very long it seemed, despite the best efforts of Confed security. He wondered if Rollins had been leaking information, or if this story started somewhere else.

At any rate, at least this rumor was having a more positive effect on morale than some of the earlier ones.

"Look, Cobra, I'm glad to see that smile, I really am, Blair told her. "But you've got to be pumped on every mission, not just the ones you like."

"Point taken, Colonel," she said slowly. The smile had faded now. "Well, I guess I'd better get down to the launch bay. I'm up in fifteen . . ."

After she left, Blair frowned at his own reflection in the window. For some reason he could never find the right things to say when talking to Lieutenant Buckley. Why couldn't he have allowed her to enjoy her newfound enthusiasm for Victory's current operation? Instead, he'd managed to deflate her just when it seemed she was ready to start letting down the barriers which kept her apart from the rest of the wing.

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever really get a handle on his job.

"Pull up a chair, Colonel, and join me. I'll stand you to the first round."

Acknowledging Vagabond's greeting with a nod and a smile, Blair took the chair opposite him. Lieutenant Chang played with the inevitable deck of cards in front of him, and if the continual cycle of missions was getting to him it didn't show in his grinning face. The pilot might have been fresh from leave instead of unwinding after flying a survey sweep with Hobbes only a few hours earlier.

"You must be getting pretty lonely if you want to buy your CO a drink," Blair commented. "What's the matter? You already clean everybody else out?"

"Unfortunately, it doesn't take too long to get a reputation, if you know what I mean. And even the new chums from Blackmane caught on to me after a few days. Gets pretty tough to get up a game when everyone's afraid to take you on. Know what I mean?" Chang held up the deck. "C'mon, Colonel. Why don't you try your luck?" Without waiting for an answer, he started dealing.

"Whoa, there, sharpie," Blair said, holding up a hand. "Don't I at least get to cut the deck?"

Vagabond laughed and gathered in the cards again. "You'd be surprised how many rookies just ante up and look surprised when they lose the first pot."

"Well, they deserve what they get, then." He took the cards from Vagabond and shuffled the deck with practiced ease, getting a reluctant nod of admiration from the Chinese pilot. "Me, I've been around. And early on I discovered the two things you never leave to somebody else: shuffling the cards and checking your ordinance."

Chang accepted the deck from Blair and started to deal again. Though he was still smiling, there was a troubled look in his eyes. "This mission . . . you know there are stories going around about some superweapon. That's why we're supposed to be running recon.

"You know, Lieutenant, that if the info wasn't officially released then I can't comment on it one way or the other," Blair said quietly. "Rumors are just that-rumors. Even if I knew anything, I couldn't talk about it."

"Yeah, I know." Vagabond looked at his hand for a moment, then laid it on the table. "Look, Colonel, I know you can't spill any secrets, but the stuff I've been hearing . . . it really bugs me."

"How so?" Blair asked. He laid his own cards aside and met Chang's level gaze.

"Word is this weapon, whatever it is, will scorch a whole damned planet. A strategic weapon, I guess the brass would call it. And I'm not sure I want to be part of something like that."

"Conscience bothering you, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, it is, Colonel. I didn't sign on to be part of something that kills civilians, whether they're people or cats or something slimy living under the rocks on Alphacent." Vagabond looked down at the table. "Some folks take the war real personal, like Cobra and Flint. But that's not me. When I wax somebody out on the firing line. I like to think it's a fair fight. That he's got an equal chance to nail me. Pretty stupid, I guess, but that's the way it is."

Blair nodded, understanding. He shared Vagabond's doubts. "Fact is, I understand you a lot better than I'll ever understand Cobra or Flint. The last thing you need in the cockpit with you is hate. And I think you really have to hate before you could go along with something as horrible as wasting an entire planet, civilians and all." He hesitated. "Look, secrets aside . . . if you've heard the rumors right, we're scouting for this new weapon, right?"

Vagabond nodded.

"All right, then, we're surveying a planet we know has nothing but a military installation on it. No colony. No civilians, or at least none who aren't involved in base operations somehow. Seems to me if there is a superweapon, HQ must figure on aiming at a military target."

"Maybe so," Chang said, nodding but still looking uncharacteristically serious. "Maybe so." He paused "Still it bothers me a little. I mean, maybe they'd start with a base like this. But where does it end? HQ's got a real bad habit of labeling every target a military installation, even when they're not. So, what if we cross the line later?"

Blair looked away, uncomfortable. He was thinking of Kevin Tolwyn's comments about Kilrah, and about the Covert Ops plan that apparently could only be used against the enemy homeworld. If the Kilrathi didn't comply with the threat posed by the Behemoth, where would HQ draw the line?

And, more importantly, where would he stand if the next target did include large numbers of civilians? Just how badly did he want this war to end?

He looked back at Vagabond. "Hey, we're the good guys, remember?" he said, forcing a smile. "We don't kill the innocents. That's supposed to be the difference between us and them, you know? Inwardly he felt like a hypocrite, but he couldn't admit his own doubts to Chang without confirming the stories about the mission.

The Chinese pilot touched the deck with one slender finger. "Well, Colonel, the way I figure it, it's a lot like cards. A lot of people never think to cut the deck before they see what they're getting dealt."

"Colonel Blair to Flight Control! Colonel Blair to Flight Control! Urgent!"

Blair flung down the PDP he was studying and swung his feet out of the bunk This was not a General Quarters alarm, but the voice on the intercom — Flint's voice — sounded worried. A sinking feeling gripped his stomach. Vaquero and Flash were on survey duty tonight.

With the Wing already short-handed and Flint still grounded, Blair had been forced to rotate wingman assignments frequently since the Ariel operation began. That meant he couldn't always keep Flash under the watchful eyes of Hobbes or himself any more. And Vaquero, experienced as he might have been, was what pilots referred to as an "RV," a Recon Virgin, someone who had never conducted behind-the-lines reconnaissance missions. The combination was potentially explosive, but Blair had simply run out of options.

He forgot his usual rule about not running and raced down the corridor to the lift, hoping he was wrong. If Flash and Vaquero had run into trouble out there, it would be his fault for letting the two of them team up. . . .

Flight Control was fully manned, and the tense atmosphere that met Blair as the doors slid open for him did nothing to calm his fears. Flint had the duty as Officer of the Watch, her suspended flight status leaving her plenty of time to serve in such shipboard wing duties.

"What have you got?" he asked crisply, joining her at the Duty Officer's command console.

"Trouble, sir," Flint said "Flash and Vaquero were on their way back in when they read a bogie on their short-range scanners, and Major Dillon decided they should check it out. He ordered Vaquero to back him up before we could countermand the orders from here, and since they were already right on top of the Kilrathi . . ."

"Any idea what they're up against?"

"At least six Dralthi, Colonel," Flint told him. "But Vaquero reported he was getting some other readings that might have been something bigger, a whole lot bigger."

"Christ," Blair muttered. "Probably a transport . . . but it might be a cap ship under fighter escort. How're they doing so far?"

"Holding their own, but they haven't been able to obey recall and break away. The Dralthi keep swarming them." Flint looked apologetic. "We didn't want to commit the ready alert birds without your say-so, Colonel. The standing orders are to avoid a fight. ''

"Yeah, I know. I helped draft them, remember?" Blair realized his tone had been sharper than he'd intended. "You did well, Lieutenant. Okay, who's on ready alert?"

"Maniac and Vagabond," Flint said. "They're in their fighters and ready to launch."

"Good. Launch immediately, then. But tell the flight crew to get two more Thunderbolts ready for launch."

"Who's on deck, Colonel?" There was a faint light of hope in her eyes.

"I'll take one. Call Hobbes to fly wingman with me." He saw her face fall, disappointed. "I know you want back on the roster, Flint, but I don't have time to discuss it tonight. Call out Hobbes. I'll be in the ready room suiting up. Put through a call to the captain and route it to me there. He'll have to know what we're getting into."

"Aye, aye, sir," she said, voice flat.

He had his flight suit on and was wrestling with his boots when a vid screen came to life on one wall of the Gold Squadron ready room. Eisen looked like he'd been asleep. "They tell me you have a situation, Colonel," he said.

"We certainly do, sir," Blair told him. "Two of my pilots ran into a Kilrathi flight and have become heavily engaged. I've got two more on the way to back them up, and Hobbes and I are joining the party as soon as our fighters are prepped." Hobbes came into the ready room as he spoke and crossed to his locker.

"That's a pretty strong response, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "Just how many Kilrathi did your people run into out there, anyway?"

"That's not clear yet, sir," Blair said. "That's why I'm flying the extra cover. There could be a cap ship involved, too. We're not sure yet."

"Damned sensor clutter," Eisen said, nodding. "Well I guess all good things must come to an end. After all this, the furballs won't be letting us sneak around any more. We'll have to hope we've got all the data HQ wants, because I'm ordering a withdrawal to the jump point ASAP."

"Agreed, sir" Blair said, "though I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off until we're back. I wouldn't want to misplace the Victory in the middle of this mess."

Eisen chuckled. "Oh, I think we can wait for you Colonel. Just don't keep us waiting too long, okay?" He cut the intercom without waiting or an answer.

"Another flight together, my friend," Hobbes commented. "I am glad It has been too long since you were on my wing."

"Yeah, I'll say." Blair picked up his helmet and looked at the renegade Kilrathi pilot for a long moment. "Do you ever find yourself wishing for the old days, Hobbes? Back when we were junior pilots, flying for the sheer hell of it all? Sometimes I'd give everything I've got to be back on the old Tiger's Claw with you, and Angel, and Paladin, and the rest of the old gang. No decisions to make, nothing to worry about but flying . . ."

Hobbes shook his head. "I do not think about that time often, I fear," he said. "It was a period of great stress for me, as you may remember. Trying to prove myself to you all." Ralgha's expression became bleak. "But sometimes, in my dreams, I find myself yearning for the days before I left the Empire. Once, long ago, I did not have doubts about my own kind. I knew my place in the universe, and I was proud of it. Those are the days I find myself remembering." He picked up his helmet and fell in beside Blair. "But the past is gone, my friend. All we have now is the present."

"And the future?" Blair asked.

Hobbes shook his head. "For many years I have known that I have no real future. In peace or in war, my own kind reject me and your kind, with only a few exceptions, shun me. What future do I have, save to fight and die in the cockpit of my fighter? Sometimes I feel that I am somehow bound up in the whole outcome of this war, that I might play a key part in victory or defeat before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate, hovering over me . . ." He looked at Blair. "It is not a concept easily grasped by non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand."

"Come on, Hobbes," Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had given into his alien soul. "Let's get down to the flight line. That's all the future either of us can afford to worry about for now."

"Lord Prince, we have a report of enemy activity in the system. A convoy is under attack by Terran fighters."

Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study Melek in the dull red light of the audience chamber. "They dare attack us here, in our space? Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda."

Melek bowed acknowledgement. "You did say you expected them to respond, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Intercepted radio traffic indicates that the Terran ships may be from the Victory."

"So . . ." Thrakhath turned the report over in his mind. "This . . . complicates our response. I had not looked for them to be ready for further operations for some time to come. We must drive them out . . . and we must discourage them from looking toward this system any further. It would be an embarrassment if they were to plan to demonstrate their new weapon here before the fleet was fully assembled."

"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said, "though it would be a worthy irony if they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap."

Thrakhath gestured negation. "No. No, I do not want to stage a major battle here. Not when the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When the Terrans reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I want no chance of mistakes when it comes time to destroy it. We must . . . urge them to take an interest in some other system, not this one." He paused. "So we must threaten their ship, but ultimately allow it to escape with sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to cover the jump points to Locanda, Delius, and Caliban. And have all squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect."

Melek bowed again. "As you direct, Lord Prince."

Thrakhath watched him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to show for an instant. It was unfortunate that the Terrans must be allowed to win free in the end. He would have relished the destruction of that carrier . . . but it carried the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing could be allowed to interfere with that now.

CHAPTER XVIII

"Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader," Blair said, hoping he didn't sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. "Requesting landing clearance. Over."

"Roger that, Leader," Rollins replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two."

Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero. By the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already joined up with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't really need support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger contact at the edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap ship kill. Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with the idea. Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones associated with reining in the two majors.

Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting and the pilot himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than just a physical pounding on the line this time.

Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes, were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.

The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of concern on his alien visage. "Are you well, my friend? You seemed . . . distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more spirited comrades."

"Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of . . . everything."

He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had accounted, among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It wouldn't matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were always more Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting sick of having to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.

"It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again," Ralgha said, clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words and tone. "To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test my skills, since we started this mission."

"Yeah," Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. "Yeah, I suppose all this skulking and hiding's been pretty rough on you. Maybe a little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."

Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his head to one side as he regarded Blair. "It is strange," he said. "We are very different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all the humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit . . . despite the skill and courage demanded in flying is never entirely satisfied by combat in space."

"You like it up close and personal," Blair said, mustering a faint smile.

The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can speak or walk. To your species this seems . . . what is the word? Savage? Primitive? But it is fundamental to who and what we are."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Then how can Thrakhath order the death of millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you can use."

"Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in his own way, I fear," Ralgha said slowly. "When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my kind, but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar . . . conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"

Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "I guess we do. But . . . killing is killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because you have to . . . to defend yourself, your people, your civilization. Whether it's hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole damned planet out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we each have to decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're being asked to deal out."

"This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my friend," Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look. "And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."

Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready room before even exchanging their flight suits for more comfortable clothing. Eisen looked worried as he sat opposite them. He energized the holographic chart display on his desk top.

"I know you just got back from a tough one, but I doubt you'll have much chance to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're on course for the jump point to the Caliban System. It has the closest Confed military facility, although it's a small one, just an outpost. The main advantage as I see it is that it's like this system, inside the nebula, which means we can hope to elude a Kilrathi pursuit quickly even if they should chase us through the jump point. That could be important, if they have any kind of fleet following us at all."

"You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.

"As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went out that there were Terrans in the neighborhood," Eisen said grimly. "If I was the cat CO in these parts, I'd do my best to block as many jump points as possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from Hobbes to Blair. "That's another reason to go for Caliban, though. They might not be expecting a withdrawal to such a minor system. Maybe that jump point will have fewer defenders . . . maybe none at all, if their fleet isn't very strong in these parts."

"Don't count on it, sir," Blair said. "I've been going over the incoming survey reports. While we haven't seen much in open space, there were indications of tremendous shuttle traffic over the base on One, and a fair number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they would leave all that unprotected, do you?"

Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't. A big fleet here. . . that sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He glanced at Ralgha and changed the subject. "All the more reason, though, to hope we can get the hell out of here without running into too much opposition. And if we do . . . we try to shake them as best we can and still make jump."

"Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you have any special orders for us, sir?"

"I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead of us when we approach the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited, I want an idea of what's waiting for us before we blunder into the middle of it. The timing will be tricky. You'll have to stay out long enough to give us our sneak peek at the situation, and maybe to discourage the bad guys from interfering with our approach. But then you'll have to get your fighters aboard fast, before we jump . . . and possibly under fire. Anybody who misses the boat is stuck." His eyes narrowed. "We can't afford another incident like Locanda, for instance. I don't think we'll be in any position to loiter around waiting for stragglers. Can your people do this?"