CHAPTER XXX

"Lord Prince, the ground-based defenses have picked up three intruders. Terran fighters matching the description of those engaged yesterday."

Thrakhath rose from his throne and stepped down from the dais. "The ground defenses?" he demanded. "Is every one of my ship captains blind, then?"

"No, Lord Prince," Melek said, voice quavering a little. "But the Terrans . . . are entering the atmosphere. They came out of cloak almost directly below our present orbit, descending at high speed."

"Scramble all available interceptors, Melek," Thrakhath commanded, starting toward the door. "Including my own squadron. We will show them they cannot defile the Homeworld with impunity!"

"Eighty kilometers up . . . two hundred ten kilometers to target," Blair said over the comm channel. There was no need for comm silence now. The Kilrathi had surely detected the Terran fighters. "Maniac, you take point. Open me a path. And you watch my tail, Flint. They're going to throw everything they can our way."

"Affirmative," Flint replied.

"You got it," Marshall chimed in a moment later. His fighter swept past Blair's to take the lead.

He was hardly in position before the first targets appeared ahead. "We got bogies," Blair said. "They look like atmospheric craft — ground-based interceptors.

"Piece of cake," Maniac told him. The Excalibur's afterburners cut in, and Marshall surged ahead, his blasters beginning to fire as he closed in on the enemy aircraft.

Conventional atmospheric fighters weren't as well-equipped as space fighters, but they were fast and maneuverable in their own element. Marshall's guns cut a swath through the leading fighters, but the others rolled out and then swung inward from either flank, unleashing a massive bombardment. Caught in a crossfire from four aircraft at once, Maniac rolled left to concentrate on one threat. Blair banked sharply right and opened fire on the remaining pair. His blasters raked across the nearer target, which came apart under the savage force of the beams.

The second fighter looped up, turning away from the battle and accelerating fast. Evidently the pilot had decided against a glorious death today . . .

"There's more of the bastards up ahead, Colonel," Marshall reported as he finished off his last opponent and swung back into formation. "Looks like we're not welcome around here."

"As long as they're just conventional aircraft, they shouldn't be much trouble," Blair said. "Stay focused, though. You can bet they'll bring in the big guns soon enough . . ."

"Targets! Targets! Targets!" Flint chanted. "I've got six . . . eight targets on my board. Coming in from orbit!"

They weren't showing on Blair's sensors yet, so they were still at extreme range. "Watch em, Flint," he ordered. A whole squadron of space-based fighters would be a lot harder to handle than the aircraft ahead, but they'd be hard-pressed to close the range as long as the Terrans could keep moving.

The second wave of interceptors closed in from below, eight high-performance jet aircraft in a tight formation. They broke just as Maniac opened fire, scattering, curving in on the Terrans and engaging with missiles and beam weapons. Once again Maniac and Blair had to engage them, and by the time the attackers had been destroyed or forced to flee Blair realized what the enemy strategy was. Each time the Terrans got caught in a dogfight, however short, the orbital fighters closed the range a little more . . .

A near miss by a missile buffeted her fighter, and Lieutenant Robin Peters had to fight her steering yoke to maintain control. It had been years since she'd last had to fight a battle in a planetary atmosphere, where all the rules were different from those she was used to in deep space fighting. Shock waves carried. . . and shields were weakened by the energy they absorbed from friction in high-speed maneuvers.

"They're firing," Flint reported. "One Vaktoth . . . and a Bloodfang, both of them in combat range. More Vaktoth coming up fast behind them."

"Bloodfang . . . Thrakhath s personal fighter." Blair's voice was grim. "Damn it all!"

She nodded Intelligence reports on the Prince's personal fighter, code-named Bloodfang by the Confederation, suggested it would be one hell of a tough opponent. "Don't know if I can take the bastard, skipper," she said. "You have any bright ideas?"

"Go to afterburners," Blair ordered. "Let's see if we can outrun them."

She kicked in the extra power, but the Vaktoth matched her. . . continued closing the range. Another missile detonated, even closer this time. "No joy, skipper," she said. "Looks like there's going to be a fight . . ."

Kilrathi blaster fire probed at her rear shields, sapping the power levels with each hit. Cursing, she pulled up in a sharp loop and opened fire on one of her two pursuers with blasters and a spread of four missiles. The two fighters were having as much trouble fighting in atmosphere as she was, and the weakened forward shields of her target went down under the fury of her attack. The Vaktoth exploded in a shower of debris, and Flint let out a whoop of triumph.

It died on her lips as the Bloodfang opened fire. She tried to roll out, but blasters pounded at her shields. They were going down . . . and a pair of heat seekers were already on the way.

"He's got me, skipper!" she called. Can t . . evade. Don't forget . . . I could have loved —"

She didn't live to finish the sentence.

"Flint!" Blair shouted, but it was too late. The rearmost Excalibur went up in a dazzling fireball, and Robin Peters was gone.

A new voice crackled in his headphones. "So it shall be with you as well, Heart of the Tiger." He recognized the harsh, sibilant voice. Thrakhath . . . "You are foolhardy, to venture with so few against my Homeworld. Once before you lacked the courage to fight me. This time, you shall not escape. Welcome, Heart of the Tiger, to Kilrah . . . and to your death!"

"The canyon's in sight ahead, Colonel," Marshall reported. "I'll drop back and have the next dance. You get in there and do your stuff!"

Blair hesitated. Thrakhath had challenged him once again . . . and he couldn't stand and fight. It took every bit of his self-control to grit his teeth and acknowledge Marshall's call.

Maniac executed a tight Immelman loop, swinging up and around to head back toward the on-coming Kilrathi fighters. Thrakhath's Bloodfang was still well in the lead, but there were two others closing fast.

Blair saw the canyon ahead, a long, jagged scar on the surface of Kilrah. His target was there, at the far end of the deep trench . . .

"Watch your tail, Colonel!" Maniac called suddenly. "Don't know if I can cover you!"

His sensor board told the story. Thrakhath had ignored Maniac's Excalibur entirely, refusing to be drawn into a dogfight. Instead he had plunged past Marshall, and the two trailing Vaktoth were all over the Terran pilot now. Blair cursed aloud Maniac couldn't last long against two heavy fighters . . .

And his underarmed Excalibur was no match for Thrakhath's Bloodfang.

He swung sharply left, away from the canyon, as the Kilrathi prince opened fire. The blaster shots went wide but the Bloodfang followed his turn, still clinging stubbornly to his tail. All the advantages lay with Thrakhath now.

Blair was only dimly aware of the explosion higher up and off to his right. His monitor told him it was one of the Vaktoth facing Maniac. Somehow Marshall had managed to savage one of his foes, but the other was still pressing hard. For the moment Blair couldn't afford to think about him, though. He cut in full afterburners and tried to climb up and out of range of Thrakhath's fighter. A Kilrathi missile exploded against his rear shields, sending the power levels fluctuating wildly. And still Thrakhath held on behind him.

"Heads up, Colonel! Incoming!" Maniac's call was loud and almost exultant. Marshall had swung away from his second opponent and was diving down on Thrakhath, heedless of the Vaktoth behind him slashing at his shields with bolt after bolt of raw energy.

Marshall released two missiles, then two more, holding steady on his target and refusing to be drawn off by the dire threat behind him.

"Shields are failing," he said as he released the missiles, his voice almost matter of fact now. "Looks like you're on your own now, Colonel. For what it's worth. I'm proud I flew with you . . ."

And then his fighter was gone, too, an expanding cloud of flame and smoke and whirling debris. Blair thought he caught a glimpse of the Excalibur's escape pod boosting clear of the explosion, straining to reach orbital velocity but he wasn't sure. And even if Maniac had somehow managed to survive that blast, he wouldn't be playing any further part in this battle.

Blair was alone.

He threw the Excalibur into a tight turn to port and opened fire with his blasters just as Marshall's first two missiles detonated against Thrakhath's shields. The Bloodfang passed close beside Blair's craft, and he maintained his tight turn to stay lined up on the Kilrathi fighter. The other missiles struck the Prince's rear shields, and Blair squeezed the trigger again. Beams tore through the weakened shields, chopping through armor.

"Curse you, ape!" Thrakhath snarled. "You have won today, Heart of the Tiger: But it will not bring back your mate . . . and it will not save your kind from the vengeance of the Empire. This I swear!"

Explosions tore through the Bloodfang, and it seemed to stagger in mid-air before plunging downward. Blair watched as Thrakhath fought to maintain control, saw the nose just start to come up as the Prince managed one last masterful maneuver. But it was too late. The Bloodfang ploughed into the red-lit desert floor, erupting in fire and thunder.

There were still several fighters above Blair, but they seemed stunned by the loss of their leader. He turned his fighter back toward the canyon and opened up his throttles. Perhaps there was just time to start his run before the Kilrathi recovered . . .

He dropped down into the steep-sided, twisting gorge It took all his skill to weave through that narrow gash in the desert. His HUD reeled off the range to the preprogrammed drop coordinates, and Blair's thumb grew tense hovering over the switch that would release the Temblor Bomb from the belly of his fighter.

A part of him recoiled from what he had to do. The destruction of an entire planet, warriors and civilians alike. Once he would never even have considered making this desperate gambler's last throw. What had led to this moment, then? Was it just a thirst for vengeance? Thrakhath's death had left him feeling curiously empty of feeling, as if all his hate after Angel's death had been for nothing. It had been the same with Hobbes. In the end, revenge was a sterile thing. He could slaughter every Kilrathi, here and in the farthest reaches of the Empire, and the killing would never change the facts. Angel and Cobra and Vaquero and all the others would still be dead, and his life would still be empty.

He felt as if they were all there in his mind Vagabond . . . Flint . . . even Maniac, who in the end had risen above their long rivalry and given his life so that Blair could finish the mission. But in the long run, he knew it was wrong to use that bomb in the name of those who had died.

His range indicator continued to count down . . .

Blair thought of the ones who hadn't died. Paladin and Eisen, Admiral Tolwyn and his nephew. Rachel Coriolis, who had accepted the fact that he might never come back and still dared to love him. They were the ones who counted. And if the War went on, they would ultimately pay the same price as all the ones who had gone before. He pictured Victory broken and shattered as he had last seen Concordia, imagined plagues spreading across Terra as they had spread on Locanda Four. It was war to the knife with the Kilrathi.

Kill or be killed. Not for revenge. Not for hate. But for simple survival of the human species.

He gritted his teeth and watched the range tick down. The target was coming up fast. It was now or never . . .

His thumb stabbed down on the release, and as the bomb dropped away he jerked hard back on the steering yoke and cut in his afterburners. The Excalibur climbed fast, the atmosphere screaming past as the fighter accelerated. A Vaktoth had followed him into the canyon and opened fire as Blair pulled up. The Kilrathi pilot followed, but at that moment the Temblor Bomb went off, and the shock wave threw the Imperial craft against the side of the narrow trench. The fireball was lost in the greater blast of the bomb.

He had to wrestle with his own controls as the blast battered at his Excalibur. The rear shields failed, and Blair thought he could feel the impact of bits of debris against the tail section of the fighter. He had no way of telling how much damage he took, but the controls were feeling heavy and sluggish under his hands as he continued his steep climb, clawing for the safety of open space.

Behind and below him, the force of the Temblor Bomb triggered a quake in one of the major fault lines. The effects spread, and spread again, until the entire canyon was trembling with the force of a seismic event of unparalleled ferocity.

Blair didn't see the effects of the bomb. It took time for the first quakes to trigger subsidiary effects, radiating outward through all the interconnected fault lines. The Excalibur had already reached orbit by the time the quakes became planet-wide, collapsing Kilrathi-made buildings and structures within the major quake zones. The Imperial Palace was one of the first to suffer, as the entire massive edifice caved in on itself, crushing the Emperor and his court before they had a chance to react to the violence consuming their world.

The ground was heaving even in regions far from the fault lines now, as the pent-up energy of the entire world's tectonic stresses was all released at once. Dust clouds rose into the atmosphere, huge rents opened up in the crust of the planet. As Blair finally cut his engines and looked down at the planet, it was to see Kilrah disfigured by angry orange gashes spreading across the face of the globe The Kilrathi homeworld was coming apart before his eyes . . .

And then it happened. Overcome by the awful forces set free by the Temblor Bomb, the planet's core exploded, hurtling huge chunks of the mantle and crust outward. Vast planetoids tore through the orbital yards, smashing the assembled might of the Kilrathi Grand Fleet. Only a few ships, those under power and able to maneuver escaped the death of the Homeworld.

Blair managed to steer clear of the largest of the debris, but his Excalibur was battered by smaller fragments. As Kilrah came apart, spreading out into a cloud of drifting asteroids, the fighter's engines finally failed. He was drifting free now . . . trapped in the doomed system.

Christopher Blair sagged back in his acceleration couch, closing his eyes. He was exhausted, drained of anger and fear and hope alike. He knew he would die here, along with the planet and the empire his bomb had brought down.

Barely conscious, Blair didn't see the Kilrathi carrier that edged through the whirling debris toward his drifting fighter. Tractor beams lanced out to seize the Excalibur and pull it down toward the flight deck. He realized, too late, that his death would not be as quick and easy as he had hoped. He would, after all, face the enemy one more time.

Kilrathi guards in the elaborate harness of the Imperial Guard hauled Blair from the cockpit of his battered Excalibur and used gunbutts and nerve prods to herd him through a maze of dim-lit corridors. Still barely recovered from the beating his ship had taken, staggering with exhaustion, Blair still tried to force himself to remain stiffly upright. He remembered the last images of Angel, the pride she'd conveyed even after torture and imprisonment. The least he could do was to emulate her now.

They brought him into the open expanse of the audience chamber, shoving him forward until he stood before the raised dais that dominated one end. A stocky, massive Kilrathi figure stood beside the throne, regarding him with dark, hooded eyes that gave away nothing.

He was vaguely aware of other Kilrathi warriors in the hall, hidden in the shadows, hissing their hatred, but his full attention was focused on this one dominating figure

"The Heart of the Tiger," the Kilrathi said in heavily-accented English, sounding like a judge about to deliver a verdict. "I am Melek. Prince Thrakhath was my master."

Blair remained silent, staring into those dark pools that were Melek's eyes.

"In my bones, I wish to kill you . . ." Melek let the words hang in the chamber. From the shadows, there was muttered agreement, sibilant curses.

"Do it, then," Blair said. "Get it over with. It won't bring back your world."

"And what is the Race without the Homeworld?" Melek asked. "Nothing . . . dust in the wind." He paused. "You have defeated us, Heart of the Tiger. Brought down the Empire with one blow. Thrakhath was a fool to discount what you Terrans could achieve, but he and his accursed grandfather have both paid the price for that folly."

Blair squinted up at him, a faint hope stirring within. He hardly dared fan it for fear it would be false.

"But you Terrans have committed your own folly, this day," Melek went on. "For now the Empire will fall . . . and the enemies who harassed our outer marches will now have nothing to stand between them and your Confederation. They have a power that even Thrakhath was wary of: Do you Terrans, who barely held against us, have the strength to face them when they come?"

Blair found his voice again. "If we're attacked, we'll fight back," he said. "As we did with you."

Melek stepped down from the dais, his face only inches from Blair's. "With the Homeworld gone and the Emperor dead, the rest of the Empire will fall apart. There will be civil war, factions fighting for power, subject races throwing off our rule. Chaos. And enemies waiting to exploit our weakness . . ." He lowered his voice, until Blair had to strain to hear the words. "Perhaps the only hope for either of our races is to face the future together. The Kilrathi Race has become too corrupt, slaves to blood lust and the evils brought by too much power. We have paid a heavy price . . ."

He stepped back and raised his voice again. "Killing the Heart of the Tiger, the one warrior great enough to humble the Empire, will bring me no honor." Melek looked at Blair for a long moment, as if struggling for the will to go on. "Your claws are at our throats. Would your people accept our . . . surrender? The Race cannot be allowed to die, even it means placing our fate in the hands of our enemies."

Blair nodded slowly. "Peace is what we both need now. If you can end this war, I think you'll find we won't demand more than you're willing to give." He paused. "And maybe one day, when the War is over and the hate is past, you and I will be able to meet . . . as friends."

"Friends . . ." Melek seemed to ponder the idea. "Perhaps it is possible. Will you carry our offer to your superiors? To help us put an end to the fighting?"

Blair nodded, the effort almost more than he could manage. As the fear and the adrenaline both ebbed away, he could feel the fatigue sapping his strength. "I'll do it," he said. "We'll do it . . ."

Then blackness took him. He never felt himself hit the smooth, unyielding deck below him.

EPILOGUE

"Our top story is the historic news from the Torgo System, where delegates from the Kilrathi Empire signed a peace treaty to put an end to the war . . ."

On the newspad monitor screen, the view showed the interior of the huge auditorium at Sector HQ. There was a large audience, mostly uniformed members of the Confed Armed Forces, gathered around a raised stage beneath the transparent dome. The ceremony took place at night, and a thousand stars blazed brightly above the delegates.

Blair noted Paladin prominently seated among the Terran representatives, and near him was Admiral Tolwyn. The court of inquiry found the admiral blameless in the loss of the Behemoth, and he had returned to active service just in time to be a part of the protracted negotiations. Blair thought it was fitting, somehow, that Tolwyn played a role in the final triumph. Though he never agreed with the man's style or motivations, Admiral Geoff Tolwyn was a central figure in the Confederation resistance throughout the war, and it was only right that he should see it through to the very end. His nephew, Kevin, was also among the host of aides and assistants, and Eisen's dark craggy features were visible at the table as well. Among the Kilrathi, the only one Blair recognized was Melek, but the ornamentation of the other Imperial delegates made it plain that they represented a cross-section of important surviving nobles and military leaders.