CHAPTER XX

"The Terrans have withdrawn, then, Melek?" Thrakhath was lounging on his throne, feeling satisfied. A pair of destroyers had been lost along with a few fighters, and he intended to see to it that whoever was responsible for the losses paid the supreme penalty. But overall, everything went exactly as planned. The apes had been given a warning they would not soon forget. It would make them cautious for a time, and even if they realized that the Empire's ability to mask jump points was limited to nebulas they would surely shun this system, so the base where the Imperial Fleet would gather for Thrakhath's grand stroke would remain secure.

Now it was time to think of the next stage in the plan.

"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said. "They have withdrawn into the Delius System. Of course, there is no way of telling how long they will remain . . ."

"Then we must act quickly, before they move on," Thrakhath told him, pounding the arm of his throne to emphasize the point. "Is it certain that the one called Blair is still assigned to the carrier?"

"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. "We monitored his voice on the comm channels during the fight, a perfect match to our files. He is the wing commander. According to recent intelligence, the renegade serves as his deputy."

"Excellent," Thrakhath said, showing his fangs for an instant. "Perhaps it is best that the human escaped our earlier attacks. We have the perfect weapon to use against him, and the results will leave these apes demoralized just when our blow is about to fall."

"You think, then, that the challenge will work, on a human? Their sense of honor is not the same as ours Lord Prince." Melek bowed low, to show that he did not mean to doubt his Lord's judgment.

"Oh, this challenge will work, I think," Thrakhath said quietly. "They do not have honor, Melek, but they do have pride . . . and anger. We will goad this ape into a foolish gesture, and at the same time . . ."

"The Trigger," Melek said.

"The Trigger. And we will have our claws at their throats once and for all." Thrakhath straightened. Pass the orders, Melek. Assemble the designated task force and be ready to jump within a cycle."

"Yes, Lord Prince." Melek withdrew, bowing again.

Crown Prince Thrakhath contemplated the stars that blazed through the dome above his dais. The stars that would soon belong entirely to the Empire.

"Reporting as ordered, sir."

"Come in, Lieutenant," Blair said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down."

Flint settled into the seat, her eyes holding a look somewhere between hope and wariness. "Thank you, sir," she said. "Ah . . . those were some good moves you guys put on yesterday, Colonel. Although I couldn't really tell everything that was going on . . . from Flight Control."

He smiled. "You don't need to drop hints, Lieutenant. I know it's been difficult for you, sitting on the sidelines."

"It's just . . . Look, sir, it just isn't the same, flying a console aboard ship. I belong in the cockpit. That's all there is to it. If you can't put me there, then transfer me to a unit where I can get a fresh start."

"You're pretty blunt, Lieutenant," he said. "Let me be the same. If I don't put you back on the flight roster here, it'll be because I have a problem with you flying. So you can be damned sure my report in your file would reflect my doubts. Don't think a transfer is going to get you back in the cockpit just because I'm not your CO any longer."

Her look was bleak, bitter. "I lost it, back at Locanda. I admit it. But I don t think that mistake should hang over me forever, Colonel. Watching those bastards slip past us, knowing they were going to spread their plague on my home that was more than I could handle. But it isn't likely to come up again." She managed a crooked smile.

"The stakes are less . . . personal, now. Is that it?" He kept his own tone serious.

"I guess so, sir," she said. "I hate to admit it. I mean, when I took my oath it was to the Confederation, not to any one planet. But Locanda was so much more real to me, when it went down. I could see it, in my mind: the places, the people. It made a difference."

"If it didn't, you wouldn't be human," he said. Blair studied her for a moment. She seemed too small, too fragile to be a combat pilot. "The problem is, you made me a promise once before, and you didn't keep it. Do you want to get back in that cockpit bad enough to follow through this time?"

"I can't prove that unless you give me the chance, Colonel," she said. "When I'm out there with that bird strapped around me and a cat in my sights . . . that's the only time I really feel alive."

Blair nodded sadly. He remembered Angel saying something like that once, back on the Tiger's Claw. I knew . . . I know someone who felt the same way. She lived to fight 'the good fight,' as she called it."

"For me, it's the flying," Flint told him. "I love the purity . . . nothing holding me back. Knowing I'm in complete control, for better or worse."

"Yeah," Blair said, nodding again. "Yeah, only a pilot knows that feeling."

"Well, Colonel, if you understand how I feel, then you have to know what I'm going through now. I wasn't designed for cheerleading from the sidelines, or playing traffic director in Flight Control. I'm requesting reassignment to flight status." She paused. "Please. . ."

"I don't usually give third chances, Lieutenant," he said slowly "But we could have used you out there yesterday. Next time we'll need you even more. You're back on the roster, effective immediately, Flint."

"Thank you, sir. . ."

He held up a hand. "But if you screw up again . . . heaven help you. Because I won t."

"Understood, Colonel." She stood up. "This time you won't regret it."

A jagged, irregular chunk of rock eighteen kilometers across dominated the view from the rec room. A few moving lights marked the passage of shuttles and service pods back and forth between carrier and asteroid. In the three hours since Victory matched orbits with Delius Station, a thorough inspection of the ship's hull and external fittings had already been completed, and the captain had authorized liberty for the off-duty watch. There weren't as many takers as might be expected — Delius Station was reputed to be one of the most boring stopovers in the sector — but there was a definite easing of tensions on board at the realization that they really were back in friendly territory at last.

Blair sat alone at a table, sipping his scotch and gazing at the planetoid and the star field beyond. In one corner of the room, Vaquero was softly strumming his old guitar, a quiet, mournful sound. Lieutenant Lopez had been certified fit for flight duty by the ship's Medical Officer the day before, and Blair restored him to the roster. But he still wondered if Lopez was fully recovered from the battering he had taken in the first clash in the nebula.

He heard Maniac Marshall call a greeting as he entered the rec room, and half-turned in his chair to watch the major at the bar. Marshall was his usual self, boisterous self-assured, wearing a broad smile as he took his drink from Rostov and waved an airy greeting to Flint and Cobra, who were sitting together at a nearby table.

To Blair's surprise, Maniac ambled to his table. "Colonel," he said, giving him a nod.

"Major," Blair replied. He waited a moment before going on. "Something I can do for you."

Maniac grew visibly uncomfortable, all his cockiness disappearing as he stammered a response. "Er . . . fact is, I wanted to tell you . . . I wanted to say . . . Maverick, that was a damned impressive show back at Ariel. The way you faked that first bunch out of position . . . and the way you kept your cool after the cats pulled their little magic trick." He looked embarrassed. "I know we don't always operate on the same frequency. . . but I thought I should give credit where it's due."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Well. . ." He wasn't sure how to respond. Maniac Marshall had never before made such an overture. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. It was touch and go there for a while, though."

"Yeah," Marshall agreed. "Tell me about it. When they made that jump point disappear . . . God, I almost lost it. I never thought I'd feel that way, Maverick. Never.

"You kept your head pretty well, all things considered," Blair told him. "We couldn't have nailed that destroyer without you and Flash."

"We could have taken her out by ourselves, if you and Cobra had let us," Maniac said with a trace of his old spirit. "But . . . yeah, it was a good score all the way around." He looked out the viewport and continued with a sour note in his voice. "You think Chief Coriolis was right about the Kilrathi using a cloak on the jump points, Maverick?"

"That's the official verdict," Blair said. "The analysis the captain ordered turned up sensor traces consistent with the use of cloaking generators. That's the report he ordered dispatched to Sector HQ."

"So we only have to worry about them pulling something like that in a nebula, huh?" Marshall looked solemn. "I guess that's good news, at least."

"It also means we won't be stuck, next time out," Blair said. "It might take longer, but we could use a cloaked jump point providing we already had it thoroughly plotted on our charts."

"Does that mean we're going back? To finish the mission? Or with this weapon everybody's talking about?"

"That'll be up to the brass," Blair told him. "But I doubt it. If we're going to use an experimental weapon under difficult conditions, why borrow even more trouble? Of course, I'm not an admiral. Maybe they could find a good reason, but it seems like a silly risk to me."

"Hope you're right," Maniac said. He studied the view outside in silence for a long moment. "Nebulas and asteroid belts . . . I'll be glad to see the last of them. Give me a stand-up fight, not all this dodging and ducking and worrying about what your sensors aren't showing you."

"Look at the bright side, Maniac," Blair told him.

"There's a bright side?"

"Sure. The bad guys don't like flying through all this space junk any more than we do."

"Maybe not," Maniac said. "But they can take more risks out there than we can. After all, they've got nine lives."

"NOW, GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS! REPEAT, ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS!"

Blair turned in his chair to face a monitor and punched up an intercom link to the bridge. "This is Blair. What's going down?"

The screen showed Rollins in the foreground, with the running figures of bridge crewmen hurrying to their posts visible behind him. From somewhere out of the picture the sensor officer was talking. "I'm reading multiple contacts, Captain. Eight . . . no, ten capital ships. Four of them are carriers. Configuration. . . they're Kilrathi, sir. No doubt about it."

Rollins turned to look into the camera. "We've got a mountain of trouble out there, Colonel," he said "A whole damned cat task force just popped onto our scopes."

The image in the monitor broke up, replaced by Eisen's heavy, scowling features. "I'll take it, Lieutenant," he said crisply. "Colonel Blair, we have four carriers plus escorts incoming. No fighters yet, but you can bet they'll launch a flock of them when they've closed the range."

"That's pretty long odds," Blair said slowly. "Delius Station doesn't have much firepower."

"Not enough to make a difference," Eisen agreed. "We're breaking orbit and heading for the nearest jump point. There's no sense in buying it here."

"And our orders? The flight wing?"

"Get ready for a magnum launch, Colonel. Get your birds ready. We may need them to buy the ship enough time to reach the jump point." Eisen's look was grim. "Another bug-out, Colonel. I'm sorry, but it looks like you'll be covering our tails one more time."

"Understood, sir," Blair said.

Eisen had already turned away from the intercom, issuing orders to his bridge crew. "Navigation! Plot course to the nearest jump point. Helm, break orbit. Proceed at full thrust. Gunnery. . . be ready to clear a path if the debris field gets too thick . . ." The intercom went dead.

Blair slapped the red switch that issued the magnum launch alert. A new alarm shrilled, followed by the computer's public address announcement. "LAUNCH STATIONS! LAUNCH STATIONS! ALL FLIGHT WING PERSONNEL TO LAUNCH STATIONS MAGNUM LAUNCH!"

Blair checked his instruments for what seemed like the hundredth time, knowing that nothing had changed yet feeling compelled to do something. Every one of Victory's fighters was crewed and ready, even a pair that the technical staff had down checked as unreliable. Now they were waiting, and that was an agony worse than any combat situation.

The carrier had opened up a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling her way through the asteroid field with weapons blazing to clear away any chunk of rock big enough to pose a threat to the ship. The Imperial vessels were more cautious, keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly after Victory as if reluctant to commit themselves to an attack. Perhaps they had learned to respect the Terrans in earlier clashes . . . or perhaps they simply regarded it as triumph enough to drive the ship away from Delius Station, leaving the Terrans there — including a small contingent of the carrier's crew still on liberty — completely at the mercy of the Kilrathi task force.

Blair was starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine attack, but the threat remained. They wouldn't be able to relax their guard until they made the jump to Tamayo, if then.

"Colonel, sensors are reporting a launch in progress from the lead Kilrathi carrier." Rollins gave him a welcome distraction, however grim his news might be. "It's the flagship . . . Hvar'kann. Looks like you'll be having a party after all. ''

"Acknowledged," Blair said. "Flight wing, from Blair. Begin launch sequence on my mark."

At that moment his comm panel went crazy. The visual display broke up in a kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, and the speakers in his helmet squealed and whined. It took several seconds for the noise to fade and the screen to come back on-line. Blair stared at the monitor, as if it might give him some clue to what had just happened.

A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many times before.

Thrakhath.

The image jumped and jittered again, then returned. Blair studied it thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to ship video transmissions used computers to encode and decode messages, and to provide automatic translations of foreign languages. For the computer to have this much trouble reconstructing whatever message Thrakhath was broadcasting meant the signal content must be massive. Evidently, the Kilrathi were trying to overload Victory's whole comm system and Jam every frequency the Terrans might be using.

Thrakhath's image began to speak as the computers processed their translation of the Kilrathi language. I have heard of your Terran Bible with its predictions that there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth. These the Imperial Race will soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we will scoop out your brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death."

Blair tried to switch to a different comm channel, but Thrakhath's hissing, taunting image remained on the screen. "You will be prime examples to the other races in the galaxy, you clownish baboons. Your race will suffer a thousand torments and more. And do not think that the presence of the Heart of the Tiger among you can make a difference. Colonel Blair will be reduced to a pile of entrails, his bones will be gnawed by our young."

Hearing himself referred to directly made Blair stiffen. It wasn't often that the Kilrathi chose to grant a name to one of their human adversaries . . . and it inevitably meant that the individual they chose to "honor" had become the prime target of a Kilrathi challenge.

"Heart of the Tiger, you shall pay for the blood of every Kilrathi noble you have dispatched in baffle. They shall make songs of your death, of the failure and disgrace you shall know even before your death. Already you have failed, Heart of the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel . . . failed your lair-mate, the one known as Devereaux, the Angel."

Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out, only to be replaced by a new scene. . . .

A scene from hell.

It was a large room, red-lit, dark, with ornate fittings and decorations more suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi in garb Blair recognized as that of the high nobility were gathered in the middle of the open chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and an aged Kilrathi, the Emperor himself, entered. As the Emperor sat on the imposing throne, Blair became aware of movement in the shadows on either side of the two figures. It was difficult to judge exactly what was happening, but when he finally realized what he was witnessing, he wished he had not.

There were Terrans along the wall behind the throne men and women hanging in chains, their Confed-issue flight suits in rags. Bulky Kilrathi guards carrying nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at random, eliciting cries and moans from their victims.

"Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has been thwarted," the Emperor intoned solemnly. "This puny contingent of their soldiers was captured aboard a hijacked Imperial transport in orbit around Kilrah itself."

There was a scattering of calls from the assembled nobles — shock, anger, hatred plain in their voices and bearing. The Emperor silenced them with a curt gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.

"This incursion was an act of desperation," the prince said, showing his fangs. His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind the throne. "Look at these pathetic hairless apes. They have failed their race utterly."

A growling cheer rose from the crowd.

"Do what you will with them," the Emperor said.

Red light glimmered off Thrakhath's fangs. "There will be no interrogation for these pitiful apes . . . and no warrior's death. They are offal, fit only for death." The Prince waved a dismissive hand. "Only one among them is worthy of being treated as a warrior. Their leader . . . the one they call . . . Angel."

Blair wanted to look away as a pair of burly Kilrathi warriors half-pushed, half-dragged a familiar petite figure into the middle of the throne room directly in front of Thrakhath. Like the other Terrans, she had been tortured, her flight suit reduced to tattered ruin, the face that haunted Blair's dreams bruised. There was dried blood on her forehead, a livid welt on one cheek, but she wore her defiance like a shield. Whatever the Kilrathi had done to her, Jeannette Devereaux's spirit remained as fiery and determined as ever.

At the sight of the woman, the Kilrathi nobles grew more agitated. Blair recognized the bloodlust in their eyes, in the way they bared claws and fangs as they jeered the captive. Only the sheer force of Thrakhath's personality held them at bay as he stepped down from the dais to inspect Angel more closely.

"Still defiant, Colonel Devereaux?" the prince asked. "You should know by now it is a pathetic and useless gesture. The hunt has nearly run its course, and your race is prey beneath our claws."

"You bore me, monsieur, she told him, mustering a faint smile. "I would prefer to join my comrades, rather than listen to more of your boasting."

"You will not join them, Colonel," Thrakhath said. "Your fate shall be different."

Angel replied by spitting in his face. There were hisses and jeers from the crowd, a harsh growl from Thrakhath's throat. He turned to address his nobles.

"The human cannot appreciate the honor I bestow upon her. She is not only a great warrior, but her lair-mate is the one known as the Heart of the Tiger." He turned back to her; his eyes narrowed in a deadly stare. The cries of the Kilrathi reached a bloodthirsty crescendo. "You have slain many fine warriors during your career You have earned this honor."

The prince unsheathed his claws. With a single thrust he jabbed them deep into her stomach and lifted her off the ground, high into the air. Blood flowed freely from the wound. The view on the screen caught her face in close-up as the life drained from her eyes. Blair thought he saw a final look of appeal there, as if she was crying out to him for rescue . . . or for vengeance.

Then the prince released her, and her lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Thrakhath's image filled the screen again. "Come, Heart of the Tiger," he said. "I am leading; my warriors into battle today. If you would live up to the honor your lair-mate earned, come and fight. Or be shown for the pathetic coward you are."

Christopher Blair stared at the screen, his mind a whirl of anger and pain and hate. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kill . . .

CHAPTER XXI

"Can't you shut the damned thing off, Lieutenant?" Eisen demanded. On his communications screen, Thrakhath's feral features continued to glare hatred and challenge. The message was starting all over again.

"I'm trying, sir," Rollins answered. "But it's not an ordinary transmission. Damn thing's got the whole comm system tied in knots. Hold on a minute . . . I think I can kick in a backup system . . . everybody cross your fingers!"

The communications officer entered a code sequence on his board, and a moment later the Kilrathi message broke up into static. A few seconds later Eisen's screen was back to normal, the green light shining above it indicating the system was ready to use.

"Thank you, Mr. Rollins," Eisen said. "Ensign Dumont, get me an updated sensor reading. What are those bastards doing out there? Oh . . . and Rollins, put me through to Colonel Blair."

"On the line, sir."

Blair's head appeared on the monitor. Even though his flight helmet faceplate hid Blairs features, Eisen thought he looked pale and stricken. There was no mistaking the barely-suppressed snarl in his voice. "Ready to launch, Captain," he said.

"Not so fast, Colonel," Eisen told him. "We're still trying to get a picture of what the cats are doing. The ship s less than fifteen minutes from the jump point, and we might make it yet without having to launch."

"If they've got fighters out, sir, you'll have to put us out there to hold them off," Blair replied. "At least for a little while."

"Look, Colonel . . ." Eisen trailed off. He didn't know what to say to the man, after Thrakhath's message. "Maybe you ought to sit this one out, Blair. Let Hobbes take over."

"No, sir," Blair said curtly.

"Is that the Wing Commander talking . . . or a man who's looking for revenge?"

"Both, sir," Blair answered. He was silent for a moment before going on. "Look, Captain, I won't pretend. . . that bastard got me where I live, using Angel like that. He's trying to goad me into doing something stupid. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to oblige him . . . bad. Real bad. But in this case, playing along with his little game is our best option. As long as Thrakhath figures I'm going to take him up on his challenge, the rest of his fighters will hold back. Nobody's going to get into the middle of the Crown Prince's blood feud."

"I don't like it," Eisen said. "I've never thought this Thrakhath was very well-equipped in the honor department, however much the cats make of it. What do you say, Colonel Ralgha? You know more about the Prince than any of us."

Hobbes was slow to answer, and when he did his voice sounded blurred, distant. "I could not . . . say for sure. The message was intended to . . . provoke a response. But the challenge could well be legitimate. If Colonel Blair has been honored with his own warrior's name then the Prince must consider him to be important somehow."

Blair's voice betrayed a sudden concern. "You all right, buddy? What's wrong?"

"A . . . headache," Hobbes said slowly. "Some of the higher-pitched harmonics in the message were . . . grating. "He paused. "And, of course, I mourn for Colonel Devereaux. She was a brave warrior. And a friend."

"That she was," Blair said. "Captain, what about it? Do we get out there and buy you some time?"

"I don't like it, Blair. But I don't have a whole lot of options." Eisen paused as the Sensor Officer displayed new data on the main bridge monitor. "We definitely have a launch in progress from the Kilrathi flagship. So far they're still forming up. No way to tell if they plan to press something, or if they're just threatening. Looks like . . . at least a squadron already. More likely two, if they're still launching."