Heart Of The Tiger (25 page)

"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.

"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?"

Blair nodded slowly, but inside his mind was racing to consider all the problems against them. "It'll be tricky, Captain, but I'll see what we can put together to eliminate the problems as much as possible."

"Good. Navigation tells me it'll be eighteen hours before we hit the jump point. So your people will have a little sack time, at least, before they have to launch." Eisen gave him a look. "Try to get some yourself, too, Colonel. We need you out there fresh and at your best."