Heart Of The Tiger (40 page)

As Hobbes sped past, Blair checked his sensor readouts on the other Excalibur. Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If the port shield went down, Ralgha would be vulnerable, and he was sure to be sensitive to that weakness. Hobbes had used all of his missiles to knock out Lopez, giving Blair a significant advantage.

The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him. He let Hobbes finish his turn, then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a charge right at the other fighter, a move he was sure Hobbes would never expect from him. Blaster fire raked across his forward shields, but he ignored it, even when the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were going down . . .

Ralgha stopped firing, his weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi swerved sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire. The two fighters were close together now, and Blair had to kill his momentum quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.

The Terran allowed himself a grim smile and locked on a pair of heat-seekers. As Ralgha finished his turn and exposed his tail, Blair let the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.

"Impressive, my friend," Hobbes said as the barrage struck home. "Impressive . . . I fear that you have bested me . . . Now I shall never see Kilrah again."

The missiles detonated almost simultaneously as the Excalibur's rear shields went down. The fighter came apart.

Blair thought he heard Hobbes call out his name before the fireball consumed his craft.

"Excalibur three-o-four," he said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. He couldn't feel anything, either sadness or satisfaction, at the knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes . . . is gone. I'm coming in."

Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to ask questions, or to offer comments. He didn't think he could face anyone just now, especially not here, in the quarters that had belonged to Ralgha nar Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on automatically. They were set to the dim reddish hue Hobbes favored, a reminder of Kilrah's K6 star.

A reminder of Ralgha's home . . .

Ralgha . . . Hobbes . . . It surprised Blair to realize how deep this wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas, flown with him, loved him like a brother over the better part of fifteen long years. When others had raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in Hobbes, the one being Blair would have trusted to the bitter end. . . and beyond. Yet Hobbes betrayed him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge of that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.

He turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the door, punching for Terra-normal lights and lower heat and humidity than Ralgha had preferred. The changes helped him push away the bitter thoughts of Hobbes, but not far enough for any real peace of mind.

No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth comb in hopes of finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert Ops. But it was one of his duties, as wing commander, to deal with the personal property of any pilot who died while under his command, and much as he wanted to delegate it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had no idea where it would go when Paladin was through with it. Usually personal effects were returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?

He defected in the company of a retainer named Kirha. Had the retainer been another agent? Or legitimate? Blair wasn't even sure if the other Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St. John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't heard anything of Hunter for a long time.

Well, if nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned to the Empire when the war was over, if it ever was over. Perhaps Hobbes still had family somewhere. He claimed they had all died before his defection, but that could have been yet another lie.

Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more, about Hobbes . . . or about anything else.

A slender box lying on the bunk drew his eye, and Blair crossed the room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector, much like the one Angel had sent him. Curious, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed the switch.

A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.

"Colonel Blair," the holographic figure said in Ralgha's familiar tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me to provide an explanation for my actions."

"You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct, the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by Imperial Security at the behest of Prince Thrakhath. You have never met the real Ralgha nar Hhallas, nor would you have become his friend, for he was and is dedicated to the service of the Empire Only the construct-personality could become your comrade and friend. I myself was entirely unaware of my true self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, the message where you were given your Kilrathi title, the Heart of the Tiger. Embedded in combination with a signal embedded in that transmission, the phrase 'Heart of the Tiger' was the trigger that awakened my true personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages within it that gave me my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no choice but to act as I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am the Heart of the Tiger."

The Kilrathi paused for a long time. His expression was one Blair had never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi do not surrender, my old friend, and neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race and obedient to my duty, I have been forced to betray you. For though I am no longer the same being you once named Hobbes and befriended when I was alone among strangers, I retain a full memory of everything that Ralgha thought and did. I remember you, Colonel, for what you were and are, and know that you are an honorable warrior. If I could have performed my duty without betraying you, I would have done so, but that was not possible. And if we meet again . . . we will have no choice but to perform our duties . . . with honor."

"I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in battle. But if we do, I will salute you as a warrior . . . and I will mourn you, as a friend lost to me forever."

The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained there a long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.

He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.

It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you here. Captain called down to Flight Control asking after the final operations plan for this mission of the General's." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning out the cat's stuff, huh?"

Blair shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Just . . . an inventory. Before the captain gets started with the investigation . . ."

"Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into . . everything, huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"

Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.

"Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across, Marshall said.

Blair surged out of the bunk and caught him by the collar, raising a hand to strike the man. All his anger had came rushing out, and all he wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.

"Temper, temper," Marshall said. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish, Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to lose any more wingmen. Not now.

Blair dropped his hand and let go of Marshall's collar. The major took a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.

"For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.

"I am?"

"Yeah. Yeah, there's precious few of us left, Major. Two Excaliburs destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only four of us left in Gold Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face. "I'd deck you right now, Maniac, and to hell with the consequences. But I figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."

Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right. You never thought I was any good before. So why would you want me this time?"

"Simple," Blair told him. "Odds are none of us are coming back from this one, but I figure you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down. So maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's over and done with."

Marshall looked at him doubtfully, as if uncertain how serious Blair was. "You're crazy, man," he said.

Blair didn't answer him. He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started the inventory, ignoring Marshall until the other man snorted again and left the cabin.

After Maniac left, he took time out to use the intercom to pass a message to Eisen, identifying the computer file that held the work the flight wing staff had put into refining Paladin's attack plan. Then he finished up in Ralgha's cabin and left, locking the door behind him with a security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.

He still had other unpleasant duties to take care of however. The next one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold Squadron. He halted in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG — LT. MITCHELL LOPEZ and set down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.

Blair touched the buzzer beside the door and stepped back. It took a few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights were out, but a figure was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.

"Come in," Vagabond said. There was little of his usual bantering manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I do for you?"

Blair kicked the cargo module through the door and stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, he said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced this part of the job alone, as he had in Ralgha's quarters. "I just . . . I came to round up Vaquero's stuff. Shuttle's heading back to the Eagle later today, and I figured they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump . . ."

"In case we don't make it," Chang finished the thought for him. He raised his voice slightly. "Lights."

The computer brought the light level up. Under the illumination, the lieutenant's expression was bleak.

"Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair said quietly. "I know how you feel . . . this mess is getting to all of us. But we've all got to get a grip. Bounce back."

"The cliche of the week," Chang said. He pointed to one of the lockers on the far wall. "That one's Vaquero's. Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."

Blair nodded and crossed to the locker, opening it with a security magnakey that overrode Vaquero's lock. It was crowded and untidy. Evidently Mitchell Lopez had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions in the short time he'd been aboard Victory.

"Tell me this much, Colonel," Vagabond said from behind him. "Rumor mill says we've got a shot at the cats after all, even after Behemoth. Is it true?"

Blair looked at him, nodded. "Yeah. A shot . . . a pretty damned long one, but a shot."

"Good." Chang gave a curt nod. "Good. Because I want a piece of the bastards."

"Are you sure? You were the one who had doubts about Behemoth, as I recall. And the new mission's also designed to knock out Kilrah. No ifs, ands, buts, or maybes . . ."

Vagabond shrugged. "I'm past caring about it now, Colonel. Damn it, the kid didn't have to die like that. He was going to retire, open his cantina. He had it all planned out, and that bastard Hobbes snuffed him out. And Cobra, too. It's one thing to lose your buddies on the firing line, but this . . . it's just wrong."

Blair fixed him with a level stare. "I hear you, Vagabond. I've been there myself, and not just this cruise, either. But you can't let it eat away at you." He pointed to the locker. "Do you know how much I hate this ritual? As his CO, I'm the one who has to send the comm to Vaquero s family . . . you know, the one that's supposed to make them feel proud of their son and the way he died. What am I supposed to tell them? That my best friend turned traitor and killed him in a sneak attack? That I might have stopped it if I hadn't been so convinced that Hobbes was one of the good guys?" He shook his head.

Vagabond shrugged and sighed. "I used to think I could keep myself apart from it, you know? Be the cool professional on duty, and the squadron clown in the rec room. But for the first time, here on Victory, I actually felt like I was starting to put down roots. I made friends, real friends . . . Cobra, Vaquero, Beast Jaeger. Now they're gone, and all I want is to see the end of it all . . . one way or another."

Blair didn't reply right away. Vagabond's words struck a familiar chord. "The attack on Kilrah's likely to be a one-way trip, Chang," he said at last. "It's supposed to be an all-volunteer run. I was going to encourage you to opt out of it, since you were pretty well set against bombing civilian targets. Now . . . hell, I don't have enough pilots in Gold Squadron as it is. If you really want in, I'll be glad to have you there. But if you're not sure, speak up now. So I can try to get someone else checked out on the Excalibur from one of the other outfits."