. READY TO TRANSMIT.
     The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into  the chip receptacle below  the
monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
     DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
     The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views  and
schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on
the screen.
     TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
     The  intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again
the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
     WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
     The screen went blank, and  the intruder powered  down the console  and
collected the  PDP and the data  cartridge, tucking them into a  pocket. One
last quick sweep  using  the light  intensification headset, and the job was
done.
     Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the
intruder had ever been present.

     Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai Torgo System

     "Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."
     Khantahr   Tarros  nar  Poghath  turned  in  his  chair   to  face  the
communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
     His monitor lit up with a series of images,  transmitted at  high speed
from  the stealth  fighter  that had penetrated  the  Terran defenses around
Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully.  It  seemed that
Prince Thrakhath's  plan was unfolding  perfectly. The Kilrathi  spy in  the
Terran  fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information
the Prince  required to the  waiting  fighter,  and now the  data was  being
relayed  to  Sar'hrai. Soon  the  carrier  would  be on its  way  to  rejoin
Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
     The  transmission  ended  with charts  detailing  a star system and the
operational plans for  a  Confederation  incursion. Tarros leaned forward in
his  seat.  "Navigator,  plot  a  course  to the  jump point. Communications
Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to
rendezvous  with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to
relax again.
     They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once
the Terrans had fallen into his trap.

     Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     The  view from the  rec  room was impressive, Blair had  to  admit that
much.  As  he walked in, his  eyes were drawn to the massive  shape  of  the
Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier  as they  cruised slowly  through the
Blackmane  System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow
Ç  apparently  the weapons  platform  didn't  carry  its full  allotment  of
engines,  either Ç but they had made the transit  to  Blackmane  and were on
their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.
     He found  himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at
this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was
a restlessness in the  air, a feeling of mingled  excitement and tension. It
wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new
Confederation weapon, and for  many on board the Victory the war was already
as good as over.
     Vaquero looked up  from a  table by the door as Blair  stood  there and
watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
     "To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face.  He, at  least,
seemed pleased.
     "Opening night party  at  my  cantina," Lopez told  him, grinning  more
broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la
vista  a  los gatos. And I  figure on  filing for retirement pay  about  two
minutes after that.  I've  got  enough to  make the  down payment  on a nice
little place . . ."
     "Don't  start  calculating your  profit margins just  yet, Lieutenant,"
Blair  said  quietly. "Even  that monster might not be  enough to  shut  the
Kilrathi down overnight."
     He turned away, leaving Vaquero to  frown over the words. Blair spotted
Rollins and  Cobra sitting together in a  remote corner, well away  from the
rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.
     "So  .  . . how's the  espionage business today?" he asked  flippantly.
"Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"
     Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously,
Colonel."
     "No, Lieutenant, you're  wrong.  I  take you  both very  seriously. But
you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it?
I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."
     Rollins  looked up at  him. "Don't be so  sure, Colonel," he said. "Two
nights back, after  we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one
of my  computer  commo logs. And  I  can  t account  for it.  I think it was
sabotage."
     "It could  also have been  a computer glitch," Blair pointed out.  "You
might  have  noticed that the systems on  this  ship  are not exactly up  to
snuff."  He  paused. "Or, if it  wasn't  the  computer, it  might have  been
something to do with the admiral. He  might've  ordered a message sent, then
had the record wiped."
     "Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."
     "Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet.
You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And
the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his
chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can  be  a  good thing, but  make
sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every
time the computer hiccups or the  admiral decides  to keep  his laundry list
classified."
     "Yeah, maybe  so," Rollins  said. "But I've also  been  analyzing  that
original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild,
Colonel." He produced a  personal  data  pad  and called up  a file  on  the
screen. "Look at this . . . and this."
     "I'm no expert  in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said.  "To  me,
you've got  a bunch of spikes on  a  graph. You  want  to tell  me what they
mean?"
     "I'm not  sure  yet," Rollins  admitted. "But I've seen these  kinds of
signals  somewhere before  .  . . something outside of normal communications
use.  If I  could  just  figure out  where . .  ." He trailed  off,  looking
apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess  I still  have a ways to go before I can
deliver. But it isn't for  want  of trying, or for a  lack of things to look
into, either."
     Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport.  "I have to
admit, if there was  a  spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing.
But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."
     "Hobbes is working with the  staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you
noticed?"
     Rollins stood up, looking  uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a
little  while. I'll catch you both  later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat
in the chair he'd vacated.
     "It never stops with you, does it,  Lieutenant?"  he asked. "An endless
program loop."
     "You'd never understand, Colonel,"  she said, looking weary.  "You just
don't have a clue."
     "'Maybe  that's  because  you've  never  tried to explain it," he  said
bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."
     "It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she
spoke again. "I'm sure  you've heard the rumors. Some guys from  the  Hermes
spread  a lot of stories  around.  I  used  to have  these . . . nightmares.
People talked, you know how it is."
     "Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.
     "The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me
when I was ten . . ."
     "The Kilrathi?"
     She  nodded "I ended up in a slave labor  camp. Escaped during a Confed
attack ten years  later. Most of  the  camp  was destroyed  in the fighting.
Might have been  the Navy's  fault, might have been the cats,  I don't know.
But there were only a few of us who lived through it.
     "It must have been Ç "
     "You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I
saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.
     "So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"
     "The Psych guys spent a  couple of years  wringing me  out," she  said.
"First it was  debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find
out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for
Intelligence.  Then they started on  the  therapy."  She  paused.  "But they
couldn't wipe it all  out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I
wouldn't  let  them  do that. I'm Laurel Buckley,  by  God,  and if the cats
couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"
     "You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that
. . . to go on to join the fight . . ."
     "It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance  to kill  cats. And that's
what I'm still doing today."
     He gestured toward  the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the
war? What then?"
     She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep
myself human." She gave a short,  grotesque laugh, an unnerving  sound  that
reminded  Blair of jeering Kilrathi. The fact  is, Colonel, there's a little
bit of the  Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out.
Every day, I can  feel  it getting a little bit stronger . .  . and one day,
there won't be any human left inside me any more."
     He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough
credit, Lieutenant. You survived  a horror most people  could  never handle.
You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."
     Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But . .
. well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."
     He thought of Angel,  of the  raw emotion that had  surged  through him
when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in  his  ears. "Maybe I do  understand,
Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."
     She  raised  an eyebrow.  "Cracked? You?  I  can't imagine  you  giving
anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."
     Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Blackmane System

        "COUNTDOWN TO JUMP, ONE HOUR, FIFTEEN MINUTES."
     Blair glanced up  at the  digital readout below the Flight Control Room
window  to confirm the time remaining.  Activity was reaching  a fever pitch
aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Loki
System. No  one really  expected the Kilrathi to  have much  in  the way  of
defenses at  their  Loki outpost, but  the preparations in hand assumed they
would be  jumping into a combat  zone. With so much riding  on the Behemoth,
nobody wanted to make any mistakes.
     Technicians prepped the fighters for  launch working quickly but with a
care  born of long experience and  a  respect for  the dangers of the flight
deck.  Red-shirted  ordinance  handlers  busily  fit  missiles  and  checked
fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the
topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put  through their  final  checks. The
huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic action, and  Blair felt like
an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.
     Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her
coverall was considerably cleaner than usual . . . and so were her hands and
arms.  She looked,  in fact, almost  regulation,  a  far cry from her  usual
go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry
glare.
     "Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic
probe up your nose."
     "Heard you got  chewed out by the  admiral himself," Blair said. "But I
never thought it would actually take."
     "Sloppy dress  means  sloppy  work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp
British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change
my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"
     Blair shrugged. "He's  got a real thing for  the  regs. But you  should
wear  the  reprimand  as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week  if I
don't get at least  one  chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from  him,
myself."
     "After the war,  I'm going to make it  my personal  mission  in life to
loosen the screws  on  all the moving  parts  on  guys like  him."  She  was
smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.
     "Save a  screwdriver for  me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the
word on the launch?"
     "Pretty good,  this  time  out,"  she  said.  "Only three down-checks."
Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."
     "What's the problem?"
     "Power surge fried half  his electronics  when we  went  to  check  his
computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."
     Blair frowned. "Damn, bad  timing. But I guess  his bird was about due.
What about the others?"
     "Reese and Calder. One interceptor,  one Hellcat.  There's  an  outside
chance we can  get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't  count
on it."
     "Do what you can," Blair told her.
     "Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she
caught his sleeve.  "Look . .  .  after the  mission  . .  . what say we get
together?"
     He  looked into her  eyes, read the emotion  behind them. Everyone  who
served on the flight deck knew that  each mission  might  be  the  last one.
"I'd. . . like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since .
. .  ever since I found out  about Angel, I've felt  like you were there for
me. It's . . . made a big difference.
     Someone  called  for  her, and Rachel turned back to her  work  without
another  word.  Blair watched her hurrying  away.  She wasn't  anything like
Angel Devereaux,  but  there was  a  feeling between  them that was just  as
strong, in  its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate,
less intense,  yet it was a more comfortable  and familiar feeling,  exactly
what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.

     Bridge, TCS Victory Blackmane System

     "Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up."
     Eisen  acknowledged the Sensor  Officer's  report with  a curt  nod and
studied  the  tactical display  with  a critical eye. This was the period of
greatest  danger  in  any squadron  operation,  when ships  performed  their
transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and  prayed they wouldn't
be emerging in the middle of an enemy fleet.
     They  weren't taking any  chances this time. Coventry would  go through
first,  ready  to engage anything waiting  near  the other end of  the  jump
point.  The  destroyer that followed  her  would jump at  the first  sign of
trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.
     That  would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how  Jason Bondarevsky
felt  about flying  point  on  this mission. He was  supposed to be  one  of
Admiral  Tolwyn's  shining  young proteges,  but  apparently  the  admiral's
patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.
     Eisen glanced  uneasily at the admiral.  He was  dressed to perfection,
uniform  starched  and  crisp, every hair  in  place.  But Tolwyn  did  look
nervous, pacing  restlessly  back  and  forth  behind  the Sensor  Officer's
station. For all the man's air of  confidence, it was clear that he  had his
share of worries.
     "Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported.
"Jump field forming . . . there she goes!"
     Tolwyn  glanced at the  watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the  final
countdown, Captain," he ordered.
     For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on
board he'd interfered in routine  ship's operations: barking  orders, taking
over briefings, dressing down  crew members  who didn't live up to his image
of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and
everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that
could guarantee the success of the mission.
     But  perhaps  Tolwyn had  good  reason  to  be concerned. Eisen  leaned
forward in his chair and  repeated the Admiral's  order.  Commander  Gessler
slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.
     "NOW, JUMP  STATIONS,  JUMP  STATIONS," the  computer  announced. "FIVE
MINUTES TO JUMP SEQUENCE START."
     The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn
them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this operation
would go by the numbers after all. . . .
     "Remember,  Captain, Behemoth  will be  five  minutes behind us all the
way," Tolwyn said. "I expect  response times to be  tight. We can't afford a
screw-up. Not now."
     "Yes,  Admiral,"  Eisen said. They'd  been over it  all  a dozen  times
before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking
about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.
     And nothing would ever be the same again.

     Flight Deck, TCS Victory Loki System

     "And five . . . and four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."
     Jumpshock!
     Blair's  guts  twisted   and  churned   as  the  carrier  went  through
transition. No  matter how often he experienced it, he could never  get used
to the sensation. The  physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there  was
always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness  that left him
confused, numb.
     He blinked and shook his head, trying to  get his bearings. Everyone in
the  wing had gone  through  this transit  strapped  into their  cockpits, a
standard  precaution  when jumping into hostile space. They  had the  flight
deck  to themselves.  Force fields and gravity generators sometimes faltered
during jump, and technicians stayed clear of the  flight deck for  fear of a
catastrophic failure.  So  the pilots were alone,  lined up at their  launch
tubes, as ready for action as anyone could be in the aftermath of jumpshock.
     Blair's eyes came back  into  focus,  and he checked his  readouts  and
control settings automatically.
     A  voice crackled  in  his  headphones.  "Jump  complete," Eisen  said.
"Welcome to Loki System."
     There was a pause before  Rollins took over. "According to sensors, the
area  is  clear," the  communications  officer  announced, still sounding  a
little groggy. "And Coventry says the same. Sorry to disappoint you,  ladies
and gents, but it looks like an all clear."
     Blair let out a long sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
They had  cleared the first hurdle, but they weren't finished yet,  not by a
long shot.
     The  admiral's voice  came  over  the  channel,  clipped  and  precise.
"Colonel Blair, you will relieve yourself from launch stations  immediately.
All flight wing personnel remain on alert status until further notice."
     He still disagreed with the admiral's  decision  to suspend all  flight
ops from the  carrier  until  they  had to deploy to  protect  the Behemoth.
Coventry's  four  fighters  and  the destroyers  flying  escort  would  give
adequate cover, but Blair didn't  like keeping all of  his people on standby
alert for hours on end  without relief. Better to  let them fly patrols, get
some down-time, and  take the risk that the wing might be a few hands  short
when things hit the fan. But Tolwyn had overruled him.
     He  started  to unstrap himself from the Thunderbolt's cockpit.  If all
went well, Blair thought hopefully, this interlude would soon  end. And then
. . . ?
     It  was difficult to picture what peace would be like, after a lifetime
dedicated to the war.


        CHAPTER XXV

     Bridge. TCS Victory Loki System

     "God,  that sucker sure is thirsty," Rollins commented. "Good thing you
don't have to pay for a fill-up when you're skimming hydrogen."
     "Eyes on  your board, Lieutenant," Eisen growled. "And put the mouth in
neutral."
     "Yes,  sir," Rollins replied quickly. The edge in Eisen's voice made it
clear that the captain was dead serious.
     The Terran squadron  had proceeded from the jump  point to their  first
destination,  the  gas giant  Loki  VIII,  without encountering any  sign of
Imperial resistance. Victory remained close by while the Behemoth moved into
a tight, hyperbolic orbit around the huge ball of  gas. The cruiser and  her
consorts stood  further  off to give warning of  any enemy interference, but
there  was nothing.  The weapons platform  dipped  into the atmosphere  long
enough to  top off the depleted tanks of liquid hydrogen needed as  reaction
mass to move her ponderous bulk toward the target world.
     "Sensors are still reading  clear, sir," the  Sensor  Officer reported.
"Looks like we're home free."
     A red light flashed on the Communications board and Rollins called up a
computer analysis of the  stray signal locking onto his computer. "Captain .
.  ." he  began,  hesitating a moment.  "Sir, I've got some  kind of lowband
transmission here. Seems to be coming from one of the gas giant's moons."
     "What  do you make of it, Mister Rollins?" Admiral Tolwyn cut in before
Eisen could respond.
     "I'm  not sure, sir .  . . uh, Admiral. I don't think  its a ship. More
like an automated feed . . . from an unmanned relay station  or sensor buoy.
But powerful. A very strong signal . . ."
     "Any idea what it's saying?" Tolwyn asked.
     "No, Admiral. It's scrambled. Could be almost anything." Rollins looked
up at him, apologetic, but Tolwyn had already turned away.
     "Colonel Ralgha? What do you think?"
     Hobbes had been scratched from the fighter  roster with a down-gripe on
his Thunderbolt,  so  Tolwyn  decided he should join  other members  of  the
admiral's staff  at  supernumerary positions  on  the  bridge. The  Kilrathi
renegade shook his head, a curiously human gesture.
     "I am sorry, Admiral. I do not know."
     "Well,  I do," Tolwyn said. "It  means we've been noticed. And the cats
will be organizing a welcoming committee for us."
     "Any orders, Admiral?"  Eisen  asked. Rollins had never heard him sound
quite so stiff and formal.
     "The squadron will continue as before," Tolwyn ordered.  "Have Behemoth
secured from fueling  stations and  fall  into  formation. Coventry  to take
station ahead." He paused, almost seeming to strike a heroic pose. "Maintain
your vigilance, gentlemen. And be ready for anything."

     Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann Loki System

     "Lord Prince," Melek said, approaching the dais and bowing deeply.  "We
have a  report from one  of the  sentinel  stations  near the eighth planet.
Terran  ships  have  been detected. Their  movements conform to a wilderness
refueling  operation, and one  of the  vessels appears to be their  Behemoth
weapon."
     Thrakhath leaned forward on his  throne, his eyes gleaming in the harsh
red light. "Ah  . . . so it  begins." He showed  his fangs. "You see, Melek,
how well our agent has performed? Not only the design specifications of  the
weapons platform,  but also the  intended Terran movements. Refuel at planet
eight,  then a  crossing  to six. Exactly  as  specified  in the report from
Sar'hrai."
     "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed. Behind his mask, he allowed himself a
moment's  impatience.  As   the  plan  unfolded,  the  Prince  was  becoming
increasingly filled with a sense of his  own self-importance.  The arrogance
of  the Imperial Family was one of the  major sources of disaffection  among
the  great nobles  of  the  realm, and  Melek  was finding it  difficult  to
maintain his pose of sycophancy  as Thrakhath's posturing grew more blatant.
"It seems we will indeed have a battle here, and soon."
     Thrakhath's gesture  called for  silence.  "The strength of the  Terran
force?" he asked.
     "Five capital ships,  Lord  Prince," Melek replied. "Plus  the  weapons
platform itself.  Only one carrier .  . . Victory. The others-a cruiser, and
three destroyers. Nothing to challenge our force significantly."
     "Excellent. They assumed  the outpost  here  was  not  worth  a  larger
squadron." Thrakhath paused. "How are our preparations proceeding?"
     "Nearly completed, Lord  Prince. The  Terrans  will find  their planned
firing  position difficult to reach. Our own forces will be deployed by  the
time they  realize the threat." Melek  paused. "There is  still  time,  Lord
Prince,  to order more  capital ships  into  the battle zone, to ensure  the
Terrans are destroyed."
     The  Prince gestured  denial. "No,  Melek. Fighters  will have the best
chance to penetrate the defenses of the weapons  platform. We do not want to
scare the enemy away with too great  a . .  . detectable show  of  strength.
Even if some of their ships escape, we will have the Behemoth. And with it .
. . the war."
     "As  you wish, Lord Prince." Melek  bowed and retreated, but  a part of
him wished he could  see Thrakhath  lose some  of  that arrogant  assurance.
Perhaps then the prince would finally come to  understand the true nature of
the dangerous game he played with the future of the Empire.

     Gold Squadron Ready Room, TCS Victory Loki System

     It took hours to cross  interplanetary distances, and the  flight  wing
settled into a grim routine of waiting, with two squadrons on watch in their
ready rooms  and the  other two snatching  downtime while they could.  There
were only six  of them in the Gold Squadron ready room,  with  Hobbes on the
admiral's personal  staff, but it  seemed unpleasantly cramped after  nearly
four hours of boredom waiting for an alarm that never came. No one wanted to
take  up Vagabond's challenge at  cards any more, and talk lagged.  Most  of
them sat quietly, enveloped in their own thoughts.
     Blair wasn't sure how much longer his staff could wait.
     "Man, I'd almost rather the cats would try to stop us," Maniac Marshall
said suddenly.  "Anything would beat sitting here  on our asses with nothing
to do."
     "Hey, get used to it, Vaquero told  him. "If that Behemoth thing works,
and we get peace, then we're history. No  more magnum launches, no more long
patrols . . ."
     "I'll believe it when I see it," Cobra said. "I figure we'll still have
to keep the  fleet ready, peace  treaty or  no. You can't trust the  cats to
keep to any treaty. Just look at what they did  the  last time we signed  an
armistice with them!"
     At  that moment  an alarm siren  cut off  all talk.  "LAUNCH  STATIONS,
LAUNCH STATIONS, the computer announced. ALL FIGHTERS UP. MAGNUM LAUNCH."
     The Gold Squadron pilots scrambled to their feet,  snatching up helmets
and gauntlets and heading for the door.
     "Thanks a  lot, Maniac," Blair said  as the two  nearly collided at the
door. "Looks like you're getting your wish."
     Marshall  grinned,  a  wolfish, uncanny  smile  similar  to  Paladin's.
"What's the  matter, Colonel, sir? You'd  rather  sit here and collect  dust
than get out on the firing line again?"
     He ignored the comment and followed the others down the corridor to the
entrance to the hangar area. Just inside he stopped at  an intercom  station
and punched for the bridge.  "This is Blair," he said as Rollins appeared on
the screen. "What's the scoop, Radio?"
     Rollins looked flustered. "Wait one minute, Colonel," he said.
     A moment  later Admiral Tolwyn's  face filled the  monitor. "Coventry's
hit a mine," the  admiral said. "She's falling behind, with heavy  damage to
her  shield  generators.  Looks like a Kilrathi mine field right across  our
planned course, and I don't like it one little bit. So I'm putting your boys
and girls out there until we see what else  the cats might have waiting  for
us."
     "So we  don't have anything definite yet . . . except the mines?" Blair
wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned. If this was just a false alarm,
it would sap the wing's  morale  even  more. But  the  Hermes survey  hadn't
reported any mine fields on the approaches to Loki VI. Blair didn't like any
coincidence this suspicious. Not here, not now.
     "Finding a  bunch of mines this close to the planned firing point . . .
I don't  like it, not one bit."  Tolwyn's words  echoed  Blair's uneasiness.
"Your  job is simple, Colonel. Cover  the Behemoth until it's ready to  open
fire."
     "Sounds simple  enough,  Admiral," Blair  replied.  "But  sometimes the
simple jobs are the real killers."
     Tolwyn broke the circuit.  Blair  retrieved  his flight gear and turned
back to the bustle in the hangar deck. Four of the Thunderbolts were already
rolling into place in front  of  their launch tubes, while  four Arrows from
Denise Mbuto's  squadron were in place on the opposite side. By the time the
two ready squadrons launched,  preparations were well  in hand for the other
two:  the  point-defense  fighters.   By  then  their  pilots,  roused  from
much-needed rest, would be ready to fly.
     Rachel Coriolis  hurried to him.  "Better  get saddled up, Colonel,  or
you'll miss the party," she said.
     He  smiled. "They can't do that. Didn't you hear? I'm  the Heart of the
Tiger. Can't have a party without the Heart of the Tiger, you know."
     Her  look  was serious.  "Take care of yourself out  there,"  she  said
quietly. "I wouldn't like it if . . . someone else I cared about didn't come
back."
     "I'll be back.  Now that I  know I have something worth coming back to,
they won't get to me again." He turned away and hurried toward his  fighter,
drawing on his  helmet and gauntlets as he  strode briskly across  the broad
metal deck.

     Stalker Leader Loki System

     Flight  captain Graldak  nar  Sutaghi studied  his  sensor  screens and
wished  his pressure gauntlets had  room for him  to unsheathe his claws  in
anticipation. The  Terrans had discovered the mine field  and were beginning
to  deploy  their  fighters. It  was  unfolding  just  as  Prince  Thrakhath
outlined. with  the mines across  their intended course occupying  all their
attention for  a  critical few  minutes,  there was a  perfect  opening  for
stealth fighters lying in wait to launch a devastating attack.
     The huge blip on his screen had to be the weapons platform, the primary
target. It  had come to  a dead stop  while the  carrier edged closer to the
mine field and began  to launch its fighters. For the moment, at  least, the
Behemoth  was actually closer to the waiting  Kilrathi ships than  the enemy
carrier.
     Now was the time to strike.
     "Stalker Flight, this is Leader," he said aloud. "Stand by to disengage
cloaks and attack on my mark.  Three . . . two . . . one. . . mark!  Attack!
Attack!  Attack!" As he spoke,  he  cut the power to  the  Strakha's stealth
device  and  brought  his shield and  weapons  power  on-line. He rammed his
throttles full forward  and felt the fighter surge, a predator eager to seek
out the prey.
     "All  fighters,  concentrate attack on  the  weapons platform," Graldak
ordered. "Remember the briefings . . . attack the weak points."
     "And the enemy fighters?" someone asked.
     "Do not  let  them  interfere  with  you," Graldak said. "But do not be
drawn into a dogfight until  the  primary  mission  is achieved." Inside his
bulky flight helmet, he  was showing his fangs. Graldak was eager to get the
first phase finalized so his squadron could engage the Terran  fighters.  In
the fighting at Locanda, it had been  galling to avoid combat and  run under
cloaks. This time they would show the apes how warriors fought.
     And  today  there were  no limits  on  engagement, no fighters declared
off-limits to attack Any enemy pilot  who wanted to fight, even the Heart of
the Tiger or the Kilrathi renegade, was fair prey to the hunters today.
     The Kilrathi attack group, four squadrons strong drove straight  toward
the daunting bulk of  the enemy planet killer.  Graldak's blood  sang within
his veins.

     Thunderbolt 300 Loki System

     "Targets! Targets! Targets!"
     Blair's eyes  shifted  instinctively to  his sensor screen  as  Rollins
chanted the  warning. Suddenly the monitor  was crawling with the red-orange
dots representing  enemy  fighters, four distinct  swarms of Kilrathi  craft
arranged in a rough half-globe. But they  were close,  too close  . . . well
inside the range of Terran sensors. And on the far side of the Behemoth from
Victory.
     Cloaked Strakha, then. They had lain  in wait while the Terran squadron
passed by, striking  only now when the mine field cut  off their advance and
the Behemoth was momentarily uncovered and vulnerable.
     The Kilrathi  must have known the significance  of  the weapon and  the
Terran plan of attack. It  was blatantly clear that  all the  talk  about  a
possible  spy  giving  away  secrets  to  the  Empire  was  more  than  just
speculation.
     Blair pushed the thought aside. Time enough to worry about that  later.
Right now, the Kilrathi were closing fast with the Behemoth.
     "Red and White Squadrons!"  he snapped.  "Double  back  and  engage the
enemy as quickly as possible." That  would send the point defense ships into
action directly, but it wouldn't provide much cover to the weapons  platform
itself "Blue Squadron, Gold Squadron, follow me!"
     He banked sharply, lining up on the Behemoth's looming mass and opening
up  his  throttles  to full  power.  With  afterburners blazing, Blair  dove
straight  toward  the  huge weapon.  The  others trailed  him, only thirteen
fighters  in all.  A  part  of Blair's mind dwelt idly  on  the  question of
whether or not the number of ships was significant. An ill omen, perhaps?
     "Skipper. . ." Denise  Mbuto  roused  him from his reverie. "Don  t you
think . . . ?"
     "Comm silence!" he snapped. "Follow my lead, damn it!"
     And  still they  dove,  until the  weapons platform  filled the  entire
forward  cockpit  view  and  he  could  make out  individual  structures and
projections on the hull of  the gigantic device. As they  swept  down toward
the metal surface, Blair suddenly pulled up, skimming within fifty meters of
the  Behemoth.  He  had  a maniacal  grin  on his face  as  he  pictured the
reactions in the other fighters behind him.
     "Whooeee!  What a ride!" Marshall  shouted, and Blair didn't  reprimand
him for breaking communications silence. The man's reaction was something he
could understand perfectly. He wanted to shout out loud himself.
     Instead  he  forced himself  to think  about the  battle  as  a  whole.
"Watchdog,  Watchdog,  this  is  Guardian  Leader," he said  on the  command
channel. "Come in, Watchdog."
     Again it  was Tolwyn, and not Rollins, who answered his call. "Damn it,
Blair, get in there!'' he snapped. "You have to protect the Behemoth!"
     "We're on  it,  Admiral,"  Blair  replied. "But  some support from  the
destroyers would be a good idea. Coventry, too, if she's able."
     "Negative  on that," Tolwyn replied. "We've  just spotted a flotilla of
Kilrathi cap  ships  closing on us.  They're at extreme range but coming  in
fast. Sheffield is moving to delay them. And Ajax is trying to clear a route
through the minefield."
     "She'll never make it," Blair said. "You know the odds against spotting
every mine when you're in something as big as a destroyer."
     "Coventry's  launching  her  fighters,  but  she's  in  bad  shape. And
Bondarevsky's  been  wounded. . ." The  Admiral was  struggling to  maintain
control. He stopped, visibly gathering his composure before he  spoke again.
"Just do your job, Blair. Tolwyn clear."
     The channel went dead, and Blair cursed under his breath. Tolwyn was so
concerned  with finding a way around  or  through those  mines  that  he was
throwing away valuable assets just when they needed them most.
     Blair dismissed  the thought. Tolwyn would fight  this battle  his  own
way. What mattered now was the flight wings part in it all.
     Still  skimming low over  the curved  body of the Behemoth,  the Terran
fighters flashed past the pressurized section of the hull where  the control
center and  crew's quarters were housed. Beyond  lay the battle zone,  where
the  two  squadrons  of Hellcats were  already making their  presence  known
against the Strakha. Blair pulled up sharply as  his sensors registered  the
fighting, climbing steeply away from  the weapons platform. His maneuver had
placed the two  squadrons, Arrows and Thunderbolts, between the Kilrathi and
their target Now all they had to do was make the move count for  something .
. .

     Stalker Leader Loki System

     Graldak  let out  a Kilrathi oath as he  spotted  the  Terran  fighters
forming  near the hull of the weapons platform. He hadn't  expected the apes
to fly so recklessly  close to the surface of the  huge weapons platform. It
was a daring  move. A  warrior's move.  He recognized  the  hand  of the one
Thrakhath had dubbed the Heart of the Tiger, the same one who had so  nearly
defeated the attack force off Locanda IV. That was one ape  who knew  how to
fight. . . .
     "So, Heart of  the  Tiger," he  said over the  comm channel. "You would
stand in my way? You will not stand long, I assure you."
     The Behemoth was the primary target, but that did not preclude swatting
aside any resistance  that sought to stop his attack run. With  all  weapons
armed,  Graldak switched on  his targeting computer  and  drove the  Strakha
straight toward the Terran fighters.

     Thunderbolt 300 Loki System

     "Here they come!"
     Blair saw the leading Strakha accelerating toward  them just  as  Flint
gave  her warning cry. The  Kilrathi fighters were no longer spread out, but
formed a wedge behind their leader. They were keeping tighter formation than
usual,  probably  hoping to bore  through  the  Terran  defenses  and  reach
Behemoth through sheer numbers and concentrated firepower. A quick glance at
the  sensor screen revealed the other Kilrathi ships now thoroughly engaged.
The  two Hellcat squadrons tied  up most  of the  enemy, while the rest were
being  pursued by  the half-squadron  off  of Coventry.  The cruiser  itself
limped in closer. Apparently Tolwyn was wrong about the situation aboard the
capital ship. . . .
     "Close up," Blair  ordered. These  were the  only Kilrathi  ships  in a
position to hit Behemoth for the  moment, but unless  the Terrans shifted to
meet the unexpected  Imperial formation their advantage would be lost. "Form
on me."
     But  the cats were driving in  too fast.  An Arrow flashed  past Blair,
blasters  firing wildly, but  three of the Strakha hit  the interceptor with
massed fire. Blair  tried to catch up to support the Arrow,  but  he was too
late. The Terran fighter's shields went down,  and  in seconds  the Kilrathi
blasters chewed through armor  and hull,  boring into the reactor. The Arrow
went up in a blaze of raw energy.
     It was only then that Blair realized it was Denise Mbuto's fighter.
     Now  the  leader was  almost on top of him,  and the rest of  the wedge
close behind. Blair set  his crosshairs on the lead Strakha and opened fire.
Several Kilrathi  ships  began to return his volley,  but  Cobra and Vaquero
appeared from nowhere  to engage on their flank, and in their haste  to meet
the new threat, the Kilrathi did little more than graze Blair's shields.
     He  maintained fire on the leader, looping to follow as  the wedge shot
past him. Fingers dancing over  the fire controls, Blair called up a pair of
dumb-fire  missiles. They  were simple  unguided rockets, without any of the
sophisticated homing systems common in other weapons in the  Terran arsenal,
but  in this situation they were exactly what Blair needed. If he  fired any
of  the other  types, they were  apt to be confused  by  the sheer number of
available targets. And Blair wanted the leader.
     He  kicked in his afterburners  once more, driving right into the enemy
wedge. His targeting reticule  centered over the  lead Strakha  and flashed,
and Blair's  fingers stabbed  at the fire  controls. The two  missiles leapt
from their launch rails almost as one, speeding straight toward the Kilrathi
ship.  His opponent,  realizing  what  was happening  at  the  last possible
moment, started to swerve, but it  was too late. The missiles detonated, and
the Kilrathi shields began to fluctuate wildly.
     Blair locked on his blasters and opened fire.
     The Kilrathi pilot continued  his maneuver even as the  armor was being
ripped off his stern section. The Strakha was changing course, but no longer
in  an  evasive turn. He was lining up on a vector only  slightly