ir next target was Midway. Vance always  did
know his history."
     "Have we had  any word yet from out there? Since I  left Landreich I've
been out of touch."
     Admiral Banbridge shook his head and Geoff silently cursed.
     "What's been happening back here on Earth?"
     Banbridge blew out noisily  and reached around to his desk, pulling out
two  glasses and  a small decanter of  port  wine,  pouring out a drink  for
himself and Tolwyn.
     "The  damn fools  are  eating up the  crap that Vak'ga  and Jukaga keep
feeding them. Hell, Rodham has even  agreed to a cultural  exchange, with  a
bunch of Kilrathi singer's and dancers coming to Earth next month.  The damn
brie and wine crowd at the capital are  eating it up, begging for tickets to
the  performance. The Chief of Staff raised holy hell about it, pointing out
that we'd have over a hundred Kilrathi  running  around the capital and damn
near  everyone of  them  an intelligence  operative. He was  hooted  down by
Jamison and told to, Ñrelax, the war is over.'
     "It's nuts, I  tell  you.  Anyone who talks  about preparedness,  about
keeping the fleet appropriations up, is denounced as a war monger."
     "And just how is the fleet?" Tolwyn asked.
     "Four fleet carriers are still on line.
     "Just four?"
     "It's  worse. Two of them are drydocked at the  moment but it's claimed
they can be brought back up to operational status within thirty days.
     "What about the others?"
     "In drydock, reactors pulled, crews on extended leave."
     "What the hell for?"
     Banbridge sighed.
     "Jamison convinced the President, and  he convinced the Senate, that if
the Kilrathi were going to  make  a move we'd have plenty of warning and she
pointed out that  all but six  of the Kilrathi  carriers  had been put  into
inactive reserve as well. So  as  a  cost cutting measure the carriers  were
pulled in for major refitting and overhaul. Getting them on line  could take
up to three months."
     "God help us," Tolwyn  whispered, draining his glass and then accepting
a refill.
     "Forty-eight percent of the rest of the ships of the fleet are still on
line,  the  rest  are skeleton crewed in reserve. Operationally we're losing
our edge. Flight training time for the fighters has been cut by nearly half,
even  our  main  battle  fleet  ships  still  in  active  service, our heavy
cruisers,  are tied  off with crews on leave. It'd take weeks, maybe a month
to  two months to even get one full Task Force Group  organized and back  on
line.
     "What's worse is the freeze on construction.  We should have  had a new
fleet  carrier  and four more  cruisers operational by now and  a number  of
other  ships started. We tried to  get through a government decree requiring
all shipyard  works to stay on their jobs;  that caused a hell  of an uproar
and some of our best  technicians are quitting to look  for work else where.
Key war  industries, which during hostilities  were forbidden to strike, are
now  having walkouts with  people wanting  higher wages, made  worse by what
looks like an economic depression due to a freeze on new defense contracts.
     "Morale is down in the gutter. The career people are sore as hell. They
wanted this thing seen through  to  the finish. Most of our old line  people
know that this war won't really  be over till we storm through the rubble of
the  imperial  palace  and raise the Confederation  flag. Anything else is a
prelude to defeat.  The  reservists and draftees  on the other hand are  all
clamoring to get discharged. Hell, senators are getting flooded with letters
from parents, wives,  and even  our own troops demanding demobilization, the
old Ñbring the boys and girls back home.' "
     "I guess it's kind of hard to blame  them when you think of it. To them
it really does look like it's over."
     Banbridge nodded.
     "I  tell  you, Geoff, I think a democratic republic is the only way  to
run the  show; you English are  the  ones who really invented it and then we
Americans picked it  up.  But there's always been one flaw in it and that is
the sustaining of a long-term war. It's hard at times for civilians to truly
understand the military; we  have a thousand year  tradition of always being
at odds with the civilians we're sworn to defend. The military at times gets
turned  into  the Greek messenger  who gets blamed for simply telling people
the truth of how the universe works. People get too  caught up in  the  wish
for peace and  forget  that  the  law of the jungle is still the law in most
parts of  this universe, and  they  don't like it when  we  try to tell them
differently.
     "Got any suggestions on how to change it?"
     Banbridge smiled and shook his head.
     "It's  what I've  spent  forty-three years in  the  service fighting to
defend. No, it's got its problems but I'd keep it.
     "That's  if it survives one year longer. Don't people realize what  the
Cats are up to?"
     "Oh, a hell  of a  lot of  ordinary people do,  especially in the outer
planets  and  the  frontier.  They've  lived on  the  real edge  of the war,
sometimes  in the  middle of  it. They know what even  a  momentary  slip of
vigilance can  do. But the inner  system  of planets, and  especially Earth,
have been bearing the financial burden  of a war  that's been fought several
hundred light years and a  dozen or  more jump points away,  I think they're
willing to  grab  at anything  if it'll mean  peace.  We've  got  an  entire
generation  that's been born and come to  adulthood knowing nothing  but war
played out  nightly on the holo screen, and the ruinous taxes to support it;
to them peace is a dream as powerful as any narcotic."
     "And it just might kill them."
     Banbridge sighed
     "The damn  media  is  part of  the  problem. The  Kilrathi have  done a
masterful  job of feeding them selected footage of furball planets bombarded
in  the war,  tearful interviews with  widows who ask for  peace, the  usual
propaganda crap. But try and send our own  crews in to film  freely  and the
curtain gets slammed down. It seems to be really popular of late, especially
on  the college campuses, to buy Jukaga's line that the war was a conspiracy
of  their military  and ours  to make  themselves powerful and  big industry
rich. The majority of people see  through  it, but  there's enough out there
buying what ever they see on the holo to make things a bit hot.
     "But enough on that, fill me in on what's  happened with  you  over the
last two months."
     As  Geoff described his  arrangement of ship transfers to the Landreich
and the mission into Kilrathi  space  with the  D-5  team Banbridge remained
silent, sipping on his port and refilling Geoff's glass when it went dry.
     "When I got back to Landreich,  that's when things started to get dicey
with Kruger."
     "How so?"
     "He's  absolutely  furious  with the Confed  and the  blockage  of  the
fighter shipment.  At least they were getting a  trickle during the war, but
the  peace  commission has shut  off  any  further  shipments of war-related
supplies.
     "I tell you, Wayne, those colonials are  absolute masters at cobbling a
fleet together and keeping it flying. What they're having an impossible time
getting  through  legitimate  channels are the  latest high  tech  fighters,
electronics, and ship to ship missiles."
     "Legitimate channels?"
     Geoff laughed.
     "They're  still getting  some interesting equipment, but don't  ask  me
how."
     Banbridge nodded and smiled.
     "Spare parts  they  get from  cannibalizing, patching,  and  making do.
They've even produced their own heavy fighters, by taking obsolete three-man
patrol ships and jacking on the most god  awful bizarre engines  you've ever
seen. Anyone who flies them  deserves a medal of honor just  for turning the
engines on.
     "Now for frontier raiding, dealing with Kilrathi colonial  guard forces
or even light raiding fleets they could teach us a thing or two . But if the
main battle  fleet  ever  hits through there,  every planet in the Landreich
will be glowing and Kruger knows it. By heavens,  Wayne, the way he swore at
you, the Chief of Staff and Rodham were a thing to behold."
     "Will he stick with us though when the time comes?"
     "Only as far  as Landreich interests  are  concerned. Frankly, I  think
he'd be happy if the Confederation and the  Empire blew each  other the hell
apart and the colonials were the only ones left."
     "I just bet that old bastard does," Banbridge said with  a smile. "He's
the most amazing pain  in  the  butt I've ever  known, and also  one  of the
best."
     "When  do you  want me  to  go back out?" Tolwyn  asked.  "I think it's
crucial that if things  go bad that  I'm out there with  him. I know he sees
through  this  little  court  martial  game I  went  through. He  knows  I'm
operating  covertly for the Chief of Staff and intelligence, and  I guess he
sort of likes me as a result."
     "That's part of the  reason you got picked for the  assignment, I had a
gut feeling he'd see you as a bit  of a renegade, and  your  fighting record
was sure to impress him."
     Geoff nodded and was silent. There was  nothing really to  be said.  He
had  been  asked to volunteer for the assignment, to  deliberately provoke a
court martial offense, to seek a dishonorable discharge in order  to go into
covert operations. It had  destroyed  his reputation, making him a pariah in
his  own service, except for the half dozen or  so people who were in on the
secret.  If his  old mentor and friend had asked him to kill himself for the
good of the service he would not hesitate.
     "I do have one question that's troubling me though," Geoff finally said
and he hesitated for a moment.
     "What about Project Omega?"
     Banbridge looked over at Tolwyn in surprise.
     "Son, you were  never cleared to  know that.  Damn, if I had  known you
were on the in on Project Omega  I'd never have  let you go running off with
Tarawa the way you did. You aren't supposed to know anything about it."
     Tolwyn smiled.
     "But I do, and don't ask me how."
     Banbridge nodded.
     "Still being  supported  through black funds. This project  Rodham does
know  about, but no one else  in the cabinet has been cleared. He  agreed to
keep it going, I guess  in part as  a lever to force  the Chief into signing
the armistice. Rodham thinks Omega is our ace in the hole."
     "And how close is it to completion?"
     Banbridge shook his head.
     "A hell of a lot of snags, six months before we could even fire up  the
engines on the first ship, a year more likely, though the  conservatives are
saying eighteen months is a safe bet."
     Tolwyn shook his head at the news. There was something ironic about the
war that  he felt an outside observer would find  amusing. The Kilrathi  had
gone through incredible expense and effort to start the secret building of a
new class of carriers, if indeed what flimsy information intel had been able
to dig up so far was true. The  Confederation was  doing  the same thing. It
was  not  so much a  super carrier  along the  lines  of suspected  Kilrathi
design,  but  more  a Stealth,  heavily  armored  battlewagon with  upgraded
shielding that was proof  against  medium-yield antimatter  warheads.  There
were rumors as well of a  super weapon to be  carried on the  new  ship, but
that was an even darker secret. They  were still a dream, however, and would
have no  impact on this war, hidden like the Kilrathi construction yard,  as
far as possible from the battle front.
     "Any word yet from Tarawa?"
     Banbridge shook his head.
     "Silent,  though forward listening posts have picked up orders  pulling
several cruisers off from patrol on the frontier to head back in towards the
sector Tarawa and Normandy are operating in. It might be a coincidence."
     "I don't believe in coincidence, the Cats must be on to something."
     "That's what I thought as well."
     "Wish I was back out there with them," Tolwyn whispered.
     "Bondarevsky's a good man. If he's in a scrape he'll figure away out."
     Geoff nodded in agreement. Jason had become  like  the son he had lost.
If Reggie had not been killed twenty years ago he'd even be Jason's age.
     "When do you want me to go back out to Landreich?"
     "The Chief of  Staff wants to hear  a full briefing  from  you tomorrow
morning," Banbridge paused to look over at his computer screen.
     "Speaking  of the old  man, there's a staff meeting in ten minutes. Why
don't you stay here, I'll have my  aide get a meal into you, and for heavens
sake, Geoff, let's see if we can get you some better clothes."
     Tolwyn nodded in agreement.  He  felt absolutely ridiculous wearing the
coveralls of a civilian maintenance worker,  and the  beard he had  grown on
the way back from Tarawa  was itchy  as all hell. It was a convenient enough
cover  for  him  to  slip  through  the  underground  parking  lot  of fleet
headquarters. Once  he was inside, a  Marine security team  had  ushered him
down a private corridor the rest of the way to Banbridge's private quarters.
He rubbed his chin.
     "Wish I could shave this off."
     "You do look kind of ridiculous, Geoff."
     Banbridge stood up and grabbed his attachù case.
     "What's the meeting about?"
     "Always curious, aren't you?"
     Tolwyn smiled. "Working with Vance kind of rubs off on you."
     "That damn Kilrathi ambassador asked for a  meeting  with the Chiefs of
Staff  and  some of  our fleet  admirals.  He's  screaming over  a  list  of
grievances about border  violations by military  patrols, and incidents from
the Landreich are top on the list. So just lay low here, there's bound to be
some press trying to sneak around, and if they ever saw you, there'd be hell
to pay."
     Geoff  shook  hands with  his  old  academy  instructor  and  smiled as
Banbridge headed out the door.
     Banbridge paused and looked back at Geoff.
     "You've done damn good, son; I'm proud of you," and then he was gone.
     The aide  came  in a minute  later and  offered to  lay out  some fresh
clothes while Geoff took a shower, an offer he eagerly agreed to after weeks
in space, surviving the usual water rationing of one minute  showers. As  he
walked  past the  small bedroom  he  saw Kevin stretched out  on top  of the
sheets, fast asleep.
     "Didn't even bother  to eat, sir," the steward whispered. "He stretched
out and was asleep like a baby inside of a minute."
     "It's been a tough time. Geoff said quietly.
     Closing the door of the bathroom he peeled off the grungy coveralls and
stepped into the hot stream of water.
     He didn't so much hear  it as feel it, a vibration slamming through the
building.  He  turned  the shower off and from  a  far-off distance  heard a
klaxon. Not bothering to towel off he pulled his coveralls on and opened the
door. Banbridge's aide was standing alert  by the  entry into the  admiral's
quarters and to Geoff's surprise had  a  laser  pistol up and at the  ready.
Kevin came out of the bedroom, already up and alert and Geoff could see that
the klaxon had triggered him into thinking that there was a scramble alert.
     "Stay where you are, sirs," the  steward snapped, holding his free hand
back for them to remain still. "Something's going on."
     Geoff  felt defenseless,  dressed  in  nothing  more  than oil  stained
coveralls. He knew the aide, besides being Banbridge's personal steward, was
also a highly trained Marine commando. He'd  have to leave things up to him.
The  aide  quietly spoke into  a  small  lapel  mike,  receiving orders  and
information back through a tiny earphone.
     What seemed  to be an  eternity passed  and then he saw the man visibly
pale, right hand clenching tight around the pistol grip.
     The aide looked back at Geoff.
     "Sir. Admiral Banbridge, the Chief of Staff, and we don't know how many
other officers are dead. The entire top floor of the building has been blown
apart."
     "Merciful God," Geoff whispered, bowing his head.
     "I'm going to keep you secure right here,  sir. We have had an incident
and we don't know what the hell is going on yet."
     An incident, Geoff  thought. Most of the fleet's top  command were most
likely dead and it's called an incident.

     "Hunter, break off, break off!"
     Ian switched off his visual and audio back to Bannockburn. The order to
abandon  Paladin  was  simply  too  hard to  stomach. The wave  of  Kilrathi
fighters was now less  than  five thousand  clicks  off and closing in fast,
their maneuvering scoops popped wide open to break after the  high speed run
in from the cruiser that had  launched them. There was a slim chance that he
might be able to pop off the two fighters on the forward  left edge of their
sweep, thereby punching a hole through for Paladin to follow.
     He could imagine that Paladin was swearing a blue streak at the moment,
but to hell with him if he didn't want to be saved.
     Ian  turned in towards  the approaching  fighters, toggled up  his  IFF
missiles and dumped them off in a long range spread to  stir things  up. The
missiles leaped  forward  and several of the  approaching  Kilrathi fighters
pulled into sharp turns. As soon as the  tail of the nearest one was exposed
Hunter  fired  off an  infrared  tracker  which instantly  locked on  to the
fighter's engines which were glowing white hot from the high speed approach.
The missile slammed up the exhaust nozzle of the fighter and detonated.
     First kill of the new war, he thought grimly.
     Within seconds the fight was on. several Dralthi fighters  peeling  off
to swing  in on  Hunter,  while the forward edge of  the strike, six Grikath
fighters, pushed straight on towards Bannockburn. Paladin let loose with his
remaining salvo of flechettes and  then toggled  off a battery of  IFFs from
his gatling mount missile launcher. Space was a mad confusion of  explosions
and Ian pulled a tight turn to try and shake off an  incoming infra tracker,
firing off  a  flare, which the  missile  went  for,  detonating silently  a
kilometer behind him.
     A Grikath  shot  directly across his starboard bow and with a perfectly
timed  deflection Ian nailed him solidly amidships  and turned inside of the
Cat,  firing three more rapid mass driver rounds into the Grikath which blew
apart.
     He  spared  a  quick  glance at his tactical  display and saw that  the
Kilrathi cruisers were spread out into  an open sweep, coming up behind  the
wave of fighters in case there was anything still to be finished off. Behind
them more than a dozen patrol  craft and a light frigate were coming in as a
second wave, while  from  the other  direction half a dozen patrol corvettes
were closing,  pushing  Bannockburn into the  trap.  A wave of  fast  moving
fighters was moving ahead, above, and below to close the trap.
     With  a sickening finality he realized the futility of the  gesture  he
had just offered. The game was up. He switched back on to Paladin's channel.
     "Not looking good, buddy."
     "Hunter, break free, make the run, I'll provide support."
     "Like hell, they're on me, now run for it and get that damn information
out, otherwise this whole thing is useless."
     "Hunter, damn it, get the hell . . ."
     "I think its the other way  around, buddy, I'll cover you, now  run for
it. When  you get to  the Vacuum Breathers buddy, lift  the first round  for
me."
     "Hunter!"
     He  punched ahead of Bannockburn, moving to break up the forward screen
so Paladin could slip through
     A spread of half a dozen missiles leaped forward from the next Kilrathi
attack group, the new  IFF and radar trackers. Ian swallowed  hard and keyed
up his own transponder to draw the missiles in.
     The warbling tone in Ian's head set clicked to a steady hum, increasing
in  pitch.  The incoming  were all locked on to his ship. He pulled up hard,
leading the missiles away from Bannockburn.
     "Pop out, Ian!"  Paladin shouted, and  then there was  another voice on
the radio.
     "Green two, Green two, this is Green one, strike on the way."
     Ian started to reach down  to  pull the ejector  D ring when  he saw  a
fighter lining up to hit Bannockburn from above.
     He dropped the ring, lined up  on  the target and toggled  off the  one
missile strapped beneath his fighter.  Even as  it streaked away he knew the
game had  finally caught up with him at last.  He bit down hard on his cigar
and closed his eyes.
     Six Kilrathi IFF's impacted across the stern of  Ian  Hunter St. John's
Ferret.

     Jason leaned  over  the  tactical  display  on the screen, watching  as
Normandy launched her fighters. Already one of the cruisers was turning back
around as he cleared the north pole of  the planet at an  altitude  of three
hundred  clicks,  just  barely skimming above  the  edge of  the atmosphere,
accelerating fast.
     If only  I  had a full  bay of fighters, he cursed silently, we'd swamp
them under. Normandy had already launched her full load of fighters, twenty,
and Doomsday along with two other pilots had taken  out  the remaining three
fighters in  his own bay. He could already sense that this was going to he a
ship-to-ship action and he didn't  relish the idea of facing  a cruiser head
on with a light escort carrier.
     "Knew you wouldn't leave me in the lurch, laddie."
     Paladin's wavery image appeared on the screen.
     "You certainly brought along enough company, Paladin."
     "Aye, that I did. Get ready for a coded burst, unscramble it and you'll
see why."
     Seconds  later the signal  came through  and  Jason turned to watch his
communications officer decode it.  He started to see the holo  read out  and
turned to one of his watch officers.
     "Get down that corridor fast and tell those gorillas  guarding the door
to send Vance up here on the double!"
     "Fighters are breaking  off from attack on  Paladin, returning to cover
cruiser," the combat information officer announced, looking back at Jason.
     They  must have detected the burst signal and  realized we're  carrying
the football now, Jason thought.
     "I already  got  it on our system," Vance said, coming on to the bridge
and Jason realized that  with the  gear down  in the fighter bay Vance would
already know.
     "Look  at the size of those damn ships," Jason whispered, and he looked
back at Vance who was intently studying the screen.
     "Should we send the signal?" Vance asked.
     Jason looked back at the holo. Their cover was fully blown now. He knew
that was the end  result the moment he made the decision to come up and save
Paladin. He knew as well that if Paladin had come back empty-handed he would
be  in  very hot  water  for  having blown the mission cover just  to save a
friend. But then again it was extremely difficult to argue with success, and
his decision would now be viewed as the right move  and the personal reasons
for Paladin and Ian forgotten.
     The Kilrathi already had  a visual lock  on  his  ship.  Within seconds
they'd known the type and model and  would  quickly figure out it was Tarawa
with Normandy right  alongside.  The  antenna  array atop his  carrier would
definitely tip  them off as well as to the mission  of his ship. If  not for
the information they had,  it would be a diplomatic explosion. There  was no
sense  in  giving  the  Kilrathi  the  first  jump  on  that front.  If  the
information was  released  after the Kilrathi started  screaming  about  the
border violation the  information might be dismissed  as an attempt to cover
up.
     "Send it out now," Jason said.
     "Good decision, son," Vance said with a grin and he turned back towards
the flight deck. A  minute later Jason noticed the momentary flicker in  the
ship's- battle lighting as  the translight burst signal went out, repeated a
minute later by a second burst for good measure.
     All  three cruisers had now come about and were closing in, the ranging
indicator  marking down the  rapid  drop in  range. The  forward  spread  of
Normandy's fighters closed with  the  Kilrathi  fighters launched  from  the
cruiser and the fight was on. The edge on skill  was  clearly on the side of
the colonial and ex-fleet  pilots, deployed out to take on the heavy cruiser
and its lighter escort.
     One of the cruisers, however, pushed on through and Jason felt the cold
sweat start to streak down his back as he sat on the bridge, waiting for the
Kilrathi cruiser batteries to open up. He  had never fought a  carrier  in a
head  to head engagement  and he longed for a  joystick and throttle, rather
than the cumbersome relaying of orders.
     The first volley of missiles  spread  out  from the lead cruiser,  even
while  the second one in  line  exploded  from the  direct  hit of a torpedo
spread from a Broadsword.
     We've  got four  incoming  warheads,"  the  combat  information  center
officer announced, "blowing chaff, flares, and radar noise makers."
     "All weapons fire," Jason announced, struggling to keep his voice calm.
     Mass  driver cannon  mounted forward went  into  action,  a  volley  of
torpedoes leaping out from  the forward launch tubes.  The range was below a
hundred kilometers and closing.
     "Helm ten degrees  to port, fifty  degrees down."  He started a curving
turn downwards and then countered  the order,  bringing his carrier straight
back up towards the underside of the rear cruiser.
     "Torpedo attack  diverting," combat  information announced,  "regaining
lock on Normandy."
     Several Kilrathi fighters raced across his  bow, dropping missiles, the
weapons impacting on the forward shield.
     "Normandy's in trouble!"
     Jason  turned  to  look back at his  communications  officer  and  then
toggled over to a damage display of his sister ship.
     A  torpedo from the first  spread impacted on his  sister  ship's  bow.
Forward  shielding  was  gone.  Two  colonial fighters on  close  in  escort
maneuvered  and rammed  two of the next spread of  torpedoes coming out from
the Kilrathi cruiser while Normandy fired a spread in return.
     The torpedoes crossed each other's paths and seconds later Normandy and
the  enemy  cruiser  fireballed, the two ships so close  that  the explosion
merged into one vast expanding cloud of white hot flame.
     A colonial  fighter  came  through the wreckage, spinning  wildly.  The
pilot, however,  was still  able to  maintain some control and  he aimed his
craft straight in at the cruiser in front of Jason. Punching on afterburners
the modified Ferret slammed straight into the Kilrathi bridge.
     "Damn,"  Jason whispered. Within  seconds he  had  seen three  colonial
pilots go kamikaze.
     The enemy cruiser started to rupture along its bow, internal explosions
detonating off from the blow. Half a dozen fighters swung  in  front of  the
cruiser, matching speed so as to hover, and ignoring the defensive fire they
poured  mass driver  rounds into the  ruptured  hull. The cruiser started to
disintegrate,  mass driver rounds  punching  clean through the  hull and the
ship detonated, taking another colonial fighter with it.
     The explosion from Normandy  was still spreading out and Jason realized
he had just under twenty strike craft out  there, some of them still engaged
in eliminating  the rest of the fighters, others  moving  forward to provide
cover for Bannockburn, or pursuing the light corvettes and patrol craft.
     Jason left the bridge and headed down  the corridor to the fighter bay,
stopping before the ever  present guards and waiting impatiently  until they
brought Vance out.
     "I want  your  gear  torn  up  and  moved out  of  the  way for fighter
recovery," Jason said.
     "What?"
     "You heard me,  Admiral.  I've got twenty fighters out  there, some  of
them undoubtably hurt and I plan to recover them."
     "Jason,  it'll  take days to  disassemble  the D-5. Most of  it is hard
wired into the floor."
     "I'm sorry,  sir, I don't  have  days, for some of those ships  I might
only have minutes. D-5 has to be moved."
     Vance started to bristle.
     "Son, there's billions of  dollars' worth of equipment in there. Enough
money to buy  a couple of  hundred fighters.  Tell your pilots to eject  and
we'll pick them up."
     "I'm sorry, sir,  that's  not  the way it's  going  to  be.  Those  are
colonial fighters and  I'm  not  going  to  go back and  tell Kruger that we
ditched them to save a surveillance computer which has already done its job.
Beyond that, if we don't have those fighters  for the run back home, I don't
think we'll  make it.  We've put  a  real burr in  the ear  of the Cats  and
they'll want our hides as vengeance. This is going to be a running fight all
the way home."
     "Listen, son, I hate to pull  rank, but I  think you  should know I'm a
full admiral in the fleet."
     "I know that, sir, but I am captain of this ship."
     Vance looked at  him appraisingly  and after a  brief span  of seconds,
which to Jason seemed like an eternity,  a thin smile creased  Admiral Vance
Richards' face.
     "Aye aye, sir. I'll have a landing area cleared."
     Jason inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
     "Thank you, sir," and he headed back to the bridge.
     "Message for you, sir."
     Jason nodded and went over  to the communications  officer and saw that
Paladin had established a laser link.
     "Thanks, laddie."
     Jason sensed that something wasn't right.
     "Are you all right?"
     Paladin nodded and then lowered his head for a second.
     "Jason. Ian's gone."
     Jason felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He stood silent
     "I told  the lad to run for it, he stayed  to  get me out instead. They
burned him with a missile spread meant for me."
     "Damn it all to hell," Jason whispered.
     "Aye, lad, damn all of it," Paladin sighed.
     There was a moment of silence and then Paladin finally stirred.
     "By the way, did you get the message out?"
     "On its way."
     "I think the old  proverbial  manure is about to hit  the fan when that
arrives."
     "It's only  just started,"  Jason replied  coldly, remembering the holo
display of  the new Kilrathi  carriers. He  realized that  chances were they
might  already  be heading to Earth. The armistice  was a fraud as he always
knew it was, and  by falling for it, the Confederation  might very well have
lost the war. But for the moment it was hard to think  of  that. He had just
lost one of his closest friends and that was all that he could grasp.

     "Sire, there has been an accident."
     Jukaga  looked  up  from  his  desk  at  the  aide who was  bowed  low,
trembling.
     "Go on."
     "Sire, we've just  received a burst signal  that the Emperor's personal
cruiser suffered a reactor detonation, and that all aboard are lost."
     "Oh, really, how tragic."
     The aide looked up at him, confused by his tone.
     "You are dismissed," and he turned away, barely able to hide a flashing
of  teeth in satisfaction. So it had  worked as  planned.  Getting a reactor
fuel tube aboard, with the tiniest of pinholes  drilled into  it, had been a
chore. The fuel rod had been a trick thought up years ago, the idea being to
have  smuggler  craft carry  it into the frontier region and  sell them off,
with the hope that the rods would eventually wind up on Confederation ships.
The rod would then rupture in the white hot heat of the pulse engine reactor
and cause a chain reaction detonation. The idea never worked, but  he always
remembered where  they were stockpiled while everyone else  forgot.  It  had
taken  a little  maneuvering  of computer shipping files to  get it into the
right place, knowing that the Emperor's ship  never  left Kilrah without  an
entirely new load of rods on board.
     He smiled. Yes, that had been masterful, and it helped when one of your
own deep agents worked on ship maintenance. Fortunately, the poor fool never
even really knew what he was doing, which made the plan leak-proof.
     A  moment later there  was  a  flurry  of  angry roars  in the corridor
outside. As he stood up the door slammed open.
     Prince Thrakhath strode into the room.
     Baron Jukaga knew that in spite of all his effort  at  self-control his
mane was bristling with fear. He struggled to bring it under control.
     "Surprised to see me?" Thrakhath growled.
     Jukaga stood, speechless and then finally recovered.
     "I just heard of the tragedy, the Emperor?"
     Better than you had hoped for," Thrakhath snarled.
     "Whatever  do you mean, my Prince?" Jukaga  replied, angry with himself
that there was the slightest of tremors in his voice.
     "That is for you to figure out," Thrakhath stated coldly.
     "I don t understand what you are moving towards.
     Thrakhath  stood  silent,  eyeing  him  coldly. He could  see the Baron
regain  his self control. What  was  enraging was the  simple fact  that the
Emperor, through intuition  or information had suspected that his ship would
be destroyed, but as to how it would be done they had never figured out, and
still did not know and most likely never would. His only real  hope had been
to  so  startle  the  Baron  as  to  make  him  say  something  foolish  and
incriminating  and that, Thrakhath could  already see,  had failed.  It  was
obvious  now that the Baron will claim that he was being blamed unjustly. If
directly accused, the other clans might very well rally to his side  as they
had once before after Vukar.
     Thrakhath snarled angrily, seeing that his bluff had failed.
     Thrakhath, still glaring at Jukaga, waited for him to speak.
     "What  are these  two reports I  just  received," Jukaga finally  said,
motioning to his comm screen. "regarding a bombing on Earth and that the spy
ship was located too late before it sent a burst signal out?"
     "It means that we have to move for war now."
     "That is madness," Jukaga snapped,  regaining his full composure.  "The
plan called for another four and a half eight-of-eights of days."
     "Impossible now,"  Thrakhath replied. "Many of  the humans are  already
blaming us for the bombing, and with the  information regarding our fleet it
means a renewal of war."
     Thrakhath smiled.
     "And an end to your weak scheming."
     "What is the truth about this bombing?" Jukaga asked coldly.
     "Oh, undoubtedly one of their own did it and then will blame it  on us.
Perhaps the attempt on the Emperor can be linked to it."
     Jukaga hesitated.
     "They would never do that, kill  their  own military leaders like that.
There's more to it than that."
     "Are you accusing me?" Thrakhath snapped.
     Jukaga looked at him coldly but knew it was best to back off.
     "And  how did this signal get out? We suspected the carrier was in that
system and we  knew that  their scout ship was running back towards  it. How
could  this  have  happened? There should have  been  a carrier  and  a full
cruiser squadron there."
     "And are you  accusing me of a fault in that  as well?" Thrakhath asked
quietly.
     "You  don't understand at all, do you?" Jukaga finally replied.  "If we
had  but waited  the year,  they  would have fallen into our hands, weak and
divided. Now, they will feel nothing but rage  at a betrayal of their trust,
they will fight with a fanaticism you have never seen.
     "Remember I warned  your father and uncle  of this back  when  the  war
started and they so foolishly decided to open with a surprise attack."
     "Then it is your job to disarm them of this fanaticism, and if you fail
and they do not submit . . ."
     "Then what?" Jukaga snarled
     "I will annihilate  their worlds and no one will be left alive, no one,
and you will be responsible."


        CHAPTER NINE


     "Show that transmission from Tarawa on the main holo."
     "Big Duke" Grecko, the Marine general of the Joint  Chiefs and the only
survivor of the explosion, settled back painfully in his chair. Geoff Tolwyn
looked over at him anxiously. The bleeding  from the lacerations to his back
and neck had soaked through the bandages and his shirt, staining the khaki a
dark red. Geoff wanted to say something but knew it was useless.  Grecko was
a Marine, and would bite the head off of anyone who tried to show sympathy.
     The wonder of it was that Grecko had survived at all. He had walked out
of  the meeting with  the  ambassador in disgust,  threatening to resign his
commission, and was down the far end of the corridor when the bomb went off.
The explosion  had  ripped  Grecko's  left arm off.  Fortunately  it  was an
artificial arm which had replaced the one lost at Vukar and the plasti  limb
absorbed the  blow from a  shattered support pillar  which would have killed
anyone else.
     Grecko started  to move his shoulder, as if the lost limb was  still in
place, swore vehemently and then clumsily used his right hand to scratch his
neck.
     "I'd leave that  alone, sir,  there's still some  shrapnel in  you," an
attentive medic standing behind Grecko said.
     "I  didn't ask  for your advice,  son, and besides  I don't think  your
security clearance allows you to be in here, so get the hell out."
     "I've got my orders  to stay  with you,  sir, until you  report to  the
hospital."
     Grecko looked to the Marine guard standing at the door.
     "Sergeant, either  escort  this pest out of  here or shoot him, I don't
care which."
     Geoff smiled sympathetically at the  medic, who  looked flustered as he
left the room, mumbling that all Marines were nuts.
     "Nothing  a  good shot of  whiskey  and a couple  of minutes  with  the
tweezers can't cure," Grecko snapped, still scratching his neck.
     The holo screen in  the middle of the room activated and Grecko studied
it intently for a long silent minute.
     He picked up a secured phone and punched in a number.
     "Mr.  President, this is Grecko, are  you still in  the  building, sir?
Good, I think you need to come to my office at once," and hung up.
     He looked back at Geoff.
     "We re really in the barrel this time,  Geoff. Are  you  sure that this
stuff Vance just sent is the real goods?"
     "I wasn't there when  he got the data,"  Tolwyn replied, "but you  know
Vance even better than I do,  sir. He wouldn't have  sent  it  if it  wasn't
genuine." Grecko nodded grimly.
     "We've got  five  admirals  and  seven  generals  dead  in  the  morgue
downstairs,  a hundred and thirty one  other  key personnel  gone as well, a
military half dismantled and now this," and he viciously pointed at the holo
as if it were something he could vent his rage on.
     Grecko shook  his head  wearily and Tolwyn  could see that the man  was
struggling to control the  pain, both physical  and emotional. Geoff felt it
as well. He had just lost his old mentor and one  of his closest friends and
many other comrades whom he had served with through the years.
     "How does this all fit together?" Grecko asked.
     "The armistice, I think we had that figured from the beginning," Tolwyn
replied.  "Now  we  know  it was  to buy  time so they could reorganize  and
concentrate  on finishing their  super carriers. They  know that we now know
and I guess that's  where this  bomb plot figured in, to decapitate our high
command, sow confusion and then strike hard straight at Earth."
     "How long before that fleet could get here?"
     "If they were fully ready  to  move, flank  speed could put them across
the Empire in twelve, fourteen days. From the frontier to Earth, another ten
days. Even if we  had full resistance up, I  think  those carriers could cut
through  inside  of two  and a  half weeks  from  the  time they  cross  the
demilitarized zone. Remember, just before the armistice we wargamed that one
out,  the assumption of a surprise attack  with our  own defenses down. With
these new carriers, it doesn't look good at all, sir."
     Grecko exhaled noisily.
     "According to what  Banbridge briefed me on just this  morning, it'd be
at least four months  to  bring  the  fleet  back up  to full  pre-armistice
strength.
     "Damn all to hell," he snapped.
     The  door to  the  small conference  room  opened  and President Rodham
stepped in, followed by Foreign Secretary Jamison.
     Grecko stood  up  as did  Tolwyn. Geoff still found the  nickname  "Big
Duke" amusing  since Grecko barely stood over five two. His  pugnaciousness,
however, more than made  up  for his  shortness and more than one Marine  or
fleeter had found himself on his back after making a comment.
     "How  are  you doing,  Duke?"  Rodham  asked,  looking  at  the  Marine
general's torn and empty sleeve in surprise.
     "Nothing like getting shot in a plastic arm. Didn't hurt a