estitution will be  paid to the families of those  killed in the  incident.
Admiral  Tolwyn  has  been  dishonorably  discharged  from  the  service  in
punishment."
     "Does that mean that he will now commit Zu'kara?"
     "Zu'kara?"
     "How do you say it?" Vak'ga rumbled.  "Yes, ritual suicide in atonement
for an act of shame to ones hrai, I mean family."
     "That's  not  our  way, Banbridge  replied coldly.  "And  besides,  the
carrier he was attacking  had also launched a strike after the armistice and
Tolwyn could be justified in his action by acting in self-defense. Good God,
Ambassador, we've logged more than a hundred such incidents during the first
day, and hundreds more since. Shutting off thirty years of war is not easy."
     "So that is it?" Vak'ga snapped. "He is simply told to  go away with no
further punishment?  With us, for such a crime, he would not even be allowed
the glory of Zu'kara,  his throat  would be  slit and  his body  hung by its
heels like a prey animal."
     Banbridge bristled.
     "I'm sure  that  would be  the case for you," he finally  replied,  the
sarcasm in his voice evident. "As for Geoff Tolwyn, losing the fleet and his
rank is the worst punishment  imaginable. After all  it  was the only family
he'd had for the last twenty years."
     He  knew that the Ambassador  was most  likely aware that Tolwyn's wife
and boys had been killed in a raid; most of the holo news reports had played
on  that  theme as  a  motivation for his  spectacular career and  his final
downfall.
     "I lost my family too," Vak'ga snarled, "or didn't you know that?"
     Banbridge nodded but said nothing.
     The Ambassador turned as if to leave.
     "Mr. Ambassador, one question before you go."
     "Yes?"
     "The issue  of  POW  exchange. A  full  accounting  within  twenty four
standard days  was promised  on  the day the armistice was  signed.  We have
fully complied and you have not."
     "For us  it is no issue," the Ambassador replied. "Anyone  who  allowed
himself to  be captured has lost all honor, he is sa'guk, one who is already
dead to his hrai. We  do  not care.  I do  not  see why it is  of such great
concern to you."
     "Because it is,  damn  it,"  Banbridge  snapped. "We've  lived  by  the
agreement on every  point. You are  already dragging your  feet. I  demand a
full reporting of all POWs immediately."
     "Demand? We demanded the head of Tolwyn and you slap his wrist and send
him away. We demanded the suppression of your raiders based on your frontier
worlds and an  apology from the Firekka for their belligerent statements.  I
will not listen to demands from you in turn on such trivial things."
     He turned and strode from the room.
     War was a hell of a lot easier," Banbridge said darkly.

     Jason looked up from his drink as Hunter came into the Vacuum Breathers
Bar.
     The "Vacuum Breather" was one  of the favorite watering holes  just off
the main military base on the moon. It had an  old tradition that any patron
who  had breathed  vacuum,  that is experienced the hulling of his ship, and
survived, received an honorary beer mug with his name on it. The far well of
the  bar  was  lined with  hundreds of  mugs. The first beer of the day  was
always free for such an honoree when  he came in and his mug was pulled down
from the rack.
     Gallagher,  the  owner  of  the bar, was legendary for  his love of the
service. He  was  an  old  fleet lifer with over thirty years service before
retiring, thus his "boys and girls" as he called them,  were almost like his
own family and he was always ready to loan an extra twenty, or stand a  free
round.
     "Any luck?" Ian asked, pulling his mug down  from the back of the  room
and coming back  to settle  in by  Jason  and Doomsday. The barkeep came up,
took the mug, filled it and slid it back to Ian who nodded his thanks.
     Sighing, Jason shook his head. Jobs, at the moment, were scarcer then a
good  bottle  of  Firekka  Firewater.  There'd  been  a  lead  that  an  old
Victory-class transport,  a ship that was already out of  date  when  it was
mass produced in  the first years  of the war,  needed a co-pilot and flight
engineer. When he  showed up at the  office he already knew it was hopeless.
At  least a hundred others were there to apply, a  few of  them old comrades
that he hadn't seen since his days on Gettysburg. It was a great reunion but
no  job,  the slots filled by the former  captain of a frigate and her first
officer who  were  willing to take pay fifty percent below standard.  If  it
wasn't for forty/one hundred benefits þ one hundred a week for forty weeks þ
and free housing in former barracks and training centers, nearly everyone in
the fleet would be starving to death.
     "How about you?"
     "Same story," Ian said with a sigh as he settled down to the bar beside
him.
     "I always knew it'd come to this end," Doomsday said quietly, and Jason
groaned
     "Damn  it, man, for years all I've  heard you prophesy is that  the war
was going to kill you. You've got eight  campaign ribbons, a medal of honor,
two  silver stars, the Vegan  victory  Award  with  diamonds,  half a  dozen
fighters shot out from under you and how many kills was it?"
     "I lost count after sixty."
     "And never  a  damn scratch," Jason  said. "Besides that you cleaned us
all out in that poker game last night. You're the luckiest damn pilot in the
fleet and the most depressing."
     Doomsday sighed, mumbled softly in Maori, and motioned for another beer
for himself and for Ian who nodded a thanks.
     "And I lose all my hard won earnings buying you guys drinks."
     "Well, at least we're here to drink," Jason replied, raising his voice.
     "Yeah,  great,  brother,   beer  money  for  us  all  from  a  grateful
Confederation," someone announced from the other side of the bar.
     A chorus of  sarcastic laughter echoed in the room and then fell silent
as first one, and then the rest of the patrons of  the Vacuum Breathers Club
turned and looked at the door.
     A heavily built Kilrathi filled  the entryway and though his  frame was
imposing he somehow looked a bit lost and nervous.
     "Sire!"
     "Oh god, it's  Kirha," Ian sighed,  coming to his feet  and approaching
the Kilrathi as he leaped down the steps. He started to drop to one knee and
Ian grabbed him by the shoulders.
     "Not here," he hissed, óand besides, remember I  released you from your
oath of fealty."
     "But such an oath can never be truly broken, sire," Kirha said
     "Just what the hell are you doing here? It's been years since I've seen
you, I thought  you were exchanged  or something. Why aren't  you going back
home?"
     "I  was with the first batch of prisoners to be released last  week. It
was  a sad sight, my lord. Many  did not  know where  to go, what to do, not
sure if their hrai will still recognize them. I heard I could find  you here
and thought you might know what to do."
     Ian slowly grinned.
     "You saved my  butt once, my friend,  and I must say it's a pleasure to
see you again. Come on, let's have a drink.
     Kirha came up to the  bar, looked at the chairs which  had no place for
his tail to stick through, and simply leaned against the  railing,  towering
over all the others in the room.
     "Hey, we don't serve his kind in here," the bartender growled.
     "Listen, buddy, the  war's over,  or haven't you  heard, Doomsday  said
quietly.
     "I don't care, we don't serve him."
     "Say, brother, how long you been working in this bar?"
     "A week."
     "If Gallagher, the  owner of this dive,  heard you talking like that in
his joint he'd throw you out on your butt. This Kilrathi's a friend  of ours
and that buys him a drink anywhere we are."
     "I don t care, I'm not serving him."
     Kirha looked around nervously.
     "If this will cause trouble, sire, I can withdraw."
     "Hey, Hunter,  who the hell's your buddy?" a pilot wearing the insignia
of a fighter squadron leader on his lapel shouted from the other side of the
bar.
     "You  blokes heard how Paladin  and me rescued that  Firekka princess?"
Ian replied.
     Most of the men  and women in the dimly lit  room nodded  their  heads,
laughed, and  groaned. Ian's ability  at telling stories of  his heroics was
legendary in the Vacuum.
     "Well, this is the furball that saved my butt. I'd have been dead along
with Paladin and that Firekka princess if it hadn't been for him."
     The  crowd nodded their  approval and several came  up to shake Kirha's
paw, a human ritual which he still obviously found to be disconcerting.
     Ian turned back to the bartender.
     "So serve him his damn drink."
     The man looked around nervously, and mumbled to himself.
     "What was that you said  about my Cat friend?" a pilot at the  edge  of
the group snarled.
     The bartender looked at Kirha
     "Whatya have?" he said quietly.
     "Scotch, single malt, make it a triple.
     A chorus of  laughter  echoed around the room, breaking the tension and
even the bartender forced a weak grin as  he filled the glass and pushed  it
over. Ian started to slide a bill across.
     "Sorry  about the mistake, Captain. Keep it,  it's  on the house,"  the
bartender replied and turned away.
     Kirha took the drink up, and bowed to Ian.
     "To peace between the hrai of the Kilrathi and of Humans."
     He downed  the  drink in a  single gulp  and a flash of  sharp  canines
signaled his delight. The bartender shook his head
     "I guess you're all right."
     "I've waited a long time for this drink," Kirha sighed, and Ian ordered
up another round.
     "So what do you think of all of this?" Ian asked.
     "You mean the peace agreements?" Kirha asked
     "Yeah."
     "It is, how do you humans say it, warmed leavings of a male cow."
     A ripple  of  laughter echoed around the room and  even  the  bartender
smiled
     "Why?"
     "I know of  this Baron Jukaga of  the hrai of the  Ki'ra.  They are the
most ancient of the  families, their blood  even  thicker than  that of  the
Imperial line. Their hatred of the Imperial family is well known."
     "How's that?" the bartender asked, coming over, obviously curious.
     "Before we gained space, in the Seventh Dynastic War, the family of the
Emperor gained dominance over Kilrah, defeating the Ki'ra who were forced to
swear allegiance. It surely would have become an Eighth Dynastic war, except
for the arrival of the foolish Utara."
     "The  who?" the barkeep asked, leaning against the side of  the bar and
pouring Kirha another drink.
     Kirha laughed, nodded his thanks and downed the drink in a single gulp.
     "The Utara  came to Kilrah offering  friendship, trade, and peace. They
showed us how to make spacecraft, and the secret of the jump points."
     Kirha shook his head.
     "As soon as  we gained space we slaughtered them. They were  a weak and
foolish people."
     Kirha laughed and pounded the bar as if he  had just told an hysterical
joke. His audience looked at him in silence.
     "Some thanks," Ian mumbled.
     "It's considered  quite funny by us,"  Kirha said,  looking around  the
room, still chuckling though finally realizing that his audience  wasn't all
that amused.
     "I guess you don't see the humor."
     "Maybe something got lost in the translation, mate," Ian interjected.
     Kirha nodded, looking at the bar patrons.
     "I see here, yet  again a difference between us," he finally  said. "To
us, such weakness was stupidity so pathetic that it becomes funny. I take it
you don't see it that way."
     "Something like that," a voice from the back of the room said.
     "It is why I,  and those still prisoners,  roared with laughter when we
heard you agreed  to  this  thing  you call an armistice.  It was an  act of
weakness. It will cause a loss of face for you,  a loss  of respect that you
have in some  way earned by your valiant resistance against the might of the
Empire. There is an old Kilrah saying ósteel against iron is not a testing.'
Though we hated you, and wished to overthrow you, still we  came to see that
our own courage could  be honorably tested by  matching it against your own.
That is the way of finding honor and glory.
     "Your  leaders  have thrown that away. When we  come  again, it will be
with  contempt  and  the  slaughter  will  be  brutal  beyond  your  darkest
nightmares."
     There was a stirring in the room.
     "And will you help them out, buddy?" the barkeep asked quietly.
     "I am without  hrai,  without country," Kirha said in  reply.  "I  have
sworn allegiance to Hunter; it is now impossible for me to ever go back."
     He  looked almost mournful  and  there  were even a  couple of nods  of
sympathy from the others in the room.
     "You were telling us about this Jukaga," Jason asked.
     "Ah yes, Jukaga. With the freeing from our planet  and the outward rush
to wars with races we had never dreamed existed, our own civil wars became a
thing  of the past,  for  at  last  we  had  found others to  test our steel
against. But the clan of Ki'ra  never reconciled  itself to the fact that it
was not upon the Imperial throne, seeing this as the fluke of but one battle
lost ages ago. In  Jukaga this disdain  became more  openly voiced  with the
reversals of our war  against you. That is something  I suspect your leaders
have not given full weight to."
     "How so?" Jason pressed.
     "The  fact  that it was  Jukaga who made the first overture of peace  I
find to  be surprising.  It  was not someone of the Imperial  line. It means
that he has gained enough power to actually allow the Emperor to permit  him
to be the voice of the throne.
     "It is an interesting point of balance. The Emperor must have agreed to
this peace because there was some pressure, either from your fleets, or from
the  other clans, perhaps both.  Yet if he allows  the  peace  to  continue,
without a clear cut victory, he  and his grandson the Crown Prince will fall
and Jukaga will rise to seize the throne their hrai has coveted for so long.
Jukaga must know as well  that  if he seizes  the throne, but the war is not
then immediately started, he will fall as well, for the drive  to killing is
so strong in our blood that we will quickly turn upon each other."
     "Did anyone from Intelligence ever talk to you  Cats about this?" Jason
asked.
     "Oh many times. They were  quite nice, some could  even speak Kilrah, a
wondrous and strange thing  coming from the mouth of a human. We laughed and
told them what we thought."
     "And the reports were ignored," Ian said coldly.
     "There is a game here," Kirha said, "and you humans are, how do you say
it, paki, pawns, for the power play of Jukaga. I  think  his wish is  to use
the  peace  to somehow  then  blame  the Emperor,  eliminate him,  and  then
successfully finish the war himself."
     "You sound like you don't like Jukaga."
     Kirha growled, his fur bristling.
     "He and his hrai think my coat not  red  enough,  my  blood  not  thick
enough; my own hrai is  descendent from the Ragitagha," and as he pronounced
his  clan name his teeth flashed, his mane  standing out so that he appeared
to nearly double in size and the crowd backed up  a bit, looking at him wide
eyed.
     "The Ki'ra," and  he hissed, spitting on the floor, "if they think they
can take the throne under the Baron, they must bring a great Victory. By the
blood  of my clan I promise you there will be war again and your leaders are
fools not to see it."
     "Just like Tolwyn figured it," Jason said coldly, and he heard a lot of
angry mutters of agreement.
     "Tolwyn, that  traitor,"  a voice announced from the back corner of the
room, "they should have shot the bastard"
     The room went silent, everyone turning to look at the speaker, who  sat
at a  dimly lit  table, surrounded by half a dozen men and  women who looked
around nervously. Jason could tell  instantly that  they were outsiders  and
that reaction he found to be curious. He'd been around military types for so
long a group of obvious civilians in a military bar seemed strange.
     Nearly everyone  who frequented the place now were either the few still
serving with the fleet or  ex-service, easily identified by the gold star of
the army, fleet pin, or fouled anchor pin of  a Marine on his collar.  There
was  also an  unexplainable something  else that  so easily  set the veteran
aside, a bit of a distant far away look, from having seen the far reaches of
known space, from having fought, and far too often  having seen friends die.
The six in the corner were not of the club.
     The room went quiet for a moment and Jason finally broke the ice.
     "It's a  free  Confederation, go ahead and speak up if you want to," he
announced.
     A short portly man  stood up and came over to  the bar,  followed a bit
nervously by the rest of his group.
     "Doctor Torg's the name, he said, "I didn't get yours."
     "I didn't give it, but it's Bondarevsky."
     "Oh yes,"  one of the women behind Torg gasped.  "I saw  the holo about
you. Oh, the girl you loved was just so beautiful."
     "The actress didn't look anything like her," Jason said quietly.
     "But still it was so sad," and she came up to Jason's side and actually
touched him on the shoulder and then looked back excitedly at her friends.
     Another woman in  the  group looked  at the  excited girl and shook her
head.
     "Say, Lisa, just back off a bit, OK."
     "But he's famous, Elaine."
     "I don't think he really wants the attention," Elaine replied.
     Jason nodded her a thanks and then looked back at Torg.
     "You don t like the Admiral, is that it?" Doomsday growled.
     Torg looked over at Doomsday and then turned away, ignoring him.
     "Do you know how much this war's been costing us?" Torg asked.
     "I think so," Jason said quietly.
     "Just under eight trillion a year."
     "That  wasn't  the  cost I was thinking  of," Jason replied slowly, his
voice barely a whisper.
     "The Baron  is  right.  Didn't  you  see  his  interview  on  the  holo
yesterday?"
     "We kind of missed it, Doomsday interjected, so please enlighten us."
     "Why, he said that this war was nothing but a conspiracy on the part of
the military to get power and make money. The longer the war dragged on, the
more power your admirals, generals, and military suppliers got."
     "Oh,  Baron Jukaga  said this," a pilot from the other side  of the bar
said,  "how  interesting, and  what  about  their  fleet?  I  guess  they're
innocent."
     "Why, he admitted that their fleet and military had done the same thing
too."
     "Was this holo shown in the Empire as well?" Kirha asked.
     Torg looked up at him nervously.
     "I don't know, I  guess so. He said  that a full  report would  soon be
issued by the Kilrathi-Human Friendship Committee."
     "The what?" several patrons of the bar asked in unison.
     "Why, it's just a  wonderful idea," the excited girl  announced  as she
walked to the far wall to look at the rows of silver mugs. "Doctor Torg is a
member of the committee, he's even met the Baron."
     "The  Baron is organizing a friendship committee that will provide  for
peaceful exchanges  between  our peoples," Torg said. "I  think he's  really
quite sensitive  to our culture, to a  tolerance for multicultural diversity
in the  universe, and  the rights of indigenous peoples of all races to live
in  peace.  I've even arranged for  him to  speak at my  university on Earth
about his understanding  of our literature and how to strengthen our ties of
peace."
     "Just  wonderful. I can't  wait to attend,"  Doomsday said, the sarcasm
dripping in his voice.
     "I  think  you're  being  too  narrow  minded  in  all  of this,"  Torg
announced,  looking  at Doomsday and  at  the  rest of  the patrons who were
shaking their heads.
     "Narrow minded. I hung  my hide out on the line for  over fifteen years
with the fleet and you're saying I'm narrow minded?" Doomsday snapped.
     "That's the problem  with military types like you," Torg replied with a
superior disdain. "You forget to  look at the broader issues. This war was a
lot more complicated than kill or be killed. You  military  types just don't
see the big picture, that's always been a problem throughout history. I have
my doctorate in sociology, I've made a study of this war and the  conspiracy
of a number of people to keep it going."
     "Say,  I  like these mugs up  here," the woman who had  been talking to
Jason announced,  going up  to  the  wall and taking one down.  The bar went
silent.
     "Especially the ones with the gold handle. How can I get one?"
     "You  get  killed in action,  that's how. Gallagher gilds the handle of
the mug when he  hears that the owner  bought a  permanent piece  of space,"
Jason said quietly, and the  woman looked  at him wide eyed and then  turned
pale.
     "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know."
     "That's all right," Jason replied softly.
     She came back to Torg's side.
     "Dave, maybe we should go."
     "Just a minute, Lisa."
     Come on, I think we've interfered enough here." Torg ignored her.
     "Listen, pilot, I think I  know a bit more about the complexity of this
than you do. As a  professor it's been my  job to  study and interpret these
types  of issues," Torg said.  "Just because you  got a service pin  doesn't
mean you own the Confederation. Remember the war's  over, friend, so get off
the taxpayers back, get a real job, and get a life."
     Several  chairs  were kicked  over  and Jason  held  up his hand as  if
signaling his friends not to do anything.
     "Listen, buddy," Jason  replied. "You heard what Kirha said. This whole
thing is  a  sham.  The Baron's  talking  us into laying  our  necks  on the
chopping block and  he'll be back with  the axe. In fact I think some people
in this government are so stupid they're even  helping him sharpen the blade
and drawing the line on our necks for us, and you'll be there to help them.
     "Are you saying that President Rodham and I are traitors?"
     "No, just stupid."
     "If  there's  a  traitor  around it's you  and  people like you,"  Torg
snapped. "It's time to shut the hell up and get behind the government. Those
who disagree now with Rodham are traitors.
     "I was never behind our government," Jason replied. "I was out in front
of it, laying my hide on the line. Maybe you people back here on Earth  have
forgotten what a real gut-busting war is all about.  Yeah, you've  paid your
taxes for it, bought your war bonds, and lord knows sent enough of your sons
and daughters off to die in it.
     "You're damn straight," Torg replied, "my  wife's brother got killed in
it, and more than one of my students, and for what?"
     "For  what? Listen, buddy, out  on the frontier, on the colonial worlds
we damn well knew for what. We saw it up front and up close. We knew that if
the Kilrathi  ever got  through the thin  line of fighters and  carriers our
worlds could be scorched to  a  cinder. I saw enough worlds like  that.  You
folks back here on Earth maybe have forgotten that."
     "Not  all of us," Elaine  interjected. "I want  peace, and  I'd like to
believe the Baron, but I can understand what you're saying, Captain."
     "It's Jason."
     She  smiled and Jason could sense Torg bristling  that  someone in  his
entourage was siding with the enemy.
     "Then  if you  want war so damn much, why are you  drinking  with  this
Kilrathi?"
     Jason started to laugh.
     "You just don't get it, do you?"
     "Listen, doc," a pilot said, coming up to join the argument. "If  I had
met this Kilrathi in a fight,  him and me out there in the middle of it, I'd
have killed  him without a second thought  and I bet he'd have done the same
to me."
     Kirha grinned and nodded.
     "But  that's  my duty and it was his duty. I can hate his Empire, I can
hate what it does, but I can tell you this, at least the Cats serving in the
fleet, the pilots the  crews of the ships usually fought honorably. Imperial
legion assault troops, now they're a  different breed, but not him, at least
I hope not."
     "I was with the fleet," Kirha announced proudly.
     The pilot nodded.
     "And I respect him. At least he shared the same things I did, the fear,
the months  of waiting,  the moments of  sheer terror. I have more in common
with him than I do  with armchair philosophers like  you who think you  know
about war. You professor types kill me. You think just because you get  that
Ph.D. you're God almighty and everyone  is  supposed  to  kneel and call you
doctor.  Some  of the  biggest  fools  I  ever  met when it came  to war and
politics  I usually found back in  the classrooms. You fill  your  students'
minds with a  bunch  of crap  about a  world you don't even  understand. You
don't  have a clue as to  just how nasty  the real universe is, and then you
attack those  who  are protecting you from the darkness that would rip  your
guts out if it had the chance."
     "You're just another ignorant military brute," Torg sneered.
     The pilot snapped.
     "I spent  four years  at  the Fleet  Academy and six years in  advanced
training. I have the equal of a doctorate in aerospace  engineering and nine
years of combat tours," the pilot  snapped. "As for this Kirha, I'll buy him
a drink anytime. As for you,  the damn thing is I'll die defending  you when
this war starts again, and that kind of makes me want to puke right now."
     Torg hesitated for a second, unable to reply.
     "Let's get out of here,"  Torg finally announced, looking back  to  his
friends. "There's just no sense in arguing with people like this."
     "What do you mean people like this?" Ian interjected.
     "You know what I mean."
     "No, enlighten me."
     "War mongers, that's what you are. You  get your kicks out  of it,  and
then  live high  on the hog, taking your hundred  a week pension out of  the
taxpayers like me. If I had my way, we'd have ended  this war years ago  and
then spent the money  for things that really count and not  waste it on your
high tech war toys that are good for nothing but killing."
     "I  thought freedom was worth  something," Doomsday interjected "Enough
of my friends died for it. Enough of my friends died so you  could come here
and  play tourist and  speak your piece. That's the problem with people like
you. You forget all  too  quickly just how expensive  freedom really is  and
then curse at the very  people who  gave it to you.  No  wonder  I'm  always
depressed," and he turned away.
     "Now I  know  where  I've  heard  your  name,"  Torg snapped,  ignoring
Doomsday and  looking back at Jason. "It wasn't that holo movie,  it's  that
you're  one of  Admiral Tolwyn's  hangers-on. He's just the type I'm talking
about and he  got exactly what he deserved. In fact I agree  with the Baron,
he should have been executed."
     Even as he finished speaking he realized he had overstepped his bounds.
Jason stood  up and Ian put out  his hand to restrain  him. The bar  went as
silent as a tomb.
     Torg backed away a step.
     "Come on, let's get out of here," he  snapped,  trying  to  exit with a
display of bravado and contempt and failing miserably.
     "He turned  and headed for the door and then looked back nervously over
his shoulder.
     "Elaine."
     "Go on, Torg, just get out of here. Haven't you done enough already?"
     Torg quickly went out  the  door and then started talking loudly again,
denouncing Tolwyn and the military to his followers.
     Jason turned back to the bar as Elaine came up to his side.
     "I'm sorry, Jason."
     "Why don't  you just go, he whispered,  trying to control the anger  in
his voice.
     "Jason," and she touched him on the shoulder.
     He looked over at her, shrugging his shoulder so that she drew her hand
away.
     "He's a jerk," she said
     "I'd call him something else," Kirha said, and she smiled.
     "Listen, Jason. There's always some people like him around."
     "Well, he sure seemed like one of your friends."
     She laughed softly.
     "Like hell.  He's a professor on some stupid committee  that's supposed
to look  at turning over some of the bases here on the moon to civilian use.
I'm up here on assignment to cover it."
     "A reporter?"
     "Yeah,  a writer of sorts,  my magazine wants me to do  a story on  the
project. That's how I wound up with him this afternoon."
     "Oh great, another member of the press," Doomsday mumbled.
     She laughed
     "We're  not  all idiots,"  she replied, "and what you  heard  from Torg
isn't what most  people think.  Sure, we want peace, but most  of us, myself
included, are still suspicious of this whole thing. And  I'll tell you this,
you might have your idiots  like Torg ranting and  raving on some campus and
boring the  hell  out of his  students but he's  a  joke to anyone with real
sense. Nine out of ten people are damn proud of you. My older brother put in
two tours with the Marines  till he  got invalided out and I'm proud of him.
Ordinary folks aren't big on talking about it, but they feel it inside," and
as she spoke tears came to her eyes.
     "Well, the way the papers and holo stations report it,  it doesn't seem
that way," Jason said
     "You know and I  know the full story never really gets told, and didn't
your mother ever tell you don't believe everything you read?"
     He laughed softly.
     "As a matter of fact, she did."
     Elaine smiled.
     "Look, I've got  to go," she said and then fumbled in the bag  over her
shoulder. She pulled out a  card, scribbled a  number on the back  of it and
handed it to him.
     "That's my phone number while I'm out on assignment, and the  card's my
business office. I'll be up here for a couple of more days, maybe we can get
together for a drink."
     "I'd make a great story, is that it? Ex-hero, what is he doing now?"
     "Don't be so defensive," she said quietly. "It's not that at all."
     "A pick up then, is that it?"
     "You wish," she laughed. "No, just being  a  friend.  That  jerk really
embarrassed me. Most all of us are  damned grateful for what  all of you did
in the war. A lot of us lost people we know. If we're buying the peace thing
its because we  just want the damn thing  to  stop. The offer's just being a
friend, nothing more."
     She looked at him and smiled.
     "Honestly."
     "You  know we  want it  to end too," Jason replied, "but  we want it to
stop after we know it's really over, and that we or our kids  after us don't
have to go back out and fight it all over again.'
     She nodded in reply.
     "Just a friendly  gesture on  my  part,  no strings  attached. OK?" She
extended her hand.
     "OK," and he smiled softly.
     She  shook his hand  and turned to leave and then hesitated, looking up
at Kirha.
     "So you really think its a trap?"
     Kirha nodded.
     She sighed and left the bar.
     Shaking his head Jason watched as she headed out into the main corridor
and  disappeared  around the  corner.  He had  to  admit she  certainly  was
attractive,  he always did have a thing for very slender brunettes. But then
the flash memory of Svetlana hit  him and all the old  pain came back again.
He  folded her card up and pushed  it under the coaster  for  his  beer. The
whole thing with Svetlana was still too close for him to want to even make a
try at getting involved again.
     "Think what that professor guy said is for real?" the bartender asked
     "If  so  you'd  better  learn how to  serve Vak'qu, because many of  my
former comrades will be drinking in this place once  the next  war is over,"
Kirha growled.
     "What the hell is that?"
     "It makes what you call single malt scotch look like bak."
     "Bak?"
     Kirha and Ian laughed
     "It  has something to do  with old diapers, Ian cut in. "Let's just say
Vak'qu will burn a hole right through durasteel."
     "Hey, look what  just  dragged in," Doomsday announced and to the shock
of everyone he leaped from  his seat and went  up to  greet a  short, almost
baby-faced pilot coming through the door.
     "Lone Wolf Tolwyn," Jason  shouted and  went up  to join  Doomsday in a
round of backslapping.
     At the name Tolwyn the other pilots and ex-service crowd in the bar got
up and gathered around him.
     "How's the old man taking it?" and the question  was shouted a dozen or
more times as Kevin made his  way up to the bar and  allowed Doomsday to buy
his "old life saving buddy," a drink.
     "It's been tough on him," Kevin announced quietly. "He's retired to the
family  estate  out  on  the Shetland Islands.  At least out there the press
can't get at him."
     Kevin  chatted  with  the crowd  for several  minutes  and then  caught
Jason's eye and motioned for him to break away from the group.
     As  they moved away Kevin nodded for Doomsday and Ian to join them in a
corner of the  bar. Settling down around a table which was covered  from one
end  to  the  other with carved initials and squadron insignia  Kevin looked
around at his old comrades and smiled.
     "My uncle  sent me up here on  a little, how shall  I  say,  recruiting
expedition."
     "For what?" Jason asked.
     "I  can't  tell you, because I don't even really know myself, but  he's
been calling in a  lot of his  old  comrades and  personnel to stop  by  his
estate for  a visit. He sent me out to round up some  of  you hanging around
out here at the  old base. Would you  three be willing to drop down to Earth
for a day or two?"
     "Anything the old man wants," Ian said.
     Kevin smiled.
     "There's a shuttle  leaving in  three hours and  I  took the liberty of
booking some  seats on it for you and a couple other people I'm looking for.
Transfer over to the London shuttle once you  get to Earth orbit. Touch down
and head  to gate 443, there'll be  a ground  hop waiting for you  there.  I
don't think I need  to tell you that this  little trip is very  private,  so
lets keep a secure lid on it."
     Ian suddenly frowned and looked back to the bar where Kirha was looking
over expectantly at him.
     "Got a  problem,"  Ian said  quietly and motioned to where his Kilrathi
friend was sitting.
     "What about him?"
     Kevin looked over at Kirha and smiled sadly.
     "My uncle said that poor Cat might try and look you up. I'm sorry, Ian,
security is just too tight on this."
     Ian nodded sadly.
     "Look, let's do it this way," Jason interjected. "Your family still has
that farm back in Australia. Send him there until  we finish up  whatever it
is the Admiral wants."
     Ian smiled and then reached into his wallet and pulled it out.
     Doomsday, Kevin, and Jason,  seeing the dilapidated  condition of Ian's
wallet and overall financial condition pulled out what money they had.
     "That ought to be enough to buy him a ticket. Thanks, lads."
     "Look, he can take one of my seats down to London, and then you can fly
him to Australia from there. I'll get in contact with my uncle and make sure
someone meets us at the shuttle port to take him out."
     Ian nodded his thanks.
     Kevin smiled and shook hands around the table.
     "I'll see you at Windward."


        CHAPTER FOUR

     As the London shuttle turned on final Jason found that he had to nearly
fight  with  Kirha  for a look out the window. Though he  had spent  a  year
Earthside while Tarawa was going through refit, he had never had a chance to
get to London. He was seeing precious little of it now as Kirha kept leaning
over him to look out the window.
     "Ah boys, it'll be good to hear real kings English spoken  as it should
be," Ian said.
     "Hell, you're from Australia," Doomsday replied.
     "Once  part of  the same glorious  Empire.  Look, there's  Westminster,
beyond that the Tower of London."
     "I read they  used to cut heads off  at the  Tower,"  Kirha said with a
note of admiration in his voice.
     "We kind of gave up the sport," Ian replied.
     "Too bad, I'd have  liked  to have seen the ceremony. You know it still
amazes me how you humans could beat the Empire to a standstill."
     "How's  that?" Jason asked, finally relinquishing the window  to  Kirha
and settling back in his chair.
     "I always thought that you were rather soft, not a warrior's breed,  no
claws, no fangs, no thrill at the sight and smell of blood."
     "We still get by when we have to," Doomsday said.
     "Yes, I know, most curious."
     The shuttle banked over on to final approach and Jason closed his eyes,
the turning and decelerating of the shuttle  giving him a  nostalgic longing
to be  in a  cockpit again. The shuttle touched down  smoothly and taxied to
its gate.
     When the hatch was popped the warm damp air of London filtered into the
cab and Kirha wrinkled his nose.
     "How do you breathe this? It's like inhaling water."
     "You should try  it when a spring fog rolls in," Ian replied.  The four
travelers pulled their  duffle  bags down from the overhead compartments and
went through the access tunnel into the main terminal. Kirha was, of course,
immediately  noticed.  The basic reaction, which was typical of most  people
from a  metropolitan  area, was  to  act  as if  he wasn't there, except for
lingering sidelong  stares. Several  people  displayed  open hostility,  and
Jason  was embarrassed  when an elderly man  came  up and  spit  in front of
Kirha, cursing all Kilrathi for killing his family.
     Kirha, displaying  a  remarkable  degree  of  tact,  bowed  to the man,
offered  an apology  and  then  continued  on.  As they walked down the main
corridor  of  the  shuttleport  they  passed  a booth  displaying  a  banner
announcing that  it was seeking donations for the  Human-Kilrathi Friendship
Society. At  the sight of  Kirha several members came  out  from behind  the
counter and approached him.
     "Ah, friend, so good to see you," one of them gushed.
     Kirha looked at them suspiciously.
     "How can we be friends?  We have not  been introduced, our blood  lines
unknown to each other."
     The man hesitated for a moment and then smiled.
     "Yes,  your ritual of meeting, how clumsy of me."  He bowed low. "I  am
Harrison of the hrai Harrison."
     Kirha  simply looked at him, shook  his  head,  and continued on. Jason
looked over at the booth as  he passed and saw the other members staring  at
him.
     "You'd think they'd take those service pins off  and get back to a real
life," an attractive young  girl whispered, making  sure her voice  was loud
enough so  that Jason could  hear.  He  was  tempted  to say  something  but
realized it was futile and continued on.
     A tall, slender woman with long blonde hair approached the group.
     "Captain Hunter."
     "Why, yes, that's me," Ian said with a grin. "Do we know each other?"
     "No," she said with a mischievous grin lighting her features. "I'm here
to  meet your friend and escort him to your home in Australia.  Everything's
been arranged, we have him registered and security cleared."
     "How about  if we  switch things around," Ian  replied smoothly. "Kirha
can go take care of my business and you can escort me home."
     "Not likely, sir," she said with a laugh. "Better luck next time."
     Ian shook his head and sighed, looking over at Kirha who was  evidently
distressed that his friend was leaving him.
     "I  know  I cannot  ask you  where  you are going  and why," Kirha said
softly, "but I suspect it is dangerous. May Sivar watch  over you and  guide
you through the flowing of blood till we meet again.
     Kirha went to his knees and  Ian looked around embarrassed as he pulled
him back up to his feet and then shyly hugged him
     "Take care, buddy.  I'll see you soon. While you're there, try to learn
some horseback riding, you'd like it."
     "As you command, my lord," Kirha said huskily.
     The blonde  took Kirha  by the arm, looking  a bit nervous, and she led
him down a side corridor. Ian watched them leave looking somewhat wistful.
     "Come on," Doomsday said, "you're  not getting sentimental over  a Cat,
are you?"
     "Well actually it's the blonde," Ian replied, but Jason could tell that
Ian was actually fond of Kirha and hated to see him go.
     "Damn, the sight of a Cat riding a horse," Doomsday said. "I'd pay good
money to see it."
     Walking  to the  far end  of  the  terminal, where  private  craft were
docked,  they  turned down  a side corridor and  reached their gate. A light
Zephyr trans-atmospheric transport was parked outside.
     "Hey, it's Round Top!" Doomsday cried, and he raced up to the pilot and
grabbed hold of his hand.
     "Did you  run  emotional therapy for  that  guy?" Ian asked, watching a
second display of joyful greeting on Doomsdays part in as many days.
     "I guess he got kind of attached to our pups."
     "Like hell  I'm a  pup, sir," Round Top announced,  coming  up to shake
Jason's hand
     "Excuse me, gentlemen."
     Jason  turned and saw a slender gray-haired man,  wearing a simple pair
of flight coveralls, approaching them. He looked vaguely  familiar  and then
he realized that it was Tolwyn's old steward from the Concordia.
     "Johnston, isn't it?" Jason asked, and the man nodded.
     "I think you're the last for this load," Johnston announced. "Why don't
we get aboard?"
     Jason picked his bag back up.
     "And might I  add, gentlemen, that  it'd be best, for now, to drop your
old noms de guerre."
     The group  followed  Johnston  out  the door and  scrambled  aboard the
Zephyr. Johnston secured the rear hatch and went up to the forward controls.
Putting on a headset he called in to the tower for clearance, powered up the
engines, and turned the ship to head for the  runway.  The Zephyr gained the
launch track, did a short fifty-yard roll and then nosed up, soaring up on a
sixty-degree climb.
     Ian looked around the  cabin  and  checked  over  the  half dozen other
passengers  crammed into the small plane and  realized  that several of them
looked familiar.
     "Vanderman from Tiger's  Claw, isn't it?" Ian asked,  and the old pilot
sitting across from him  on the other side of the aisle nodded and shook his
hand.
     "Hell, I thought you bought it when the Claw got it, Vanderman asked.
     "I got transferred  off on a two week furlough  the day  before she got
hit," Ian replied, a flicker of sadness crossing his features at the mention
of his old ship.
     "Luck  of  the draw  I guess," Ian mused, "if it  hadn't  been for  the
furlough I'd have died with the rest of my friends.
     "But what about  you," he asked,  forcing a smile,  "I  saw you go down
over Draga just before we pulled out."
     "I  ejected  and  made  it  down to the surface,  mostly in  one piece.
Stranded for  a couple of  years," Vanderman said, "kind of wild  and woolly
down there, with the carnivores and such."
     "I've heard of them," Ian interjected. "It was a famous hunting reserve
of the Cats and used for the old rites of coming of age."
     "Well, it sure as hell aged me," Vanderman replied,  "dodging the local
denizens and Kilrathi patrols until  a  raiding unit dropped in for  a visit
and I got picked up. I tell you it was an experience."
     With that  he  unbuttoned his  shirt  collar  and pulled out  a  chain.
Dangling from  the end  of it was a gleaming  serrated tooth several  inches
long.
     "I heard the Cats take the tooth of a nalga as a trophy. I got one with
a bow that  I made and hung on  to it, figured if I finally got captured  it
might make me look a bit better in their eyes. Actually I'm kind of attached
to it now."
     "It doesn't  look like  much of a tooth," Ian retorted.  "Why it  ain't
much bigger than my little  finger. Now on  Farnsworth's World there, you'll
get big teeth. I remember . . ."
     "The  owner  of this  little  gem's  got claws bigger  than  your arm,"
Vanderman interrupted, "and you got  your choice out of which of four  heads
to pull the tooth from.
     Ian, knowing he'd get outclassed in a tale swap, fell silent.
     The Zephyr quickly boosted up  on  a high trajectory jump, so that  the
breadth of England, from the Irish to the North Sea was clearly in view.
     The  shuttle reached apogee  over Scotland and then  started  its  long
curving descent  over the North Sea, dropping down  through a  high  bank of
dark clouds. Buffeted by the wind the shuttle bounced in  the turbulence  as
it crossed  over  the cliffs, circled  to kill speed, and  then touched down
hard, kicking on reverse thrusters and jerking to a stop.
     "Welcome to  Windward, gentlemen,"  Johnston  announced  as  he  walked
through the cabin  and unlatched the rear  hatch. "Move  quickly now,  lads,
it's a bit of a blow out there, and besides, the Admiral's waiting."
     As Jason stepped through the doorway the stinging rain lashed into him,
the  wind driving it in almost horizontally. Cursing  he grabbed hold of his
duffel  and  ran towards the dark building  barely visible  in  the  driving
storm. A portal of light showed where  a door was suddenly opened and he ran
for it.
     Sliding  on the wet paving stones he nearly fell on his backside as  he
gained the door and rushed in, almost knocking over the man holding it open.
     "Damn, what a blow," Jason said,  wiping the rain off his face and then
he realized who was holding the door open and snapped to attention.
     "At ease, Jason, remember  we're  no longer in the fleet," and Geoffrey
Tolwyn extended his hand.
     The rest of  the group  came racing  in behind  Jason  and all came  to
attention at the sight of Tolwyn who smiled and shook their hands.
     "Gentlemen, our little meeting  was waiting for your arrival. Would you
follow me?"
     He led them into a semi-darkened library room  and  Jason was surprised
to see real books made of  paper lining  the walls,  something  that had not
been produced in hundreds of years.
     "It's the  treasure of my family," Tolwyn said, "some of the volumes go
back to  an age  when England ruled  most of the  world  before the  time of
flying.  This  house is  nearly as old, and was built in the style of  manor
homes from an even earlier time."
     At the far  end of the library  a fireplace glowed, and again it caught
Jason by surprise. Wood was far too precious on his home world to be used in
such  a manner, but even as he looked at it he understood the strange almost
primal appeal of a fireplace, the smell of burning wood, and the comfortable
feeling it provided.
     Going through  a  wide double doorway, they stepped into  a  broad open
room, at the far end of which was yet another fireplace, this one big enough
to walk into. Dozens of chairs were drawn in a circle around the  fireplace,
each of them already occupied and Jason saw yet more familiar faces.
     "Hey,  it's   Sparks,"   Doomsday  announced   and  the  chief  fighter
maintenance  officer  from the Tarawa got out of  her chair and  came up  to
Doomsday, shaking his hand and then Jason's in turn.
     "It's like  old home week here,"  she  whispered, "pilots, a  couple of
maintenance officers like myself,  ship's computer officers, there's even  a
commodore of a destroyer group over there in the corner."
     "I'd like to get started," Tolwyn announced and he motioned for the new
arrivals to grab some chairs.
     Tolwyn turned  away  for a  moment and extended  his hands to the fire,
rubbing them, silhouetted by the flames and Jason felt a flash memory of the
hangar deck  of  Tarawa on fire. He closed his eyes and pushed  the  thought
aside,  knowing  that it'd be back again tonight, one  of the  worst of  the
recurring nightmares.
     "To start with the  old  familiar line. I  guess you're wondering why I
invited you all here tonight."
     The group laughed politely.
     "We heard about your stockpile of Scotch," Ian quipped.
     "Afterwards, Hunter, but business first."
     The group settled down.
     "It has been  four  weeks since the formal armistice agreement  between
the  Terran  Confederation  and the Kilrathi Empire. Starting  tomorrow, the
peace  commission  starts  its  meetings  to  extend  the armistice  into  a
permanent settlement.
     "All  of us,  especially we who fought so hard, and for so long, prayed
daily for peace; for  only one who fights can truly  know how precious peace
really is."
     He lowered his head for a moment.
     "And all of us know what the price might  be if this peace proves to be
an illusion, which I have feared from the beginning that it really is.
     "What  I'm  about  to  share  with  you  is  level double-A  classified
information.  Though  we  are  no longer  in  the military  I will  invoke a
military regulation regarding this information  which is  that the revealing
of double-A-level  classified  information  in  time  of  war  is a  capital
offense.
     "We  are not þ " he paused " þ  officially at war, but I think that the
level of classification conveys just how sensitive this material is. If this
is something  you feel might be over your  head,  Johnston will  be happy to
lift you back to London and  you'll be  back  in town  in time  to catch the
evening  shows. If you stay,  however,  I expect  a  commitment from  you to
follow through on what I'm going to ask you to do. I called you here because
I trust all of you. I'm asking in turn that you  trust me and  agree to this
beforehand."
     He waited for a minute and no one stirred.
     "Fine, then we understand each other."
     He picked up a small hand controller  off the fireplace mantlepiece and
clicked it. On a side wall a holo projection box hummed to life.
     "The figures you  see up there were only  known at the highest level in
the military  and in the civilian government on  the  day the armistice  was
reached and, according  to counter intelligence,  were also  revealed to the
Kilrathi through an as yet unidentified mole."
     He waited for that bit of information to sink in and then continued.
     "As you  can  see, it shows actual fleet strength. The numbers in black
are ships  that were actively on line, the  blue  numbers were  ships in for
repair or maintenance and the green numbers new ships projected  to join the
fleet within the year.
     He waited for a moment and then clicked the button again.
     "The figures  on the  right side  of the screen show the Kilrathi fleet
size according to the highest level of intelligence and believe me it cost a
hell of a lot of lives to get this information."
     Jason scanned the figures. He knew the situation was bad, but he had no
idea  that the  margin  between Kilrathi and Confederation carriers  was  as
large as indicated. He looked over at Tolwyn and realized yet again just how
much  the  man risked  when  he took  the  Concordia  a  deep into  Kilrathi
territory to pull him out. The figures, however, for light craft, especially
frigate class and transports  were far better, with the Confederation having
a significant lead in heavy transport capability.
     A low murmur  of voices filled  the room as  the group commented on the
figures.
     "Now  I should  add  here, that in terms of quality, our technology  in
fighter  craft was showing some significant edges,  though they still had it
over us in terms  of sheer  numbers and in firepower, which  we  offset with
maneuverability and the ability to take more punishment, especially with our
new upgrades which were just coming on line with the Broadswords and Sabre D
class.
     "But these are the key figures that I want you to take a hard look at."
     He snapped the controller again, and columns of figures in red appeared
alongside the Kilrathi column.
     "Damn, look at that," Ian whispered, and Jason could only nod in reply.
     "As you can see," Tolwyn  announced, "from the day of the armistice and
for  roughly twelve months afterwards not one new fleet carrier was going to
come on  line for  the Empire. Beyond  that, it  appears as if a significant
portion  of their carrier fleet  needed to  be  pulled off  line  for  major
overhauls and refitting."
     He paused for a moment
     "This crippling of their carrier construction  is  thanks  in part to a
rather neat job by  one of  those present here tonight,"  and Jason nodded a
thanks,  but wanted to say that  it wasn't him, but  rather the nearly  four
hundred  Marine  raiders who gave  their lives  destroying the  construction
yards on Kilrah's moon that made the difference.
     "Six carriers nearing completion were destroyed in  the Tarawa raid and
even more importantly their key personnel and construction equipment went up
as  well.  Intelligence later  ascertained  that  a high  level  design  and
engineering team was visiting the moon  on the  day the raid hit, wiping out
some of their top brains. Tarawa also showed us a  viable tactic for getting
at the Kilrathi. You might recall that CVEs Enigma and Khorsan were reported
lost, but no details were  ever revealed for security reasons.  The truth is
that  both light  carriers  were  sent on deep penetration raids  on carrier
construction  sites  located in the Za'kathag  region,  killing three  heavy
carriers  that were  still  being fitted out. Seven more construction  sites
were destroyed by other means that I'm not at liberty to discuss and in fact
I'm not even supposed to know."
     He  turned away for a moment and reaching over to  a wood bin he tossed
another log on the fire and then looked back at the group.
     "In other words, we had a window of opportunity  which was  starting to
kick in and would have lasted for roughly six months to a year.  For a brief
period  we would  have, for  the first  time in the  war, reached front line
parity in terms of carrier strength and then  the numbers would turn against
us yet  again. We might have been able  to  push  them to  the wall, though,
during that time."
     He sighed with frustration and lowered his head for a moment.
     "Sir?'
     He looked back up.
     "Go ahead, Ian."
     "Just how reliable are these figures?"
     "I can ót really tell you how we  got them, but they're  hard core. But
now  for  the tough part,  the classified  information that only  a  handful
really know about.
     We suspect that the Kilrathi went  for this  armistice for two reasons,
the  first  the operational concerns created  by their  crisis  in transport
capability, the destruction  of  heavy ship yards and  the stand  down of at
least half  their carriers for refit. If that alone was their reason  behind
the armistice, it would be bad enough. There is, however, the second issue."
     He paused a moment for effect and the room was deadly still, except for
the crackling of the fire.
     "We  have  reason  to  believe  that  approximately five years  ago the
Kilrathi started the secret assembly of a major construction yard outside of
their Empire's territory and at this  site they  are building an entire  new
class  of ships.  If  this is  true, we can expect that when  the  fleet  is
completed, it might be used to launch a preemptive and  smashing blow to end
the war in their  favor. The key question concerning  this is if indeed this
fleet is real. If it is real and nearing  completion, do the Kilrathi intend
to  use it to launch a  preemptive strike  while we  stand down  due  to the
armistice?"
     óWhat kind of ships and where?"  a commodore asked from the back of the
room.
     "It's called the Hari," a voice announced from the corner of the room.
     "Paladin, damn me, I thought  you got killed,"  Ian shouted, coming  to
his feet and running up to embrace his old friend.
     "As usual, laddie, the reports of my death are a bit premature."
     The  group  roared with delight  as the old pilot  came up  to stand by
Tolwyn.
     "How  the hell  did you get out of that last scrape?" Ian  asked. "They
said you were reported long overdue and presumed dead. Hell, man, you owe me
a  drink ócause  I bought a round at the Vacuum Breathers in your honor. Old
Gallagher even gilded your mug."
     "It's a wee bit tied up in all of this here talk the Admiral's giving."
     "So what's this Hari?" Doomsday grumbled.
     "The Hari Empire," Tolwyn said, "once  existed in what was the realm of
space on the other side of the Kilrathi Empire in relation  to us. More than
two hundred  of our  years before we  first made contact with  the Kilrathi,
they  fought  a war with  the Hari and annihilated them. So bitter  was  the
struggle  that the  Hari, in  their pride  refused  surrender and  committed
suicide."
     "All of them?" Sparks asked.
     "That's what we've been told by prisoners," Tolwyn said. "It  is a vast
empty reach  of space,  a good thirty jump points  out from Kilrah. The Hari
never  knew  of the jump points, and traveled at speeds  slower  than light.
They made great ships that could journey  between  worlds in trips that took
lifetimes. When  they found a world with  resources they multiplied quickly,
in a hive-like  manner. They quite literally  wrecked the planet's biosphere
with overpopulation and exploitation of every resource they could find. When
the planet was used  up, selected  members were loaded back aboard their ark
ships and moved on, leaving  the rest to die. Thus there was little on their
worlds worth  the taking, the  planets they  occupied nothing but mined over
and scarred barren wastelands when they were finished.
     "It's believed that the Kilrathi moved some of their  ship construction
deep into Hari territory  and for  at  least  the last four years have  been
working on a secret  project. This information comes from bits and pieces of
a puzzle, made up of thousands of  little details we've found over the years
þ  a  captured shipping  report,  a stray transmission  coming from where it
wasn't  supposed  to.  In  part  this  might  explain the  anomaly  of their
transport  shortage which appeared  to  be even more acute than  our figures
suggested, since  part of their transport  fleet appears to  be committed to
hauling  material out into  Hari territory for  the building of this  secret
fleet."
     "Look, sir, if this  is the case, then what the hell is  our government
doing?"  Round  Top  snarled.  "What  you're telling us is that the Kilrathi
called an armistice to get over a potential gap in numbers, and once they've
closed  it and  gotten ahead and get this new fleet ready, they'll come  out
kicking."
     "Prove It," Paladin said quietly, "that's the  problem. All I can  tell
you is, getting into Hari territory reminds me of this lass I  once knew who
was so . . ." He looked at the females in the audience and stopped.
     "As  I was saying,  it's impossible and believe me, I know. You have to
cross  all of Kilrathi space, hit into transit jumps that we don't even have
charts for, and then go a good thousand light years beyond. I think its fair
to assume that  this here system is wired with security from one end to  the
other.  We might be  able to put  a  concealed Kilrathi  transport or trader
inside their own  territory when there's a war on  and a lot  of traffic  to
blend in  with, but out there, it's military  security  all the  way in  and
out."
     He hesitated for a moment.
     "Believe me, I know,"  he said softly as if recalling a nightmare  that
still troubled him.
     "So how do  we  know about this  then?"  Ian  asked. "We  might just be
chasing shadows, our own fears and nothing more."
     "That I cannot say either," Paladin replied. "Not even the Admiral here
is cleared to know some of it,  and remember, I worked for  him before, same
as you, laddie. All I can say is, the information  is good, and a lot of our
friends, who are listed as missing, in fact died to find out."
     "Well, doesn't the civilian government know this?"
     Tolwyn blew out noisily and nodded.
     "A  week before  the armistice was  agreed to, there was a meeting with
Rodham,  Foreign Minister  Jamison  and the Chiefs of Staff. The information
was  presented   and  Jamison  said  that  it  was  unconfirmed,   that  the
intelligence community and military  were conspiring  to keep  the war going
and  as much as called the  Chiefs of Staff a bunch of liars. Rodham finally
sided with  Jamison, saying that at best it was rumor, and there were always
such rumors that could keep a war going, countering with the statement  that
Jukaga had claimed the same thing was being done by us."
     "So  they  accuse us  of  it, and  that balances it  out, is  that it?"
Vanderman asked.
     "That's about  it," Tolwyn replied. "I'd have to  add that Jamison does
have the weight of history on her side.  In the past, in the old Earth wars,
there  were  always such charges of  secret  bases and construction sites or
hidden redoubts. They usually  proved to be false," he  paused, "but then on
occasion they proved to be true."
     Tolwyn paused,  realizing he could  say no more in front of this group,
for in fact the Confederation did have several secret projects in the works.
Jukaga's accusation had caused a flurry of concern on the part of the Chiefs
of Staff and intelligence, but in the end it was surmised that the Baron was
merely smoke screening and had not stumbled on any hard information.
     A nervous rustle seemed to sweep through the room.
     "Damn it,  isn't anyone catching on?" someone grumbled from the back of
the room.
     "Some people are, Commodore," Tolwyn replied. "Call it war weariness, I
don't  know. I think after thirty years  people wanted peace  so  badly that
they were willing to grasp at straws and  this  Baron  knew how to play into
it.  There was an old American military leader named Marshall who  once said
óno democracy can endure a seven years war, and we've had thirty."
     "Admiral, let's get to the  point," the  commodore replied. You dragged
us  here  for  a reason,  and  not  just  so we  could cry  on each  other's
shoulders."
     Tolwyn smiled.
     "You always did get straight  to the point, Weiss," and Tolwyn  clicked
the  hand unit once more and  the figures in the holo field dissolved to  be
replaced by a sector map.
     "You're looking at the Landreich System."
     "What a hell hole," someone growled.
     "Its a hell  hole  all right, in fact  one of their favorite planets is
named just that," Tolwyn replied. "As you can see from  the map, the forward
edge of it borders  on the Empire, and it's  about the  furthest you can get
from  Confederation  territory. Most of the  worlds haven't even  reached  G
status for colonial outpost ranking."
     He  hit a couple of buttons on his controller  and a number of flashing
red and yellow dots appeared.
     "Each red dot represents a reported violation of the demilitarized zone
by Kilrathi  vessels, each yellow  dot  by  Terran or others.  Incidents are
happening at  better than two  a day. Back  here  on  Terra  they  might  be
claiming peace, and the  same on Kilrah, but  the  frontier regions are just
about  as  hot as ever. There's  a lot  of freebooting  going on,  organized
raiding cartels are forming and even  some free corp units of ex-military on
both sides, who have no place else to go, are setting themselves up as petty
governments or as raiding groups.
     "Now  according  to  the  peace  agreement, the central  government  is
supposed to patrol these areas," and the group chuckled, "but hell, we could
barely do that when we had a full fleet and the war  was on. Thirty years of
fighting has caused a lot of breaking down out on the edges."
     He paused for a moment to throw another log in the fire.
     "They might  call  it rebellious  down here  on  Earth,  but  from  the
viewpoint of the frontier governments it's being independent. They know what
it's like to live on the edge of total annihilation if the Empire ever broke
through, and they are none too pleased with the armistice, since if anything
it means that there's no Confederation fleet at all to back them up."
     A thin smile creased his features.
     "So  they're  quietly  building  their  own  for what  they're  calling
óreasons of internal security,' and that, my friends, is why you're here."
     Jason felt a cool shiver run down his back.
     "It might not  be  much but it's something.  I'll not call it an ace in
the  hole. When you look  at the figures I just showed you it's  more like a
deuce; but at least it's a start, a backup if things turn ugly.
     "Shall we  say,  for  convenience sake, that  in my  current  disgraced
position I have been forced into a commercial venture in order to  make ends
meet.  I have been approached by a private contractor who wishes to purchase
a number  of decommissioned  ships  that could be  reconfigured for," and he
grinned, "civilian transport.  It just so happens that I've located five  of
these ships in a mothball yard orbiting the moon."
     He paused for a moment
     They're  CVEs,  light  escort carriers,  and  I need some crews to  run
them."
     Jason broke into a grin.

     Prince Thrakhath stood up, extending his arms and groaning.
     "So what  you are telling me is that you cannot speed up the completion
of the fleet."
     "No,  my  lord,"  and the admiral  before him lowered  his  head to the
ground.
     "Stand  up and stop this groveling, I'm not going to  tear  your throat
out. I need leaders, not dead bodies just because you bring bad news."
     The admiral came to his feet.
     "It's  the problem with the transports,"  the admiral said. "We  simply
don't have enough  to keep moving the  material  out to the Hari at the rate
you wish for."
     "But  what  about those  older ships we decommissioned?" and  he almost
laughed at the thought of that. The vessels had been ready to fall apart and
yet  they were checked  off by the  Confederation  observers  as first  line
battle  worthy. And even as he thought  of it he realized that was precisely
why they were useless. The  three eights number of  jumps required to get to
the Hari base exceeded their need for overhauls after every two eights jumps
which older ships still required.
     "Couldn't we establish an overhaul base at the half way point?"
     "It might draw  notice. It could be within detection range if they ever
slipped deep enough into our territory.
     "Do it anyhow, and find a way to heighten security.
     "There is another problem as well."
     "And that is?"
     "Fleet  procedures  have always been able to provide complete situation
updates by burst signal from fleet commanders on a daily basis. Some concern
has been expressed that the Confederation, with  the rumor that they suspect
something in the Hari sector, might  turn their  attention  there and detect
these signals. If  they can decode enough of the signal it might  reveal the
existence of the new fleet."
     "The range of their  detection  equipment isn't  that good,"  Thrakhath
replied, and then paused, "or is it?"
     "We've received a couple of reports over the last year of a new project
of theirs to improve their equipment. But nothing is confirmed."
     Thrakhath nodded.
     "Use courier ships, then."
     "It  is  too far away to be efficient  and too dangerous. The tactical,
strategic, and  operational updates comprise tens of  trillions  of  bits of
information right down to the need for a replacement screw. The signals back
from Kilrah also send  out the  key information obtained by our intelligence
operatives regarding all new information regarding Earth defenses. If we had
to suddenly launch a preemptive strike without  warning, the fleet must know
on a daily basis the latest information regarding events  across the Empire,
the demilitarized zones, and inside Confederation space. The fleet in hiding
needs this  information  instantly,  and we need to know  instantly what its
needs are, a time delay of eight and four or more days is dangerous."
     "So what do you suggest?"
     "Keep the communications open."
     The Prince hesitated for a moment.
     "How secure is the encoding?"
     "Our  intelligence  indicates that the Confederation was  breaking  our
latest  fleet code  just as the armistice was reached.  However, every  five
eights  of  standard days, we changed  the code anyhow.  We could place  our
latest  one  in, and reduce  signal traffic to essentials only, keeping  the
burst signals to under a second each way."
     Thrakhath  nodded.  He   could   see   the  admiral's   point.  If  the
Confederation picked up signal traffic going  in  and out of Hari territory,
it might draw notice, but then in order to do so, even if they could upgrade
their equipment, it would require a penetration into the Empire.
     "Do so and inform our counter intelligence to keep careful watch inside
the  Confederation  as to  any actions which might indicate  that  they know
something or are planning some action."
     "So far we have detected absolutely none."
     "There is never an absolute in war, the friction of war always causes a
breakdown. You have your orders, now leave me."
     The admiral backed out of the room,
     Prince Thrakhath settled  back down at his desk and then turned to look
out  the  small  oval window. In the darkness of space beyond he could see a
long  sliver of reflected  light.  Craxha, the third of the new  carriers to
have just completed its first transjump engine testing,  was coming  back in
to dock. Tomorrow the first squadron  of  fighters, transferred  from one of
the now drydocked carriers would start to come aboard.
     The ship turned slowly, lining up on the drydock pylon which jutted out
from  the  massive orbital  base.  He  sat  quietly, watching  the  maneuver
intently.
     Docking a  ship of such massive size was  a difficult maneuver  and the
commander on board performed it flawlessly.
     Good, he had chosen that one well.
     He turned away and looked back at his commscreen, intently studying the
latest  intelligence  report  provided  by the  hrai  spies of  the Imperial
family.
     It wasn't good.
     He  closed his eyes,  silently cursing the Baron. There was  no denying
that the initial  plan  of  the Baron,  to  have  a temporary armistice, was
indeed a good one, no matter how humiliating it might be. Later, once things
were finished, the  blame  for  the humiliation could be shifted back to the
Baron and away from the shoulders of the Imperial line.
     It was the inner intent  of the Baron which  was disturbing. Already he
was trying to  marshal support from the  other  clans  against  the Imperial
blood, while  quietly working  to extend the  armistice  far  out beyond the
original intent.  It was obvious  now that the true intent  was  to let  the
armistice  continue,  place the  ultimate  blame on  the  Emperor,  and then
somehow seize power himself. When that was accomplished this new fleet would
fall into his hands, he  would overawe  the  humans with it  and thus secure
victory and his own control of the throne.
     The alternative, the Prince realized, was to preemptively strike on the
humans right now.  But the  problem was that the fleet was not yet ready for
that. It would be at least  another  six eights of  days before  the  fourth
carrier  came  on  line.  All battle  simulations  had  shown  that the full
strength of twelve carriers  was needed  for an overwhelming victory. Beyond
that,  the twelve carriers would  need more than forty  eighties of fighters
and. more importantly, trained pilots, for  them to be useful. So far he had
drawn  pilots only from those hrai truly  loyal to  the throne. That was the
difficult part of the  equation. Far too many of  the Imperial Guard  pilots
had been lost at Vukar,  and it would be at least another year before  their
losses were made good.
     If he delayed, his  military strength would grow, and the humans  would
weaken, lulled by the false peace.  That  they would be so stupid had caused
him to lose whatever respect he had once held for them as foes worthy of the
testing of steel.
     There was the chance as well that  some  in  the Confederation military
might try to  get the hard evidence regarding the new fleet and its intended
target. That they even had  suspicion of its  existence had been a blow, the
information revealed by their all so foolish traitor.
     Turning her  had been so easy, he thought with  a cold smile. Her  only
son had been captured during the  Third Enigma campaign. That was a prize to
be sure. Her discontent with the war, and her political ambitions to replace
the president  were known. The discreet passing of a  holo of her son alive,
and  in confinement had broken her will.  To  have a Foreign Minister of the
enemy  working for you was indeed a  great thing. She had been promised much
and if, when the  Confederation was destroyed and she was still useful, they
would keep her as a  puppet. The only problem with her  was that it appeared
that  she was under suspicion and thus blocked from certain key information,
especially regarding the reports of a  Confederation secret project to build
a new class  of weapons.  That was  a  concern  as well,  for  if their side
delayed, they might reach their goal and shift the  balance of  the war.  It
was another argument against delay, even  though every passing  day made the
Confederation weaker and the Empire stronger.
     Yet if he delayed, the  discontent in the Empire at the humiliation  of
peace would grow as well, and be focused upon the Emperor by the maneuvering
of the Baron.
     It was a balancing act  which  had  to be played out delicately, and he
sat  in the silence of his war  room, lights dimmed, and quietly formed  his
plans.
     Prince  Thrakhath returned to his desk and  settled back down, punching
up the latest reports on his screen. From the ambassador all was still going
well. The Confederation government was starting to protest more loudly about
the endless minor violations of the truce.

     "Look, it's  all perfectly legal, you've got the papers, the titles are
transferred, now get off this bridge," Jason snapped.
     The lieutenant looked down again at the  sheaf of paper in his hand and
back up at Jason.
     "Ah,  Mr.  Bondarevsky, I've  been  ordered  to have you wait until the
peace commission has fully  reviewed this matter. You and your people are to
leave this ship at once."
     Jason turned away and punched into a ship comm line.
     "Gloria, how's reactor?"
     "Up and cooking, sir."
     "Masumi, we on line yet with pulse engines?"
     "Can give you maneuvering thrust."
     Jason looked back at the lieutenant.
     "Mister, if you don't want to go for this ride, you'd better  clear the
bridge."
     The lieutenant looked at him and a thin smile crossed his features.
     "Good  luck,  sir," he whispered,  snapped  off a salute,  and left the
bridge.
     Jason went over to his old command chair, and sat down, a light puff of
dust swirling up around  him.  He looked around at his  skeleton crew  which
were  manning  the  bridge. Normal ship's  complement  was just  under  five
hundred personnel þ he had only thirty-five. Nearly three quarters of a full
crew were either  support for the three squadrons the ship would normally be
carrying, or for  the  weapons systems, but even without them,  running  the
ship was going to be a chancy operation. And with only three  Ferrets, and a
Sabre on board that had yet to be transferred off, he felt very naked.
     "The Lieutenant has cleared the  landing bay,"  Sparks announced on the
comm, "and is back aboard the docking station."
     "Close off the docking collar, Sparks, and disconnect external power."
     "Already done, sir, docking collar disconnected, external power cut and
withdrawn."
     Jason looked over at his helm crew.
     "Take us out of here."
     A barely perceptible  vibration ran through the ship as  Masumi  tapped
into the reactors,  lighting up the  nuclear pulse  maneuvering engines.  He
felt a cold shiver run down his back.
     "Velocity  at  225  meters  per  second,"  helm announced,  "heading 31
degrees, negative 8."
     "By God, we're on our way," Jason laughed, coming to his feet
     A cheer went up on the bridge,  the crew laughing,  slapping each other
on the back.
     "Ship 2291, respond please."
     It took a moment for Jason to realize that the incoming message was for
him, the caller using his ship's decommissioned identification number.
     The  communications  officer looked over  at  him and Jason raised  his
hand, signaling for her not to open a line.
     "Ship 2291, you are  in violation  of  peace commission procedures  for
title transfer. You  are ordered to turn your vessel about and return to the
decommissioning yard at once.
     "Ship 2291, you are . . ."
     "Turn that damn thing off, Jason snapped and the communications officer
switched the speaker off.
     "Helm, set course for jump transit point 17A and let's get the hell out
of here."
     "Come on, you two," Jason said, looking over  at Ian  and  Doomsday and
they followed him off the bridge.
     Picking  up a small  package  he  left the  bridge and started down the
corridor  out to the hangar  bay. Reaching  the bay  he  paused  and  looked
around. It actually looked big for a change. It was, of course, almost empty
of fighters, and  it seemed strange to see  it  like  this.  He  opened  the
package up and unfolded the commissioning flag of Tarawa. He hung it back up
in its old spot, next to the  roll of honor. A light film of dust was on the
honor  roll and using  his shirt  sleeve he  wiped it off, stepped  back and
without any feeling of self-consciousness, he came to attention and saluted
     He heard a light clicking  of heels and looked over his shoulder to see
Sparks at attention, saluting as well. She came to at ease and smiled.
     "It's good to be back with our friends, Jason."
     He smiled, realizing that for the first time since he had known her she
had called him by his name. It took him a moment to even recall hers.
     "It certainly is, Janet."
     Her features flushed a bit
     Ian coughed in a very self-conscious manner and nudged Doomsday.
     "Come  on, buddy, let's go clean up the pilot  ready room," and the two
left.
     "Funny, folks back home called me by my name of course, but you know, I
can't remember the last time somebody didn't call me Sparks."
     She  had  changed so  much since  becoming  an officer, the hard  edges
polished into a smooth professionalism, the  dirty coveralls and oil-smudged
face  long  since  gone. She was wearing a standard B class jump suit and he
realized yet again that it made her look awfully damn attractive. But he had
to push that away. Even though they were not part of the Confederation Fleet
anymore, he still wanted his ship  run by  Fleet rules, and one  of them was
that no personal relationships were allowed between commanding officers  and
those serving under them.
     He  lowered his gaze  for a  second and then looked back and  her smile
faded a bit
     "Sorry, Jason, I guess we're back to the old routine, aren't we? Funny,
I couldn't  wait to get  back, but  I knew  if  I did, I'd  have to  give up
something to do it, a chance for you.
     He nodded. He knew she was  interested but maybe it was simply that the
sharp edge of  pain in losing Svetlana  still cut  a bit too deeply. The few
encounters since her death had left him feeling cold and empty.
     Before he could say anything she drew closer, leaned up, and kissed him
lightly  on the lips, the kiss lingering. Startled, he looked at her and saw
the sparkling  in  her  eyes. He  suddenly felt  so tempted to  put his arms
around her þ but she drew back.
     "I'd better get to work,  sir,"  she  said,  sniffling  slightly. "This
flight  deck  is filthy and I'll  be damned if  I'll  allow a launch from it
before it's been cleaned up,"
     "I'm glad Tolwyn let me take you as my maintenance officer, Janet, " he
hesitated, "and I'm just glad to have you with me as well."
     She looked at him, shrugging a bit awkwardly, and went across the deck,
leaving him alone.
     He exhaled hard and shook his head.
     "Captain?"
     "On the flight deck."
     "We've got a laser hookup from CVE 6 Normandy."
     "Patch it through to flight operations bridge."
     He double-timed over to the flight bridge and climbed up into the empty
room.  The control  positions were all empty and it  seemed eerie with not a
single soul around. He switched on a comm channel and a holo image formed.
     "How're you doing, laddie?"
     "Little complaining from the  decommissioning  crowd but we're away and
clear."
     Paladin smiled.
     "Even though those papers are  nice and legal  like,  we are  bending a
couple of the rules a wee bit," he said with a laugh. "I'm coming up now off
your starboard beam, Iwo and Wake and  Crete are clear as well. How's Tarawa
look?"
     "Everything nominal. We got a bonus of four fighters on  board  her  as
well.  The  mothball  maintenance  seemed  pretty  damn  good,  all   things
considered, but I feel awfully naked without at least one squadron aboard."
     "One  thing at  a time, laddie.  I've got to get  off the line now, I'm
getting a  bit swamped here with calls from those peace  commission buggers,
and  even one now from ConFleet. I tell you  it'll be right good fun telling
an admiral to go  to hell. They've  got a couple of frigates out at the jump
point  who  might try to stop  us, but  we've  got a dozen  lawyers  out  at
headquarters arguing  away  right  now  that the  sale is  legal.  Hopefully
nobody'll shoot. Hell, by the  time  they get  it  resolved we'll be  on the
other side of the universe. And then what are they going to do, sue us?"
     Laughing, he shut down the laser link and the holo screen went dead.
     Stepping down from the flight bridge Jason saw the pinpoint of light of
Paladin's ship moving against the eternal night of space.
     "Captain, this is helm."
     "Go ahead."
     "Cleared  of near Earth orbit, ready to power up to full pulse drive on
course heading for jump point 17A."
     "Get us out of here, then."
     He  felt the surge of power  rumble  through  the  ship  as  nearly all
reactor power was  fed straight into the engines. The ship turned to line up
on the jump point and as he walked up to the hangar bay's  magnetic airlock,
Earth drifted into  view, a crescent blue-green ball hanging  in the eternal
darkness. It gave him a curious sort of feeling. It was, after all, the home
world of his entire race,  the Russia of his ancestors clearly  visible even
from half a million clicks out, and yet now, he felt strangely detached from
it. He  was a  product of space, born  on a world  five  hundred light years
away. If  he had a home, it  was this ship, a family, the people aboard her.
He  knew that this  insane adventure he  was setting out on was motivated in
part by his allegiance  to the Confederation and  for the protection  of the
world  in  front of him, even for the protection of those people who were so
ready to reject  him  and the military that he served. He knew  that perhaps
that was always the lot  of a warrior, to be  turned to when trouble loomed,
and to be  rejected and hidden  away  when  it was believed  that  peace had
returned.
     He  was  fighting for them but he  realized as well  that  if  he  were
fighting for anything it was for his ship, his comrades, and the fleet which
they  had so  loyally served and  now faced the most serious crisis  in  its
history, a crisis created not so much by  their enemies, but rather by their
friends.


        CHAPTER FIVE

     In a swirling cloud of dust, Hunter switched off power  on his engines,
shut down the emergency ejector system, and cracked the canopy open.
     A choking  swirl of  hot dry  air  rushed  into the cockpit, taking his
breath away as he unsnapped his helmet.
     "Damn,  even  worse  than  the  outback,"  he  mumbled, standing  up to
stretch.
     A ground crew team strolled over, lazily pushing a ladder as he waited.
There was no  sense in getting upset  by  their lackadaisical attitude, this
wasn't  ConFleet þ the base belonged to the Landreich Colonial Air Guard and
a crew working in one hundred twenty plus heat had his sympathy.
     The  crew  hooked  the  ladder  against the side  of his  Sabre  and he
scrambled down out of the cockpit
     "Where's fleet headquarters?" he asked
     "Over there," one of the crew  announced, trying to be  heard above the
cacophony of ships landing and  taking off, and  the sudden  sonic boom of a
Ferret  snapping  by  overhead,  the  shockwave  causing  him  to  wince and
instinctively look for cover.
     He looked up and saw the Ferret  climbing straight up, standing  on its
tail. The  Ferret  punched a hole through the high thin overcast and then he
was gone, the ship's vapor trail climbing and then winking out as the Ferret
crossed into  the  far  reaches  of  the  upper atmosphere. The  crew barely
noticed the show and obviously weren't running to combat positions.
     "Is there a scramble on?"
     "Nay, Charlie Boys just having a little fun."
     "Who's Charlie Boy?"
     "Why, he's the head of the squadron here."
     Ian wanted to comment that at any  fleet base  punching sonic without a
scramble on  would have  cost  Charlie  Boy a  month's  pay and  a  possible
grounding. He had a feeling it was, if anything,  a  thumbing of the nose at
all the outsiders gathering on  the base  and he started to  smile. Hell, he
might even like this place after all.
     The  ground  crew looked  at him  and  Ian was suddenly  aware his  old
ConFleet flight suit made him stick out like a sore thumb.
     "A  lot  of  you  Fleet boys showing  up  here today," one of the  crew
drawled.
     "The usual gab session," Ian replied. "You know how it  is, ConFleet or
Colonial, the big wigs always like to have their meetings."
     "And I suppose we oughta salute you, is that it, captain?"
     Ian laughed and replied with a universal rude gesture.
     One of the crew members smiled, reached  into a tool box and pulled out
a can which was dripping with moisture.
     "Have a cold one on us, cap'n."
     Ian grinned with delight as he popped the lid. Landreich beer was rated
almost as good as the Outback Lager and Fosters of home. He took a long deep
pull on the can  and then another, draining it off. With a contented sigh he
tossed the empty back to his benefactor.
     "Ah, thanks,  mate, now take  care of  my ship  and  by the way, if you
don't tell those customs people,  you'll find a pint  of Vega's best stashed
in the carry bag strapped behind my  seat and I don't want to find  it there
when I get back." The crew grinned.
     There was nothing like a little  gift  giving with the locals  to  make
sure that things were taken care of right.
     Turning, he  started  across the  landing field,  eager  to get  to the
shade.  The  twin suns of the planet were murder when both were at noon, the
red  giant  and white dwarf combining  to cast a strange pattern of  colored
shadows.  He  looked around, realizing that  this  military  outpost  of the
Landreich colonial  worlds was definitely at the butt end  of the  universe.
There were a few  modern  buildings on the base, made of the standard poured
plasta-concrete.  But most of  it, and  the small  garrison  and mining town
beyond the base, was made of either  adobe  or rough sandstone. If it wasn't
for  the  rich titanium deposits  underneath the surrounding mountains  this
world would have  been  bypassed except for the usual crop of hermits, crazy
cults, and freebooters  looking for  a place  to hide.  Buford's World  they
called this place, after the first prospector to  land here, but it was more
commonly referred to as  the  Hell Hole. Its inclination of axis was exactly
at zero degrees  and there was  no  season  except  red hot  summer  with 90
degrees passing as a cool day.
     It  had  but  two jump points in the system, one heading away from  the
demilitarized zone towards the capital world of Landreich, the other leading
off on a long lopping pattern through half a  dozen uninhabited systems into
the flank of the  Kilrathi Empire. Both in a strategic and tactical sense it
was nothing more than an outpost at the very  edge of  the  war  and totally
ignored  by the  main fleets of  both sides.  Thus space  in this region was
controlled, if at all, by colonial guards of  both sides, and more  often by
freebooters which, in the eyes of the Confederation,  was what the Landreich
system was anyhow.
     He passed a  plasta-concrete bunker, the lid partially open to reveal a
cluster of surface-to-space point defense  missile-anti-missiles, the latest
Sprint  8s, no less.  He paused to look  in at the crew which  was running a
service check.
     "Got a lot of those, mates?"
     "Who the  hell wants  to know?"  and a  tech  sergeant wearing  the tan
coveralls of a colonial guard non-com looked up at him, shading his eyes.
     "Hey, just curious, that's all."
     "Curiosity  like  that  will  get you  in the  brig  right quick,"  the
sergeant growled.
     The sergeant turned back to his work and Ian realized that maybe it was
best to simply move on.
     Tucked into the  hangars  lining the field was a bizarre  assortment of
ships.  The  heaviest  was  a  medium  corvette  and it took Ian a moment to
recognize it as an old Granicus-class, a line discontinued more than  twenty
years  ago.  The ship, however,  was  refitted  with a couple of E-8 engines
attached to  anchor points on  the side of the hull, with half a dozen  mass
driver turrets  patched on as well. It was a hell of a smuggler's craft with
the firepower of a light frigate thrown in. A number of fighters were on the
field as well and  it was  easy to see which  ones  had ferried in the staff
attending  today's meeting, their Confed  insignia simply painted  over with
standard fleet gray.
     It was the other  ships,  however,  that caught his eye. It looked like
the Landreich was planning  to set  up  a museum, with some of the  fighters
actual prewar ships of more than thirty years vintage. All of them, however,
were no  longer  spec  in any way  whatsoever. An  early Ferret A  had a new
engine housing with of all things a Mark 10  engine off an  old Falcon light
corvette.  It looked absolutely absurd, like nothing but  an  engine with  a
cockpit  up front, with a gatling mass  driver gun strapped  on  underneath.
It'd be a hell of a ride, he realized.
     Most  of the  ships were painted  Stealth black  without identification
numbers  or even  the  blue  circle  and red Saint  Andrew's  cross  of  the
Landreich.  He  slowly  walked  past the  hangars,  noticing  the  less than
friendly stares of  most of the crews.  He wanted to take the time to go  up
and chat, to ask about  the specs on  the strange array of ships, maybe even
try  a  climb  into the  cockpits but thought  better of it. Ever since  the
armistice the uneasy cooperation of the Confederation with the colonials was
now  strained even  further.  He  couldn't  blame them,  for when the  stuff
finally hit the fan, it would  be the outpost worlds that  would get covered
by it first.
     "Iannn!"
     The high pitched voice  was unmistakable and startled he looked around,
and then  noticed a shadow cross  over him. He looked up and  saw a  Firekka
hovering overhead.
     "K'Kai, how the hell are you!"
     K'Kai, folding her wings, landed beside him  and moved up close, pecked
him lightly on the head and around the back of his neck in what he  now knew
was  a  grooming  which  served  as the Firekka equivalent  of a  handshake.
Overjoyed at seeing an old friend he threw his arms around her.
     "Last  time I saw you was when  your niece told the Confederation to go
to hell."
     K'Kai clicked  her beak and he knew that it  was the Firekka equivalent
of an expression of pride.
     "That speech was hers  alone,  a fine accomplishment for  not much more
than a hatchling."
     "How goes it on Firekka?"
     "A lot of harassing  raids, skirmishes, ships disappearing, not  really
outright  war, but definitely not peace." She cocked her head  and looked at
him closely, an act which he always found a bit disturbing  when  an eyeball
the size of an orange aimed in straight at him.
     "So you're part of this Landreich colonial fleet?" she asked.
     "That's what I'm here for, and you?"
     "Sent as a representative."
     "Well, I think we're late," and he motioned for her to follow along.
     They finally  gained the shade of a broad veranda  and he drew a breath
of  relief.  Two  guards  stood at  the  door  and  again it struck him  how
different the colonials  were. The men looked  sharp enough,  with  standard
M-48 laser  rifles on their  shoulders. But the uniforms  looked like they'd
seen better days, the tan coveralls faded from sun and  washing, top collars
unbuttoned in the  dry desert heat. They lacked the spit and polish of fleet
Marine guards and he found it appealing.
     Both looked with open curiosity at K'Kai.
     "Firekka,  they make the best  drink in the universe,,"  Ian announced,
and the guards grinned weakly.
     "I take it this is headquarters?"
     "This is the place."
     "Well, I'm here to see Kruger."
     A sergeant stepped out from inside the doorway, took  their papers  and
IDs, then handed them back.
     "Down the hall, you can't miss it."
     Ian opened the door for K'Kai and followed her  in. At least the  place
had cooling, but it seemed to  be  barely  working. He strode down the  open
corridor which angled down below the surface, K'Kai at his side. They turned
through a double set of blast  doors  and into the  situation room which was
packed  nearly  to overflowing. They were stopped by what  he assumed  was a
security  officer, though  it was hard to  tell  by the  uniform. He checked
their IDs once again and then marked off his and K'Kai's name on a list.
     Ian  immediately recognized more  than one  of those present: Jason and
Doomsday,  who had  flown down the day before from  Tarawa, were in the back
corner  engaged  in what  was  obviously a  heated conversation with several
colonial pilots. Sparks,  waving  a hand computer unit, was shouting at whom
he guessed was a supply  officer, who in turn was shouting  back  with equal
vigor, and hunched over a table  up in the front  was a  tall gaunt man with
sun  scorched  features and dark eyes.  He glanced  up at Ian  and his  gaze
seemed to pierce right through him and then, as if he didn't even exist, the
man looked back down at a shelf of printouts.
     "Say, that's Kruger himself," Ian whispered
     K'Kai bobbed her head.
     Technically Kruger was a wanted  felon  within Confederation territory,
having once hijacked his fleet destroyer, which he was in command of, during
the early  days  of the  war, when  through  "strategic necessity," the  old
C-in-C ConFleet had decided to abandon the Landreich system in the face of a
Kilrathi  offensive.  Using  the  ship  and  an  assortment of scrounged  up
freighters  and  smuggler  craft  he  fought  the battle  of  the Hell Hole,
stopping a Kilrathi attack into  this sector and according to legend  chased
them back through twelve jumps.
     His own ship was blown out from under him on the last jump through by a
Kilrathi ambush and Kruger, with the remaining members of his crew, survived
for three  years on a planet inside the Kilrathi  system, driving the locals
nearly insane  with his  commando style raiding until  being picked up by  a
freebooter who took them back to the Landreich. In the interim, ConFleet had
tried him  in  absentia and found him guilty  of  mutiny  and hijacking of a
Confederation  warship, a  capital  offense in time  of  war. He was hailed,
however, as  a  returning hero by the colonials and elected president of the
Landreich  system  within  the  year.  The  election  made  matters somewhat
complicated, presenting the  Confederation with the unique problem of having
a  felon serving as an elected member of the planetary senate and thus being
immune from arrest and trial.
     Max Kruger had a hell of a reputation and was viewed either as a genius
improviser of small unit irregular tactics or a barbarian. In Ian's opinion,
he was both.  The colonials  definitely fought their wars with the Kilrathi,
and at times with each other,  using cast-off equipment, shoestring budgets,
and a hell of a lot of guts.  They also fought it with a cold  ferocity that
rarely asked for or expected quarter. For Kruger there was  only one rule of
war, ultimate victory.
     "Everything back aboard Tarawa OK?'
     Ian turned and smiled as Jason came up to join him.
     "Another hundred crew members signed in last night off a transport that
ran out from Sirius. We've got eight more pilots and four  Ferrets that were
strapped to the transports hull."
     "Is that all, we were promised twenty."
     "They  had some problems getting the four,  the peace commission kicked
up a royal stink. We're lucky we got what we did."
     "It figures," Jason sighed. "That commission really screwed us up."
     "What do you mean?"
     That  report  that we'd have ten squadrons  of Rapiers and Sabres, well
forget it."
     "What the hell happened?"
     "The  shipment was blocked by the  commission. Seems that  the Kilrathi
ambassador caught wind of the deal, screamed holy hell, and the  Baron  even
got  into  it, threatening to end all peace negotiations if  the  ships were
allowed  to  leave Earth  system.  Rodham, of course,  caved in.  The  three
transports,  loaded down  with  fighters and  spare parts were  blocked from
leaving moon orbit. So now we've  got to scrounge up  whatever  we can  find
around here."
     "We ve  got five escort carriers,  and a  grand  total  of  twenty-nine
fighters and that's it, not counting the stuff the locals have."
     More people crowded  into the  room behind Ian so that  he, Jason,  and
K'Kai were gradually shoved to the back of the room.
     "Andrews, everybody here yet?" the gaunt man asked, looking over at the
guard at the door.
     "Near about."
     Well, damn it, we can't wait, let's get started then."
     The gaunt man moved up to a small podium.
     "For those of you Confed people who don't know it, I'm General Kruger."
     Ian looked around the room and saw the outright admiration on the faces
of the men  and women  wearing the hodgepodge of jumpsuits, assault trousers
and vests, and coveralls that passed for colonial guards uniforms.
     "First off, I welcome  all you white and blue suits into the service of
the Landreich," Kruger began. "As  already agreed upon, all  ships  that the
Landreich has purchased," and with that there was a ripple of  laughter from
the colonial personnel,  have been incorporated into  our fleet.  You  will,
however, still have your own chain of command, answering to Admiral Tolwyn."
     For the first time Ian realized that Tolwyn was in the room, his nephew
by his side. Tolwyn  stepped out from a back corner of the meeting hall  and
raised  his hand in  acknowledgment.  It  seemed  strange to  Ian to see the
Admiral  not  in standard fleet uniform,  but  in the khaki of  a  Landreich
officer.
     Just  how the hell did he get out here so fast? Ian wondered, what with
Jason's ship arriving only last night into orbit above Landreich.
     "Those of you in colonial forces that are assigned aboard former Confed
ships will take orders from the duly appointed commander of that ship."
     A low groan went up from the colonial personnel in the room.
     We've   got  to  coordinate  this  effort,"  Kruger  snapped,   "so  no
complaints."
     "Any questions?"
     The colonial officers  looked at each other,  mumbled  a bit  and  said
nothing.
     Kruger nodded towards Tolwyn, who came up to the front of the room.
     "Well, I'm glad to see that most of you at least made it out here.
     "First  off  . .  ." and  Tolwyn was interrupted  by  the  sharp  spine
tingling wail of a klaxon.
     The room went  quiet as Kruger raced to a  monitor, leaned over it, and
then turned back.
     "Any pilots with strike craft please man them immediately."
     Ian pushed his way out of the room, a stream of colonial pilots pushing
around him, Jason, Kevin, and Doomsday falling in at his side.
     They  ran up  the  corridor and  out into the blazing  heat, scattering
towards  hangars,  the high wail of  sirens  echoing against the surrounding
hills. The ground crew, which had so lazily  come  out  to meet Ian  when he
landed, were moving with a  cool precision, unchocking  the wheels, the crew
chief  inside  the  cockpit,  the engine already up and whining,  four  crew
members lifting two missiles up onto the Sabre's wing pylons. Ian ran to the
ladder,  one of the ground crew tossing  him his helmet which he snapped on,
the chief  coming  down the ladder and clearing  it just as Ian leaped on to
the third rung and scrambled up, the chief now behind him. Ian saw Jason and
Doomsday running  past, heading for the Ferrets  they had  flown  down  from
Tarawa.
     "Engine green, nav  system loaded by combat control, all  weapons green
with two radar trackers  loaded, emergency eject armed and ready, good luck,
sir!" the chief shouted, even  as he  reached  over  and helped buckle Ian's
safety harness on, cinching the shoulder straps tight.
     This  is Hunter in  Sabre 239A ready," Ian  announced  to  the  control
tower.
     "Will  advise, Hunter,  ground  chief will signal your  clearance," the
ground control officer snapped and then switched off.
     Ian gave a thumbs-up as the chief  slid down the ladder and  the canopy
snapped shut, the green light  of airtight lock flashing  on. The  chief was
now out in front of Ian's  fighter, hands held high over his head with fists
crossed, signaling t