'It's nothing definite, Colonel,' Rollins said reluctantly. 'Not even from the official channels. Captain doesn't know anything about it.'
'Tell?'
'I know a guy on General Taggart's staff in Covert Ops. He said Thrakhath was reportedly working on some new terror weapon which was just about ready for testing. I don't know if this has anything to do with that, but if Thrakhath's really in Locanda then this could be the test. It makes sense, when you think about it.'
'How so?'
'Well, like you said, Locanda's past its prime. It's of no real strategic value, depleted of all valuable resources. The Kilrathi could raid it for slaves, but they can get slaves anywhere. If they really do have some new weapon something big enough that it will cause mass destruction, Locanda Four would be a pretty good place to try it. Whether it works or not, the cats don t take out anything they want . . . but if it did work, it would be a pretty damn good demonstration.
'Any idea what this wonder weapon is?'
'My guy didn't say. But I've got my suspicions that Intelligence knows more than they're telling us about the whole mess.' Rollins lowered his voice. 'You know those transports we've been trying to pump through the jump point to Locanda? They've all been medical ships like the High Command was getting ready for a lot of casualties.'
'Bioweapons,' Blair said, feeling sick.
'That's my take,' the Communications Officer agreed. 'Think about it. Thrakhath would love to get his hands on the Confed infrastructure. Except for a small stock of slaves, the Kilrathi don't want humans around to compete with them. Seeding choice colony worlds with some new kind of plague would be the perfect way to kill us with a minimum of damage to technology or resources. If the weapon tests well, you can bet the Kilrathi will be hitting someplace important the next time around: Earth.'
'Yeah . . . maybe. We certainly showed them the way, back when the Tarawa made the raid on Kilrah a couple of years ago. If they've got an effective biological agent and a reliable delivery system, a handful of raiders could wipe us out. Blair fixed Rollins with a stern look. 'Still this is all just speculation, Lieutenant, based on your leak over at covert Ops and a lot of guesswork.
'Theory fits the facts, sir . . .'
'Maybe so. But it's still just a theory until you get genuine proof. Don't spread this around, Rollins. There's no point in getting everybody in an uproar over a possibility. You read me?'
The lieutenant nodded slowly. 'Yes, sir. I'll keep it to myself. But you mark my words, Colonel, this is going to be one hell of a nasty fight this time.'
Flight Control was fully crewed with a dozen techs and specialists monitoring the activity going on around the carrier and on the flight deck. This morning, Blair decided to preside over operations himself. He took his place on the raised platform which dominated the center of the compartment at a horseshoe-shaped console that could tap into all aspects of wing activities.
'Last of the new Hellcats is down and safe, Colonel,' a tech reported from a nearby work station. 'Deck will be clear for the Thunderbolt in two minutes.'
'Two minutes, Blair repeated. 'Well, Major, what do you think? Will they do?'
Major Daniel Whittaker, Red Squadron's CO, watched over Blair's shoulder while the new arrivals were coming in. He was old for his rank and position, with iron-gray hair and an air of cautious deliberation. His callsign was Warlock, and Blair had to admit he could have passed for a high-tech sorcerer.
'They fly well enough,' Whittaker said quietly. 'I've seen better carrier landings, but these boys and girls have been rotting away in a planetside base where you don't get much chance to practice carrier ops. We'll whip them into shape quick enough, I'd say.'
'We'll have to, Major. If the bad guys are out in force around Locanda, point defense will get a real workout.'
'Thunderbolt HD Seven-zero-two, you are cleared for approach,' a speaker announced. 'Feeding approach vectors to your navcomp . . . now.'
Blair turned his attention back to the external camera view. The computer enhanced the image so he could see the Thunderbolt clearly against the backdrop of brilliant stars. As he watched, he could see the flare of the fighter's engines as the pilot maneuvered his ship onto its approach path.
'What the hell is that idiot doing?' someone demanded. 'He's ignoring the approach vectors we're feeding him!'
'HD Seven-zero-two, you are deviating from flight plan,' the comm tech said. 'Recheck approach vectors and assume designated course.
The image on Blair's screen swelled as the fighter stooped in toward the carrier, still gathering speed. Blair punched up a computer course projection and was relieved to see that the projected flight path would cause the ship to steer clear of the carrier, but it would be a near miss. If the idiot deviated from his path now, he could easily dive right into the deck. 'Belay that transmission,' he snapped, 'and have the flight deck emergency crews on standby.'
An alarm, low but insistent, rang across the flight deck, and Blair could see technicians scrambling to their emergency stations.
The Thunderbolt streaked over the flight deck with bare meters to spare, executing a roll-over as it passed. Then it looped away, killing its speed with a sharp braking thrust and dropping effortlessly into the original approach path. Blair let out a sigh of relief.
'He's on target,' someone announced laconically.
'He does that again and he'll be a target,' someone else said. Blair shared the sentiment. Rollins had warned Blair that the new pilot was likely to be a problem, but he'd never imagined the man would pull a stupid stunt even before he reported aboard. Fancy victory rolls looked good in holomovies and stunt flying by elite fighter show teams, but they were strictly prohibited in normal carrier operations.
The new pilot had a lot to learn.
The Thunderbolt performed perfectly, hitting the tractor beams precisely and touching the deck in a landing maneuver that could have been used in an Academy training film. Moments later, the fighter rolled to a stop inside the hangar deck. Gravity and pressure were quickly restored as the technicians secured from their emergency preparations.
Blair, seething, was on his way to the deck before the gravity hit one-half G.
The pilot climbed down the ladder from his cockpit and paused to remove his helmet, an ornately decorated rig which carried the word FLASH in bright letters, presumably his running name. He was a young man, under thirty from his appearance, but his flight suit carried a major's insignia. He glanced around the hangar with an easy grin, stopped to wipe away a speck on the underside of the Thunderbolt's wing, then sauntered casually toward the exit. He seemed completely oblivious to Blair.
'Hold it right there, Mister,' Blair snapped.
The man gave him a quick look that turned into a double-take as he caught sight of the bird insignia on Blair's collar tabs. He drew himself erect in something that approximated attention and rendered a casual salute. 'Didn't expect a high-ranking welcoming committee, sir,' he said. His tones were lazy, relaxed. 'Major Jace Dillon, Tamayo Home Defense Airspace Command. I'm your replacement pilot.'
'That remains to be seen,' Blair said. 'What's the idea of pulling that damned stunt on your approach, Dillon?'
'Stunt, sir? Oh, the flyby. Hell, Colonel, it was just a little bit of showmanship. They don't call me Flash for nothing, you know.' Dillon paused, seeming to realize the depth of Blair's anger for the first time. 'Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I just thought I had to show you Regular boys that Home Defense isn't a bunch of no-talent
