might play a key part in victory or defeat before I die. But that is not a future. That is my fate, hovering over me . . .' He looked at Blair. 'It is not a concept easily grasped by non-Kilrathi. But it is all I understand.'
'Come on, Hobbes,' Blair said, troubled by the glimpse Ralgha had given into his alien soul. 'Let's get down to the flight line. That's all the future either of us can afford to worry about for now.'
'Lord Prince, we have a report of enemy activity in the system. A convoy is under attack by Terran fighters.'
Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study Melek in the dull red light of the audience chamber. 'They dare attack us here, in our space? Perhaps they did not learn their lesson at Locanda.'
Melek bowed acknowledgement. 'You did say you expected them to respond, Lord Prince,' he pointed out. 'Intercepted radio traffic indicates that the Terran ships may be from the Victory.'
'So . . .' Thrakhath turned the report over in his mind. 'This . . . complicates our response. I had not looked for them to be ready for further operations for some time to come. We must drive them out . . . and we must discourage them from looking toward this system any further. It would be an embarrassment if they were to plan to demonstrate their new weapon here before the fleet was fully assembled.'
'Yes, Lord Prince,' Melek said, 'though it would be a worthy irony if they brought their weapon here and fell into your trap.'
Thrakhath gestured negation. 'No. No, I do not want to stage a major battle here. Not when the nebula effects make detection so difficult. When the Terrans reveal their doomsday weapon, and we learn its secrets, I want no chance of mistakes when it comes time to destroy it. We must . . . urge them to take an interest in some other system, not this one.' He paused. 'So we must threaten their ship, but ultimately allow it to escape with sufficient evidence that they should leave us alone here. Order the fleet to cover the jump points to Locanda, Delius, and Caliban. And have all squadrons prepare to initiate the Masking Effect.'
Melek bowed again. 'As you direct, Lord Prince.'
Thrakhath watched him leave. When he was alone, he allowed his fangs to show for an instant. It was unfortunate that the Terrans must be allowed to win free in the end. He would have relished the destruction of that carrier . . . but it carried the key to ultimate victory for the Empire, and nothing could be allowed to interfere with that now.
CHAPTER XVIII
'Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader,' Blair said, hoping he didn't sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. 'Requesting landing clearance. Over.'
'Roger that, Leader,' Rollins replied. 'Clearance is granted. Good job out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two.'
Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero. By the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already joined up with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't really need support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger contact at the edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap ship kill. Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with the idea. Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones associated with reining in the two majors.
Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting and the pilot himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than just a physical pounding on the line this time.
Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes, were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.
The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of concern on his alien visage. 'Are you well, my friend? You seemed . . . distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more spirited comrades.'
'Just tired, Hobbes,' Blair told him. 'Tired of bucking overeager jocks who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of . . . everything.'
He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had accounted, among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It wouldn't matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were always more Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting sick of having to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.
'It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again,' Ralgha said, clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words and tone. 'To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test my skills, since we started this mission.'
'Yeah,' Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. 'Yeah, I suppose all this skulking and hiding's been pretty rough on you. Maybe a little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that.'
Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his head to one side as he regarded Blair. 'It is strange,' he said. 'We are very different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all the humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit . . . despite the skill and courage demanded in flying is never entirely satisfied by combat in space.'
'You like it up close and personal,' Blair said, mustering a faint smile.
The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to extend for a moment. 'We are taught to use these even before we can speak or walk. To your species this seems . . . what is the word? Savage? Primitive? But it is fundamental to who and what we are.'
Blair's eyes narrowed. 'Then how can Thrakhath order the death of millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you can use.'
'Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in his own way, I fear,' Ralgha said slowly. 'When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my kind, but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar . . . conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?'
Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. 'I guess we do. But . . . killing is killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because you have to . . . to defend yourself, your people, your civilization. Whether it's hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole damned planet out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we each have to decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're being asked to deal out.'
'This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my friend,' Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look. 'And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to ask
