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  The Emperor hesitated.

  "What is it, Grandfather?"

  "An enemy fleet has been detected, closing in on the landing operations, the first report just came through."

  Prince Thrakhath felt a sudden chill of dread.

  "Order them to retreat at once!"

  The Emperor shook his head.

  "By the time the signal arrives the issue will already be decided."

  "I will find this carrier, Grandfather. It will not replace what we have lost, but at least it will pay for its crimes."

  CHAPTER X

  "All right, let's have the status reports," Jason said wearily, struggling to keep awake after nearly two days without sleep. He gratefully accepted the cup of coffee from Doomsday, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking slightly, either from too much caffeine or just from simple exhaustion.

  He looked over at the damage control officer, who, by good fortune for the Tarawa, was an old petty officer with twenty-five years fleet experience; another transfer from the Concordia. His senior, a young cadet straight out of the academy, had died on the bridge, and as a result the most qualified person had risen to the job.

  "We've welded durasteel plating over the breach in the hull, your suggestion of cannibalizing it from that wrecked Ferret was a damned good one. It's definitely not air tight, so I'm keeping the airlock force fields up, and I've ordered everyone still working in that area to keep their pressure suits on, even though we've pumped air back in."

  "Shield generation is ready to go back on line, though the phase generator is still not synching quite right, so I don't suggest pushing her up to the max power setting."

  "How high then, Jim?"

  "Seventy-five percent and that's pushing it."

  "Keep working on it."

  "I've got people on it now."

  "We've reestablished a pressurized and secured corridor back to the engine room, and the last of the electrical fires was tracked down and contained in the aft crew quarters. Still some toxins in the air though, both from the fire and from the ammonia and sulphur atmosphere leaking in, so I think crew quarters should be off limits for at least another couple of days till our air filtration cleans it all out. Also, anyone in the aft deck areas should wear filter masks as well."

  Jason sighed and looked around the room.

  "I take it that's the good news, chief."

  Jim nodded and blew out noisily.

  "We've got structural cracks running down three of the six main keel beams—this ship is leaking air like a sieve from hundreds of microscopic structural cracks. We could very well start running short on air pressure by the time we get home. I've talked with our environmental chief and he's dropping internal pressure down to 4.5 pounds per square inch and jacking up the oxygen content but increased oxygen means increased chance of fire if anything flares up again. If we take any neutron hits and they get through the shielding, the resulting electrostatic discharge could cause a flare out."

  "Then we jack the pressure back up and lower the oxygen when we know we're going into combat."

  "And lose air. It'll be tricky as well because if we fluctuate air pressure and particularly nitrogen content we could cause the entire crew to get the bends. The environmental officer is trying to work something out."

  "I think they called it robbing Peter to pay Paul, chief."

  "That's how I see it, sir."

  "Bridge control status?"

  "We've run some more wiring into the launch control room but our long-range scanning array is wiped out. We'll have to rely on Intrepid and Kagimasha for that data. Helm control, combat information, navigation, and damage control stations are now fully operational."

  "A damned fine job," Jason said. "Chief, we couldn't have pulled it off without your skill."

  "Hell, Captain, I just want to get out of this scrap alive; three months and I'm up for retirement."

  "I'm just glad you didn't retire before this cruise."

  "I wish the hell I had," the chief replied, and Jason laughed in commiseration.

  "I think we all kind of wish that at the moment, chief."

  He turned and looked over at his old comrade.

  "Doomsday, how are our planes?"

  "Twenty-three pilots left, not counting you, sir. One of the marine shuttle pilots and his co were both checked out on Ferrets so we do have two backups though it'd be murder to send them out against Kilrathi fleet pilots. Five Sabres, eight Rapiers, and seven Ferrets left."

  Jason had been mulling that one over and now had to make a decision.

  "All right, Doomsday, you're promoted to wing commander."

  "Just what I always wanted, sir," he said dryly. "They live about as long as new pups."

  "You'll also continue to run the Sabre squadron. Round Top takes over the Ferrets," he paused for a moment, "and Tolwyn runs the Rapiers."

  "I don't like that, Jason."

  "I didn't expect you to, but the kid proved himself out there, he dumped four of them and saved Intrepid's butt from a torpedo strike."

  "I wish we had Mongol."

  "Well, we don't," and he thought of all the fresh young faces now gone: Mongol, Flame, Ice Wind, Nova, Eagle, Talon, Thor, and Odin, all the heroic young names, now dead.

  He looked up at the chronometer which was ticking off the time.

  "It's an hour to scramble and rendezvous. The galley's promised a hot meal for everyone, and the crew's to eat at their posts. People, we're going to get out of here, we're going to get home, just remember that, and tell your people that as well. It's time for the service, so let's get out on the deck and look sharp."

  He rose up from his chair and walked out of the makeshift bridge, his staff following. Out by the airlock the crew was waiting, both the living and the dead. The bodies were wrapped in nothing more than the standard fleet navy blue bodybags and covered with bed sheets. Some of the forms were at least recognizable as having once been human; those lost on the bridge were far smaller bundles. For those who had been vaporized or blown into space, the old fleet tradition of "burying" their uniform served as a substitute. How the damage control and infirmary team had ever dealt with the task of cleaning up from the blast was beyond Jason.

  Their bodies were now lined up by the airlock.

  Jason walked up to the line of corpses and turned to face those crew members who could be spared from damage repairs to attend.

  He was at a loss for what to say, though he had attended far too many of these services in the past.

  "We don't have time to say much," he said quietly, "and I don't think our comrades would want us to take that time right now. When all of this is over, perhaps then we can gather together again and do this properly."

  He turned away from the crew and faced the line of bodies. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copy of the Bible and read the 23rd Psalm. Finishing the prayer he lowered his head.

  "You were our shipmates, and our friends. Though it might sound strange to say it, I want to thank you for us who still live, both here, and across the Confederation, for it is through you that humankind will live, will endure to final victory, and will finally achieve peace."

  "Sleep well, my friends, until that day when space shall give up her dead."

  He came to attention, saluted, and the haunting refrain of "Taps" echoed through the ship. Details of marines stepped forward and as gently as possible picked up the bodies and stepped up to the airlock field, pushing them through one after the other. With the ship running stern first, as the bodies hit the atmosphere outside they tumbled away into the green blue ammonia soup sky and disappeared. Colonel Merritt came forward after the last body disappeared, and stepped up to a helmet and jump boots which Jason knew were symbols of all the marines who had died in the assault. He saluted and then two sergeants picked up the tokens and pushed them through the airlock as well.

  Jason turned back to face the crew, standing ramrod straight.

  "We pull out of here in thirty-seve
n minutes. Now let's get the hell out of this system and kick some fur butt on the way!"

  Stunned, the Emperor lowered his head, motioning with a wave of his hand that the messenger was dismissed.

  How could this be, how could this ever be? Just what had gone wrong?

  Five carriers of the home fleet gone, sixteen support ships gone, nineteen troop transports and four legions of the guard annihilated down to the last warrior. Rusmak and Gar, two of his finest commanders and both of the royal line dead as well.

  How could this ever be?

  Who was to blame?

  And the family, the vast extended family of the imperial blood, what would they now say and do with the bulwark of their home fleet gone? He could well imagine the casualty lists. So many sons of the royal blood would have been lost and the family would look for blame.

  He thought for a moment of the various factions, each jockeying, pushing, positioning to destroy its rivals.

  A klaxon sounded in the distance and he stirred from his contemplation.

  A screen sparked to life, an action which would be permitted only in an emergency.

  "My lord, forgive the intrusion."

  The Emperor looked at the commander of the palace guard who stood at rigid attention, head lowered.

  "Go on, then."

  "Sire, the enemy carrier. It has lifted out of the atmosphere."

  The Emperor, furious, said nothing.

  "Sire, it is accelerating rapidly with ram scoops fully retracted and making a course which will intersect with Kilrah within the hour. Prince Thrakhath advises that this might be a suicide attempt to crash into Kilrah."

  The Emperor nodded. Outside of a close circle of the high command and the warriors directly involved in the fight, not a single individual living on Kilrah knew that a human strike force had penetrated into the heart of the Empire.

  "Thrakhath's fleet?"

  "Moving to intercept."

  "No alert is to be sounded," the Emperor said quietly.

  "Sire?" The commander hesitated.

  "Go on."

  "Not even for those residing within the Palace?"

  He paused. If a strike should indeed get through, the likely target would indeed be the palace compound. Tens of thousands who might survive in the shelters would die. But to even admit that danger was this close? And the home fleet smashed? He could face a coup before the day was out.

  "No one is to know. I want to speak to Thrakhath on a secured scramble line."

  "As you desire, my lord."

  He turned away from the screen which went blank for a moment. First a high-pitched hum and then a scramble code followed.

  "Sire."

  The Emperor turned slowly to face the Prince.

  "You have heard of Vukar?"

  Thrakhath did not reply.

  What is he thinking? the Emperor wondered. After all it was I who insisted that the assault continue and the fleet be split. His own position is threatened now. Could he in turn then be plotting against me?

  "We must do three things," the Emperor said finally.

  "And they are, sire?"

  "One, no strike must ever reach Kilrah. Not a single missile, nothing. You are to block this human scum no matter what."

  "Sire. A close in direct attack will finish them now."

  "You lost a third of your fighters yesterday. If you close assault, can you assure me that no ship will penetrate?"

  Thrakhath hesitated.

  "No, you cannot, that is obvious. Assume a defensive position ahead of them and block their attack. You nave two other carriers maneuvering in through different jump points to seal off escape. We will kill this human fleet in revenge, but it must not succeed in reaching this planet. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, sire. And the other two items?"

  "We shall increase the size of this enemy fleet in our reports to match what we have suffered both in lost construction and in the home fleet."

  Thrakhath smiled and then shook his head.

  "But those of the family will know the real truth."

  "That does not matter. Finally, we must find one at fault for Vukar, let him take the blame, and divert attention."

  "The Baron."

  The Emperor nodded.

  "Fine."

  "Grandson, you must succeed. If not," he hesitated, "far too many will then start to look to you as the cause of their problems."

  He switched the screen off without waiting for a reply.

  "Captain, their carrier is maneuvering in from the flank."

  "Their course bearing?"

  "Positioning above their first moon, between us and Kilrah."

  Jason smiled.

  He looked over at the helm officer.

  "Our speed?"

  "Crossing through eight thousand clicks a second and climbing, sir."

  "Prepare to launch remaining landing craft and pilotless Ferret. Communications, signal our escorts to stand close. Alert tractor beam crew to get ready as well."

  Jason looked over at the strategic display map. They were surrounded by a circle of Kilrathi ships. Six in pursuit all the way back from the gas giant, two closing in to either flank. And the carrier positioned ahead and several million clicks out from Kilrah.

  He settled back into his bridge chair and watched the display. With the ram scoop energy fields completely closed down, the Tarawa continued to accelerate. He was going to burn damned near every ounce of fuel reserve aboard ship in the next twenty minutes; if the furballs didn't fall for the maneuver they'd get nailed at the jump point when they were forced to slow back down to insure a correct alignment for jump entry. But it was the only plan he could come up with and Grierson had chuckled with delight when first told.

  "What are they doing?" Prince Thrakhath whispered, not really addressing his question to anyone in particular.

  He watched the data screen. The three ships were accelerating with ram scoops closed down… and they were aiming straight in on Kilrah.

  "Project terminal velocity if they should ram the planet," Thrakhath said and he looked over at his combat control officer.

  The data appeared on Thrakhath's screen.

  Ten thousand and eighty kilometers per second. He sat back and allowed the information to sink in. The mass of the ship, striking at that velocity into the atmosphere would cleave straight down to the planet's surface, impacting with a force equal to several dozen matter/antimatter warheads. Three such strikes would kill tens of millions.

  Was that his plan?

  "Contact planetary defense, get shielding up to maximum and the hell with security. Prepare to position this ship on a collision intercept with their carrier. Scramble all fighters for point defense with same orders."

  He left his chair, the battle station alarm screeching through the ship.

  "Prepare to launch landing craft and Ferret," Jason announced and he looked down at the flight deck.

  "Launch!"

  The landing craft went out the airlock door, aimed on a ballistic trajectory straight in on Kilrah, followed by the lone Ferret, both ships on automatic pilot, both ships armed with old-style atomics which would be detected by the Kilrathi defense.

  Kilrah, which only minutes before was nothing but a blue-green dot, was now a sphere hanging in the darkness.

  "Coming up on maneuver change," Helm announced.

  Jason settled back into his chair and strapped himself in.

  "Hang on Tarawa, just hang on."

  "Rotating ship for maneuver firing now!"

  Jason felt the nudge of the thruster rockets which turned Tarawa to a line perpendicular to its flight path. Without the scoops, any form of aerodynamic maneuvering was impossible. It would all have to be done by the age-old method of space flight which was to burn fuel in order to turn.

  "All engines firing!"

  "They've launched atomic warheads!" Prince Thrakhath leaped out of his chair and came up to stand behind his combat control officer. The telltale yellow blip was su
perimposed over the purple which marked two ships that were launching from Tarawa.

  "Block them, shoot them, we must bring them down."

  "Tarawa is shifting course!"

  "Block the warheads!"

  Creaks and groans echoed through the ship as the main engines, sucking up the hydrogen fuel at a prodigious rate, feeding it into the fusion reactor cores, started to change the trajectory that would have taken them straight into Kilrah.

  The planet, displayed on the main monitor came racing up. Dozens of blips, marking the forward defenses of the Kilrathi, swarmed across the screen, positioning themselves to intercept what they thought would be the suicidal gesture of a planet ramming. But now, with every passing second, Tarawa was maneuvering dozens of clicks away from the anticipated path. Some of the fighters started to turn, while others continued to converge on the two drones, whose heavy mines clicking towards detonation were sending the Kilrathi into a frenzy.

  "Planet loop in ten seconds."

  "Navigation, you damn well better be right," Jason said, looking over at the nav officer who gulped nervously. "Are tractor beams ready?"

  "Tractor beam standing by for computer firing."

  "Velocity now at nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty eight kilometers per second."

  Navigation looked over at her console and punched in the latest data which was instantly fed into the main nav computer. Tens of thousandths of a second later, adjustments were sent into the ship's helm control which minutely altered the engine firing.

  "Landing craft rammed by a Sartha," combat announced.

  Jason ignored the information, watching as several Sartha, moving now without their own ram scoop fields, attempted to close with full afterburners, coming in on ballistic trajectories.

  "Projected impact on Kagimasha!"

  Jason turned to look at the tactical screen.

  It was over even before he could pick out the intersecting lines, a Sartha swinging straight into the path of the corvette, the two intersecting at nearly ten thousand kilometers per second. A white burst of light, far brighter than the sun, appeared on the starboard beam monitoring screen and then disappeared from view as Tarawa raced past.

  "They never knew what hit them," Jason whispered.

  The green-blue ball of Kilrah raced up and for a second Jason was convinced that navigation had screwed it, and they would impact.