Heart Of The Tiger wc-4 Page 24

  CHAPTER XXII

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory.

  Tamayo System

  Once again the flight deck was crowded with officers and crewmen gathered to bid farewell to one of their own. The neat ranks of pilots, technicians, and ship's crew . . . the honor guard with weapons held in a stiff rifle salute . . . the chaplain's service, and the empty coffin waiting by the launch tube — only the names changed, but never the trappings or the emotion.

  Christopher Blair slowly stepped forward to the temporary podium. He never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.

  "Major Jace Dillon was a reluctant warrior in the Confederation's battle against the Empire," Blair said slowly. He raised his eyes to study the front ranks, especially the pilots of Gold Squadron. For a fleeting moment he wondered what Ralgha was thinking. Did the Kilrathi renegade regret letting the young Terran pilot down in that last battle? Hobbes had certainly been withdrawn ever since. It was a feeling Blair understood entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the going got tough. He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor and courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."

  As he stepped back to allow the chaplain to advance and carry on with the funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He wished he could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of place here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin accelerated out of the hangar deck, or as the honor guard fired their low-powered volleys. And when he bowed his head to offer up a prayer, it was Angel Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.

  * * *

  Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory.

  Tamayo System

  Blair sat alone at a table by the viewport, staring down into his empty glass as if it was a crystal ball that might give him a glimpse of another time and place. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, the other pilots and crewmen who talked, laughed and carried on with their lives, with only an occasional glance at the solitary, withdrawn figure of their wing commander.

  A shadow fell across the table, and he looked into the knowing eyes of Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on the table beside him. "You look like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.

  He poured a shot and drank, wincing a little at the bite of the cheap liquor in his mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid.

  "Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the right buttons to push."

  Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at Rachel.

  "I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"

  Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."

  She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those things just postpone the inevitable."

  "I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it like that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ."

  "Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out on the cats — look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."

  He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about, . . I hope you're not thinking. . . ."

  Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say . . . Let's just say you're a man I could care about . . . if there was nothing else holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no matter what."

  "I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends, my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."

  "Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of . . . a friend."

  * * *

  Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory.

  Torgo System

  "All right, last item on the list," Blair said, ticking off another point on his personal data display. "Captain says we re due for a visit from some VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen hundred hours. We need to police the flight deck and hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching shipshape. Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail."

  Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"

  Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron, all chuckled. Ralgha. sitting in the corner of the office away from the others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling boredom.

  "Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?"

  No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes was the last to leave and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."

  Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled.

  "Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ."

  "I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human couldn't easily fathom. "We have been friends for many years, you and I. Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your pain over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now."

  "Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"

  The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans . . . have rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I . . . regret her passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.

  "If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid."

  The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will see, before the end."

  "I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."

  Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it. Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.

  "What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the desk and resuming his own seat.

  "Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's broadcast, before the battle at Delius."

  Blair frowned. "What about it?"

  "We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you, and then . . . well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op. They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that signal, and some bluster and threats. It
doesn't add up."

  "Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with everything blazing while we were still at Delius station they could've had Victory for breakfast . . . and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?"

  "It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.

  "The question is, why?"

  Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was something . . . familiar about that transmission."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar. It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."

  "Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. "Rollins, can you shed any light on it?"

  "Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much. Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . . if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. . . all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."

  Cobra bit her lip. "Sir, I know we've had our differences, and I know what you told me about accusations. About wanting proof. . . and I don't have any. But I have to say this anyway, even if you're going to throw me in the brig over it. I think there could have been some kind of hidden signal in all that junk. To a Kilrathi agent."

  "You're talking about Hobbes, of course," Blair said, frowning. "Lieutenant . . ."

  "I didn't say it was Hobbes, sir," Cobra said. "But we know the cats have agents in the Confederation."

  Rollins cleared his throat. "Colonel, I think you should hear her out on this. It would explain a lot, if the cats had an agent aboard."

  "Like how they keep throwing us softballs in tight corners," Buckley amplified. "Letting us get away at Delius. Ariel, too, if you think about it. They could make jump points disappear, but the second one stayed open for us. And it wasn't defended, either."

  Blair looked from one to the other. "It still isn't proof of anything except the fact that both of you have active imaginations," he said at last. "You know where I stand. I don't like having accusations leveled at Hobbes, and all you've really got here is a conspiracy theory." He looked down at his desk. "It's a very serious charge to make . . ."

  "Hell, Colonel, I'm not saying it is Hobbes," Cobra told him. "I mean, he's a Kilrathi, and you know how I feel about him, but I know this doesn't prove anything." She Laughed, a short, bitter, humorless sound. "For all I know, Colonel, you're the Kilrathi spy. You love the cats . . . a cat, at least, and you were in command when things went sour at Locanda Four. All I'm saying is that it would explain some pretty strange shit. I think we have to consider it."

  "All right, Lieutenant. I'll consider it." Blair leaned back in his chair. "Suppose you two keep looking into the matter, and let me know if you find anything concrete we can use. And keep your suspicions to yourselves. Have you talked with anyone else?"

  "No, sir. ' Rollins said. "I was going to take it to the captain, but Cobra wanted to come to you first."

  "I didn't want you to think I was going behind your back with this thing, sir," she amplified.

  "Good. For now, let's keep the matter between us. That way nobody gets embarrassed by a lot of gossip. Nobody. You read me on this?"

  "Yes, sir," Rollins said.

  Cobra met his look with a level stare. "Aye, aye, Colonel," she said.

  "All right. Dismissed, then."

  They both started for the door, but Blair held up a hand. "Mister Rollins. I have some reports for the captain. Stay a moment while I round them up, if you please."

  "Yes, sir," he responded.

  Blair waited until the door closed behind Cobra. He gave Rollins a long, hard look. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I have to ask this. How much stock do you put in all this?"

  "Sir? I think there's a lot to consider here."

  "How much of this is your idea?"

  Rollins frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Buckley came to me asking what I thought about the battle . . . about how the Kilrathi fought it, I mean. She made some good points . . ." He trailed off, frowning. "But I had some suspicions about the signal content already, sir. She had nothing to do with any of that." He hesitated. "Just what are you trying to get at with all this, Colonel?"

  Blair sat down heavily. "Cobra makes a good case, give her that. And if I didn't have complete faith in Ralgha nar Hhallas I might be ready to go along with it. But she doesn't know how much we've been through together, Hobbes and I. And all her hate isn't going to make me change my mind about him now."

  "She admitted she wasn't pointing any fingers, sir."

  "True enough. But ever since I've been on board she's been running Ralgha down. She accused him of everything but mopery and dopery on the spaceways." Blair paused, reluctant to go on, but Rollins was the only one he could talk to, under these circumstances. "There's another possibility I can't help but think about, Lieutenant."

  "Sir?"

  "Rumor is that Cobra was a Kilrathi slave for ten years. You hear any of that from your sources?"

  "Er . . . no, sir. Not really. Some scuttlebutt in the rec room, maybe, but nothing solid."

  "I heard it from somebody I trust," Blair told him. Rollins didn't need to know about Rachel Coriolis and her friend from the Hermes. "The point is this: if I was in Kilrathi Intelligence, and wanted to plant spies in the Confederation, I don't think I'd use Kilrathi as agents. They'd have a tough time winning acceptance. I'd use humans, slaves who had grown up in a Kilrathi labor camp. The things they can do with personality overlays are pretty wild from what I've heard, and I'll bet you could make sure they got through debriefing so they were 'rescued' and brought back to Terran space."

  "You think Cobra's our spy?" Rollins looked incredulous. "Hell, Colonel, she's the one who suggested we look for a spy!"

  "As you said, you already had some questions about those Kilrathi signals." Blair frowned. "You thought there might be other signals buried in there somewhere? Maybe there were — orders, for instance. But a clever spy might want to figure out how much we suspected, and steer our suspicions in an acceptable direction."

  "Like Hobbes." Rollins was frowning. "It's. . . how did you put it, Colonel? A conspiracy theory? But I don't see any more proof that it's Cobra than I do for Hobbes. And Cobra . . . she'd have to be one hell of an actress, making believe she hated the cats so much."

  "It's pretty thin, isn't it?" Blair gave him a sour smile. "I don't want to believe it, Lieutenant She's a good pilot, and a good wingman. But Hobbes is one of the best friends I ever had."

  "Why are you telling me this, sir?"

  "I just want you to . . . keep your eyes open. And your mind, too. You two are going to be looking for proof about a spy on board. I just want to make sure none of that proof winds up somewhere it doesn't belong. Like Ralgha's cabin, for example."

  "So you want me to spy on Cobra? Is that it, Colonel?"

  "I just want you to put that famous Rollins paranoia to work for our side for a change. If there's a spy on this ship, we have to know about it. Whether it's Hobbes, or Cobra, or somebody else entirely. Just don't make the mistake of letting Cobra steer you the wrong way. "He held up his hand. "And I don't just mean because she might be a Kilrathi agent. She could believe everything she's saying, sincerely and totally. But her hate . . . it warps things. I'm counting on you to get past her bias and look at this whole mess objectively."

  "I'll. .. d
o what I can, Colonel," Rollins said. He sounded reluctant. "But I'm not sure I'll like it."

  "You think I do? Damn it, I like Cobra, despite the attitude. Despite the bigotry and the hate. Down deep, she's always struck me as somebody to admire for being tough enough to overcome everything she's been through, and for being one hell of a good flyer." He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I don't like this any better than you do. But it's something that has to be done."

  "Aye, aye, sir, Rollins said quietly.

  * * *

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory.

  Torgo System

  "Ship's company, atten-SHUN!"

  Blair straightened at the crisp order from Eisen, feeling a little uncomfortable in his starched dress uniform with the archaic sword hanging at his side. The assembled crewmen were all dressed in their best, though in some cases it was a little difficult to tell. And despite Maniac's best efforts, there was no disguising the run-down appearance of Victory herself. He remembered his own first impression of the carrier's shabby, overused fittings, and wondered what the admiral would make of it all.

  He found himself wondering when had he come to accept the carriers faults, to think of the ship as his home?

  The crewmen lined up in ranks on either side of a red carpet that was unrolled to the shuttle's door. It looked out of place on the flight deck, gleaming, new, a gaudy bauble cast into a peasant's hovel.

  The door opened slowly, and Admiral Tolwyn stepped into view, pausing to survey the deck before descending the ramp. A trio of aides followed him, Kevin Tolwyn conspicuous among them, and a pair of Marine sentries brought up the rear. Geoff Tolwyn was dressed in the plain tunic of a deck officer, the only sign of his rank the cluster of stars pinned to his lapel.

  Eisen stepped forward to meet him. "An honor and a privilege to have you aboard, Admiral," he said, snapping off a salute.

  Tolwyn returned it. "Pleasure to be here, Captain," he said. His roving eye caught sight of Blair. "Colonel Blair, good to see you."