Dedicated bombing craft were comparatively new to human flight wings, where the recent Longbow bomber was still a novelty. The Paktahn wasn't nearly as good as the Longbow, but like the stealth fighter the bomber was something the Landreich hadn't used at all . . . until now. If they could even get a few of these fit for combat action, they could greatly extend the Landreich's ability at power projection.
Electronic Warfare Craft, Zartoth-class, more than a full squadron apparently intact. Built on the same frame as a Vaktoth heavy fighter, the Zartoth was only lightly armed, but was crammed with electronics gear and electronic countermeasures. They were most useful when it was necessary to pinpoint and destroy enemy targets by detecting energy outputs, or when it was deemed advisable to knock out defending sensors or communications channels. The Confederation used larger EW vessels, corvettes, but Tolwyn had always thought the Kilrathi practice of deploying multiple Zartoths for the same role was a better way of doing the job.
Reconnaissance craft, Hrakthi-class, approximately one squadron in good condition. Unarmed and constructed from a modification of an older light fighter, the Salthi, the Hrakthi was intended purely as a scout craft. They possessed the ability to cloak, and were packed with sensors, but their combat worth was small. Still, the ability to study an enemy formation from close up without being detected appealed to Tolwyn.
Shuttles, various types, roughly four squadrons. The Kilrathi design philosophy emphasized dispersal and duplication of valuable assets to allow a force to suffer losses and still win a battle. They had adapted one basic shuttlecraft design for a number of different purposes. The Naktarg was the original version, an assault shuttle large enough to hold troops and small vehicles and armed with gatling lasers and anti-armor ground-support missiles. A Search and Rescue variant, the Rogharth, was not unlike the Type-R ConFleet shuttle that had carried the castaway party back to Karga, devoting space to a medical bay and extra sensors. Another intriguing type, as far as Tolwyn was concerned, was the Gratha, which was fitted for command and control duties. It carried a crew of six as well as room for a strike commander and his staff, and duplicated the tracking, communications, and tactical computer functions housed within a carrier's Primary Flight Control center. They effectively increased the carrier's ability to control flight operations over long distances.
Finally, there was the Kofar shuttle variant, a flying munitions and fuel dump that could dock with a Kilrathi fighter in space and transfer fuel and missiles. Tolwyn had long argued that the Confederation fleet could have used a similar platform. Carriers, after all, were at their most vulnerable when they were in the process of rearming and refueling fighters in the middle of combat operations. Terran carriers could launch small tankers, but there was no provision for restocking a fighter's missiles without having it return to the flight deck. The Kofar extended Kilrathi planes' flight times dramatically.
Tolwyn shook his head. All those planes, enough to fit out something close to a full flight wing that was considerably more modern than anything the Landreich could fly, and Richards was actually thinking of throwing it all away! And that wasn't even considering the carrier herself, a marvel of advanced naval design far better than escort carriers like Independence and her sister-ships. Even if they couldn't make good all of the damage—and Tolwyn had to admit there was all too much to do before the battered vessel was ready for combat again—the Goliath team couldn't afford to ignore the ship's potential.
He shut off his computer monitor and stood up to pace back and forth across the cabin. Tolwyn knew with absolute certainty that Goliath had to go forward, but he wasn't sure he could convince Richards or Bondarevsky. They might not believe what he knew about the Belisarius conspiracy. And if they didn't, they could do more than just pull the plug on the carrier refit. They could keep Tolwyn from carrying on his personal war against the people who were planning the unthinkable back on Earth. He couldn't afford to lose an argument . . . he had to take some other kind of action.
And he knew what that action had to be.
CHAPTER 9
"There is no treachery greater than the betrayal of comrade against comrade."
from the Sixth Codex
16:33:17
Mess Hall C, FRLS City of Cashel
Near Vaku VII, Vaku System
0845 hours (CST), 2670.315
Commander Donald Scott Graham was conscious of hostile eyes turned toward his table, but he forced himself to ignore them and concentrate on his food and his conversation. The relief of being rescued was starting to turn into concern for what might come next, but he was determined to enjoy the benefits of civilization without letting anyone spoil his first day off of Nargrast. But it took plenty of effort to ignore the stares and the muttered comments. Plainly there were fellow passengers aboard the transport ship who didn't approve of his choice of breakfast companions.
Murragh Cakg dai Nokhtak evidently noticed the hostility as well. "It would seem that my people are no more popular with humans than yours are among Kilrathi," he said quietly. "Perhaps I dealt less well than I thought, that day, when I agreed to entrust my people to your good will."
From across the table Jason Bondarevsky spoke up. "It's rude, but you can't really blame them. The Landreich still considers itself at war, and when the fighting's gone on as long as this you stop recognizing the enemy as individuals and start regarding every one you see as a threat. Having close to a hundred Kilrathi in for breakfast makes people a little nervous, that's all."
Murragh favored him with a close-lipped smile. "Believe me, Captain, I understand. Early on when we started working with Graham I had to persuade my people that the stories were not true that said that you apes liked nothing better than to kill and eat Kilrathi prisoners for dinner."
Graham and Bondarevsky both laughed.
"I'm beginning to believe that there are a lot more similarities between our two races than anyone would have thought possible," Bondarevsky said.
The transport ship was on the return leg of her mission of mercy, with the survivors from Nargrast safely embarked with their equipment and supplies. They'd left a detachment of spacers from the transport on the planet to study the crash site of the Kilrathi destroyer and the neighboring camp where the mixed bag of survivors had lived for nine Terran months. The Kilrathi fighters on the ground were particularly worthy of a closer look, and might be retrieved when the battle group was ready to pull out. The transport was scheduled to rendezvous with the rest of the Landreicher squadron in orbit near Karga within a few short hours, and Graham was glad of a chance to relax in one of the passenger mess areas. It had been a difficult two days.
The survivors had been glad to be rescued, no doubt about that, and had cooperated enthusiastically with the Landreich rescue effort. After the first confrontation with Kuraq, the Kilrathi had caused no difficulties . . . at least not until the issue of when they could go home arose. The news that the Landreich considered itself still at war with the remnants of the Empire and hence weren't likely to send a shipload of Cats back to the nearest Imperial colony had come close to causing a full-scale riot among the Kilrathi contingent. Once again young Murragh had proved his talents as a leader, calming them down with a few more well-chosen words. As Graham had told Bondarevsky earlier, the young Cat had a flair for leadership. He was only a Hyilghar—the word translated very approximately as a lieutenant, but with a modifier that implied staff rather than combat duties and some sort of special aristocratic social status Graham didn't entirely understand—but despite his youth and modest rank he handled Kilrathi combat veterans three times his age with a natural aplomb that Graham still found himself envying after all these months.
So the trouble had never quite materialized, but it had left a bad taste in Graham's mouth. The agreement he had made with Murragh should be honored, he felt, but he was afraid the Landreichers weren't going to see things that way. The hostile stares and angry asides the Cats drew in the mess hall didn't make him feel any better abou
t things.
"I understand you've been monitoring developments outside the system," Bondarevsky said around a mouthful of bacon from his plate. "What do you make of the situation across the border?"
Murragh showed his fangs briefly. "Ukar dai Ragark is an ambitious governor who never felt properly appreciated under Thrakhath's rule. I think he would like nothing better than to see his hrai take the Throne. Not that they would keep it for long. He might win some short-term popularity by redeeming our pride with a victory or two, but that one won't know when to stop. Sooner or later he will overreach himself the same way our beloved Prince did, and that will be the end of him."
Graham chuckled. "You see, Bondarevsky, the Kilrathi even understand the finer uses of sarcasm," he said with a smile. "If you were looking for a fanatical follower of either Ragark or Thrakhath, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."
"Well, forgive me if I'm too obvious," Bondarevsky said, grinning. "But it's always nice to know where you stand."
"A sentiment from the Codices," Murragh replied. "You are forgiven your curiosity . . . though I would warn you to remember that the ape's questing hands are a sure route to trouble."
"And curiosity killed the cat," Graham added. Murragh laughed, a strangely human sound from a massive, fur-covered, cat-like creature with a flattened muzzle and sharp fangs. It always startled him to hear the Kilrathi laughing. They were so often depicted in Terran propaganda as dour creatures who took pleasure only in blood and death.
"So who do you support, in the new Empire?" Graham asked. "Chancellor Melek?"
"An honest kil, although he was a creature of Thrakhath's," Murragh responded. "His caretaker government at least does not assert a claim to the Throne itself. I imagine he will turn control over to the rightful Emperor when the time comes."
"The trouble is deciding who has the right" Bondarevsky countered. "Every governor and petty warlord in the Empire is claiming to be the one leader who should take over as Emperor, in the absence of a legitimate heir."
Murragh didn't answer, but he was showing his teeth again. The fighting smile wasn't an expression of satisfaction or humor in a Kilrathi warrior. It meant the anticipation of battle.
"Ah, Bondarevsky, maybe you missed the significance of Murragh's full name," Graham said, stepping into the awkward silence. "The dai Nokhtak hrai is a distaff branch of the Imperial Family. Murragh here is a distant cousin of the Prince Thrakhath's . . . maybe the last one alive. His grandmother was sister to the late Emperor. That makes him a legitimate heir to the Kilrathi throne."
'What?" Bondarevsky almost stood up, taken aback by Graham's quiet announcement. "I didn't make the connection . . . I guess somebody mentioned Admiral Cakg was a cousin of Thrakhath's, and you . . ."
"I am his nephew," Murragh said quietly. "And possibly the only living kil with a claim to the Empire. As such, since you ask me whose side I am on, I can only say that I am wholeheartedly in favor of my own side."
Bondarevsky shook his head slowly, his expression a mix of wonder and embarrassment that made it hard for Graham to keep a straight face. "My God, I've just had breakfast with the rightful Emperor of the Kilrathi. My memoirs are going to be a bestseller, I just know it." He grinned. "I guess you never know who you're going to meet out here on the frontier."
Graham laughed. "Surprised the hell out of me, too, when I found out," he said. "And I thought all Cats were pretty much alike . . . until I started hanging out with royalty!"
VIP Quarters, FRLS Independence
Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System
1442 hours (CST), 2670.316
Jason Bondarevsky cradled his head in his hands and stared at the overhead above his bunk. It was good to be back aboard the escort carrier, the rescue mission completed, but now that he was back he couldn't help but worry about what the future might hold.
The leaders of the Goliath Project had spent a stormy hour that morning discussing the situation on the Karga. For the most part, the consensus was that it was hopeless to try to salvage the ship. That self-destruct system made the whole prospect entirely too dangerous, and the extent of the damage was such that it seemed unlikely they could get the ship back into fighting trim even if they could circumvent the computer's deadly last program.
Of them all, only Admiral Tolwyn had been in favor of going forward with the project, but he'd made up in vehemence what he lacked in support.
As for Bondarevsky, his worries centered more on what would come next. Kruger had recruited him with this Goliath scheme in mind, and now that it looked to be a dead letter he had to wonder if there'd be a place for him in the Landreich after all. There weren't that many decent military commands available, and somehow he couldn't see himself ending up as some supernumerary staff officer pushing computer keys for the greater glory of Max Kruger and the Landreich.
The door buzzer sounded, interrupting his reverie, and Bondarevsky raised his voice to order the computer to open it. Sitting up in the bed, he was startled to see Admiral Richards framed in the opening. The admiral held up a hand as he started to scramble to his feet.
"Don't get up, Jason," he said, looking weary. "May I come in for a few minutes?"
"Of course, Admiral. Please. Can I get you something?"
Richards pursed his lips. "How about a sane assistant?" he muttered darkly. "Or a laser pistol so I can shoot the insane one I've already got."
"Sir?"
"That idiot Tolwyn went over my head!" Richards exploded. "Got on a hypercast channel with Kruger and talked him into authorizing a go-ahead on Goliath. And all this before the meeting this morning!"
"What?" Bondarevsky couldn't believe the admiral's words. Even Admiral Tolwyn couldn't be so set on this operation as to ignore the danger of trying to work on the supercarrier. "That's impossible! That ship is a bomb waiting to go off. We can't hope to work on her. I assumed we'd launch a spread of torpedoes, cut our losses, and head for home base."
"That's what I planned on doing," Richards said heavily. "But Kruger's adamant. We're to use all means available to try to save the carrier, whatever the risks may be. That's a direct presidential order, no less."
"But Admiral Tolwyn's behind it?"
"That he is," Richards said. "I went stomping across to his cabin as soon as I had Kruger's message, and the bastard actually boasted about getting Old Max to come on board. Said it was too important to back off now, and then clammed up on me. I'm telling you, Jason, I just don't know what to do! Part of me wants to out-Kruger Old Max, invoke my superior rank over Galbraith and take us out of here no matter what our orders are. But . . ." He shook his head. "Damn it all, we've invested a hell of a lot in Goliath. It really was the best chance we had of evening the odds. I know how Tolwyn feels. I'd like to take a crack at it too. But not when repairing a single circuit could bring the self-destruct countdown back up and kill the whole salvage team. This is asking too damned much!"
"I agree, sir," Bondarevsky said softly.
"I didn't think Geoff Tolwyn had it in him, to be this callous about men's lives." Richards locked eyes with Bondarevsky. "You know, I heard a lot of nonsense about how he'd turned into a cold-blooded killer when he started work on Behemoth, but I wouldn't buy into it. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe when you've seriously contemplated genocide as an option a few more lives one way or another aren't going to matter any more."
Bondarevsky looked away, remembering some of his own thoughts about Tolwyn's involvement with Behemoth. But some perverse part of him rallied to the admiral's defense. "Sir, I don't like the sound of this any better than you do," he said slowly. "But I've known Admiral Tolwyn for a lot of years now, and I've never known him to do anything without a pretty damned good reason behind it. Maybe we should try to find out what the reasons are for this, too."
"You do what you like," Richards said. "I don't know if I can trust myself not to punch the bastard out the next time I see him."
Bondarevsky understood exactly how Richards felt.
&nbs
p; VIP Quarters, FRLS Independence
Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System
1934 hours (CST)
Bondarevsky touched the stud by the door to Admiral Tolwyn's suite and waited with mounting concern. The admiral had not stirred from his quarters all afternoon, and now, when Bondarevsky had finally decided to seek him out, it seemed as if he wasn't planning on seeing visitors. There wasn't even a query from the intercom. Finally, though, the door slid open.
The room was dark, with all the lights out except a single worklight by the computer terminal, and the glow of the monitor screen. But Tolwyn wasn't at the desk. It took a moment for Bondarevsky's eyes to adjust to the darkness and pick out the shadowy figure of the admiral slumped back in an easy chair facing the door.
"Sir?" Bondarevsky ventured, uncertain of himself.
"Come in, Jason," Tolwyn said softly. "I suppose Vance Richards sent you."
"He . . . talked with me earlier, sir, but it was my idea to come, Admiral," Bondarevsky said.
Tolwyn chuckled, but there was precious little humor behind it. "You missed your calling, Jason. You should have been a diplomat. What Vance did was rant and rave, scream bloody murder, and call me everything but a Cat-lover, right?"
Bondarevsky didn't answer that. "I came because I think it's a mistake to go ahead with Goliath, sir. A big mistake. You're putting hundreds, maybe thousands of lives at risk on a project that had damned little chance of success from the very start. And going outside the chain of command to Kruger instead of working on a report with Admiral Richards . . ." He paused. "I've known you for most of my adult life, Admiral, and I've always thought of you as a second father. But you've not been acting like the man I remember . . . not since Behemoth. And that scares me, sir."
Wing Commander #07 False Color Page 17