Heart Of The Tiger

by William R. Forstchen

  "Laddie—" Paladin began. He was cut off by the ululation of an alarm siren.

  "Flight deck. Emergency." The voice on the tannoy belonged to Rollins, but it was almost unrecognizable, choked with emotion. "We have a problem on the flight deck!"

  "Blair, get down there," Eisen rasped, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge…"

  "On my way," Blair said. He was already halfway to the door, but Paladin, despite his age and bulk, was right behind him. They raced to the elevator, all pretense of officer's dignity forgotten.

  Rachel met them at the door to the hangar deck. "Bay Twelve," she said, grim-faced. The two men didn't wait for an explanation. They hurried down the row of fighter bays to the empty space that had housed the Excalibur assigned to Lieutenant Buckley.

  Cobra was lying near the back of the bay, half hidden by a rack of testing equipment. There was blood on the deck where she'd been dragged to the niche, and a larger pool of blood around her. Someone had tried to staunch her wounds with a makeshift bandage, but it wasn't controlling the flow of blood. Blair knelt beside her and lifted it to examine her injuries. Four deep slashes cut across her stomach, and the sight of those wounds made Blair, hardened veteran that he was, turn his head away.

  He had seen that kind of disemboweling cut before, after the ground fighting on Muspelheim a decade ago. The cuts could only have been made by a Kilrathi's claws.

  Blair tried to ignore the nausea welling up inside him. Cobra's eyes fluttered open. "Colonel…" she gasped.

  "Hobbes?" he asked, knowing the answer.

  "He… hit me. Don't know why…"

  "I do," Paladin said grimly. He held up a holo-cassette. "He must have dropped this when he dragged her over here."

  Taggart pressed a button, and a small holographic image formed in the air above Cobra. It took Blair a moment to recognize the scene. It was a view of Eisen's ready room, shot from a high angle. The three figures there belonged to Eisen, Paladin, and Blair.

  "This is the Temblor Bomb," Paladin's image said. "It was developed by Doctor Philip Severin, one of the top research men in the Confederation. It's been undergoing tests for some time now… nearly a decade, in fact."

  Taggart switched it off. "The briefing…"

  "All this time," Blair said slowly, shaking his head. "All this time, he's had us bugged…"

  Rachel returned, with a team of medics running after her. Paladin moved away to give them room to work, while Blair cradled her head and shoulders in his arms. "We'll get you to sick bay," he told her.

  "Too late… for me," she gasped out. "Get Hobbes. You still have time…"

  He could almost feel the life ebbing out of her as the awareness faded from her eyes. One of the medics shook his head. "It's no good, sir," he said. "She's gone."

  Blair lowered her head to the deck gently and stood up. "What about Hobbes?" he asked Rachel, voice flat and harsh. "Any idea where he is?"

  "He took Cobra's fighter," she said. "Launched with Vaquero a few minutes ago. He must have had a tape of her voice to answer the radio check."

  Flint appeared at the mouth of the bay, running. She pulled up short at the sight of Cobra, then fixed her eyes on Blair. "Prowler One just broke off the patrol route," she said, breathing hard. "Fired on Vaquero when he tried to intercept." She paused. "The fighter's heading for the Freya jump point, maximum speed. Vaquero's pursuing."

  Blair looked at Paladin. "Even without that holo, Hobbes can tell them about the plan. About the caches…"

  Taggart nodded. "If he makes it through the jump point, it's all over, lad," he said.

  "Not yet, it isn't," Blair said. He looked at Rachel. "Which of the Excaliburs is prepped for Alert Five?"

  "Three-oh-four," she said. "Maniac's bird."

  "Get it on the line now. And get me a flight suit." He turned to Flint. "You get to Flight Control. Order Vaquero to keep up the chase. Stop that bastard at all costs, or at least slow him down until I get there."

  He looked back down at Cobra, and had to blink back tears of grief and rage. "You were right," he said through clenched teeth. "It was Hobbes…"

  Blair turned away and started toward Maniac's fighter, grim and determined. Hobbes had betrayed them… and now the renegade had to be stopped before he destroyed everything.

  Excalibur 3O4

  Blackmane System

  "Victory, Victory, I need help out here! He's flying rings around met"

  Blair muttered a curse under his breath. Even with the Excaliburs superior acceleration, it would take three more minutes to overtake Vaquero and Hobbes. The Latino pilot had managed to engage Ralgha and keep him busy, but it was an uneven match. Hobbes had always been a good pilot, but Blair had never expected to see him matched against one of his own comrades.

  On his sensor screen, he saw Hobbes making a long, slow loop, circling back toward Lopez. Vaquero had already taken damage to his engines, and was having trouble matching the Kilrathi's maneuvers.

  "He's coming in again …" Lopez said. "Firing …"

  A smaller blip showed up on the sensors. Vaquero launched a missile. It must have been a fire-and-forget model, judging from the way it bobbed and weaved in pursuit of Ralgha's fighter. Hobbes tried to dodge it, but it caught him across the port-side shield. Lopez let out a whoop and dove. Blair could almost see his blasters pouring on the fire.

  "All right!" Lopez shouted. "That one's for Cobra! Get ready to say good-bye, Hobbes."

  "Not today, I'm afraid," Ralgha replied evenly. The Kilrathis fighter released a barrage of missiles. They struck in quick succession.

  "Cristos… I'm breaking up!" Vaquero called. "Adios, amigos…"

  And then he was gone.

  "God damn you," Blair growled. "God damn you to hell."

  "Is that you… old friend?" Hobbes asked. For a moment, he sounded like Blair's old wingman, worried, ready to help. "It would be wisest if you turned back, Colonel. Before I am forced to deal with you as well."

  "Deal with this… old friend!" Blair shouted. Ralgha's Excalibur was just coming into extreme range, and Blair let loose a volley of blaster fire. But Hobbes anticipated it, and the shots only grazed his shields.

  Ralgha turned away, as if to run. Blair's hands clenched on the steering yoke. If Hobbes decided to use his cloak, he might still get away…

  But a cloak used a lot of power, and that would slow him down. Too much of a delay would give Victory time enough to get more fighters into the area, and since Hobbes could only be heading for the Freya jump point to warn the Kilrathi fleet, it wouldn't be that difficult to find him.

  Ralgha suddenly rolled up and back, a classic Immelman maneuver that almost took Blair by surprise. He cursed again as he dodged the Kilrathi's fire. He of all people should have anticipated Ralgha's moves. But he wasn't flying quite the way he usually did. There was something different in his style, more reckless, more aggressive. More like the Kilrathi Blair usually met in battle.

  As Hobbes sped past, Blair checked his sensor readouts on the other Excalibur. Vaquero had penetrated the armor, all right. If the port shield went down, Ralgha would be vulnerable, and he was sure to be sensitive to that weakness. Hobbes had used all of his missiles to knock out Lopez, giving Blair a significant advantage.

  The Kilrathi started to swing around as Blair turned to follow him. He let Hobbes finish his turn, then suddenly opened up his afterburners for a charge right at the other fighter, a move he was sure Hobbes would never expect from him. Blaster fire raked across his forward shields, but he ignored it, even when the shield generator alarm went off. His shields were going down…

  Ralgha stopped firing, his weapons on recharge. The Kilrathi swerved sharply away, trying to keep his port side out of Blair's line of fire. The two fighters were close together now, and Blair had to kill his momentum quickly to keep from shooting right past Hobbes.

  The Terran allowed himself a grim smile and locked on a pair of heat-seekers. As Ralgha finished his tur
n and exposed his tail, Blair let the missiles go and opened up with every beam weapon he possessed.

  "Impressive, my friend," Hobbes said as the barrage struck home. "Impressive… I fear that you have bested me… Now I shall never see Kilrah again."

  The missiles detonated almost simultaneously as the Excalibur's rear shields went down. The fighter came apart.

  Blair thought he heard Hobbes call out his name before the fireball consumed his craft.

  "Excalibur three-o-four," he said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. He couldn't feel anything, either sadness or satisfaction, at the knowledge that Ralgha was gone. "Hobbes… is gone. I'm coming in."

  Chapter XXVIII

  Flight Wing Quarters, TCS Victory

  Blackmane System

  Blair punched in a security code to unlock the door and stepped quickly inside. He was glad there had been no one in the corridor to see him, to ask questions, or to offer comments. He didn't think he could face anyone just now, especially not here, in the quarters that had belonged to Ralgha nor Hhallas. The door slid shut behind him and the lights came on automatically. They were set to the dim reddish hue Hobbes favored, a reminder of Kilrah's K6 star.

  A reminder of Ralgha's home…

  Ralgha… Hobbes… It surprised Blair to realize how deep this wound went, deeper even than Angel's death. He had known Ralgha nar Hhallas, flown with him, loved him like a brother over the better part of fifteen long years. When others had raised doubts, he had been firm in his faith in Hobbes, the one being Blair would have trusted to the bitter end… and beyond. Yet Hobbes betrayed him, betrayed them all. And the knowledge of that betrayal hurt as nothing Blair had ever felt.

  He turned to check the cabin control keypad beside the door, punching for Terra-normal lights and lower heat and humidity than Ralgha had preferred. The changes helped him push away the bitter thoughts of Hobbes, but not far enough for any real peace of mind.

  No doubt Paladin would want Ralgha's effects searched with a fine-tooth comb in hopes of finding clues about the Kilrathi's treachery. Blair didn't plan to disturb anything that might interest Covert Ops. But it was one of his duties, as wing commander, to deal with the personal property of any pilot who died while under his command, and much as he wanted to delegate it, this was one duty Blair felt he had to see to himself. He could at least take a quick inventory of Ralgha's property, though he had no idea where it would go when Paladin was through with it. Usually personal effects were returned to the family, but what family did Hobbes leave?

  He defected in the company of a retainer named Kirha. Had the retainer been another agent? Or legitimate? Blair wasn't even sure if the other Kilrathi was still alive. The last he'd heard, Kirha had vowed allegiance to a Terran pilot, Ian "Hunter" St. John, but that was years ago. Blair hadn't heard anything of Hunter for a long time.

  Well, if nothing else, he could always have Ralgha's property returned to the Empire when the war was over, if it ever was over. Perhaps Hobbes still had family somewhere. He claimed they had all died before his defection, but that could have been yet another lie.

  Blair shook his head sadly. He didn't know what the truth was any more, about Hobbes… or about anything else.

  A slender box lying on the bunk drew his eye, and Blair crossed the room to pick it up. It was a holographic projector, much like the one Angel nad sent him. Curious, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed the switch.

  A life-sized image of Hobbes appeared in front of him.

  "Colonel Blair," the holographic figure said in Ralgha's familiar tones. "I am returning to my Homeworld, but my admiration for you compels me to provide an explanation for my actions.

  "You must understand that the being you knew as Hobbes was a construct, the result of an identity-overlay experiment initiated long ago by Imperial Security at the behest of Prince Thrakhath. You have never met the real Ralgha nor Hhallas, nor would you have become his friend, for he was and is dedicated to the service of the Empire. Only the construct-personality could become your comrade and friend. I myself was entirely unaware of my true self until the message broadcast by Prince Thrakhath that day at Delius, tine message where you were given your Kilrathi title, the Heart of the Tiger. Embedded in combination with a signal embedded in that transmission, the phrase "Heart of the Tiger" was the trigger that awakened my true personality, hidden for so many years. There were buried messages within it that gave me my Prince's instructions, which I have carried out since that day. Once Ralgha nar Hhallas was restored within me, I had no choice but to act as I did. Thus, my friend, you possess the Heart of the Tiger, but I am the Heart of the Tiger."

  The Kilrathi paused for a long time. His expression was one Blair had never seen on his stern, solemn features before, the look of someone torn in two by conflicting emotions. "Kilrathi do not surrender, my old friend, and neither do they betray a trust once given. And yet, in being true to my race and obedient to my duty, I have been forced to betray you. For though I am no longer the same being you once named Hobbes and befriended when I was alone among strangers, I retain a full memory of everything that Ralgha thought and did. I remember you, Colonel, for what you were and are, and know that you are an honorable warrior. If I could have performed my duty without betraying you, I would have done so, but that was not possible. And if we meet again… we will have no choice but to perform our duties… with honor."

  "I hope, Colonel Christopher Blair, that we need never meet in battle. But if we do, I will salute you as a warrior… and I will mourn you, as a friend lost to me forever."

  The holograph flickered and faded out, leaving Blair alone again in the tiny cabin with bitter thoughts as his only companions. He remained there a long time, unmoving, until someone buzzed at the cabin door.

  He put the projector down. "Enter," he said harshly.

  It was Maniac. "Thought I might find you here. Captain called down to Flight Control asking after the final operations plan for this mission of the Generals." Marshall looked around the cabin, plainly curious. "Cleaning out the cat's stuff, huh?"

  Blair shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Just… an inventory. Before the captain gets started with the investigation…"

  "Yeah," Maniac nodded. "Guess they'll have to look into… everything, huh? What'd I tell you about trusting a cat, all those years back?"

  Blair just stared at him, wordless. There was nothing to say any more.

  "Too bad Cobra had to die to get her point across," Marshall said.

  Blair surged out of the bunk and caught him by the collar, raising a hand to strike the man. All his anger had came rushing out, and all he wanted to do was knock the mocking smirk off Maniac's face.

  "Temper, temper," Marshall said. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish, Colonel, sir. And you know you can't afford to lose any more wingmen. Not now."

  Blair dropped his hand and let go of Marshall's collar. The major took a step back, smoothing his wrinkled uniform.

  "For once, you're right," Blair said slowly.

  "I am?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, there's precious few of us left, Major. Two Excaliburs destroyed yesterday, and another one damaged. Only four of us left in Gold Squadron." Blair backed away a few paces, his eyes fixed on Marshall's face. "I'd deck you right now, Maniac, and to hell with the consequences. But I figure I'd rather have you on my wing when we hit Kilrah."

  Maniac snorted. "Yeah, right. You never thought I was any good before. So why would you want me this time?"

  "Simple," Blair told him. "Odds are none of us are coming back from this one, but I figure you're too arrogant and too stupid to bow down. So maybe I will have the pleasure of seeing you fry before the damned mission's over and done with."

  Marshall looked at him doubtfully, as if uncertain how serious Blair was. "You're crazy, man," he said.

  Blair didn't answer him. He pulled a PDP out of his pocket and started the inventory, ignoring Marshall until the other man snorted again and left the cabin.

>   After Maniac left, he took time out to use the intercom to pass a message to Eisen, identifying the computer file that held the work the flight wing staff had put into refining Paladin's attack plan. Then he finished up in Ralgha's cabin and left, locking the door behind him with a security seal to keep out unauthorized visitors.

  He still had other unpleasant duties to take care of, however. The next one took him down the corridor from the single rooms assigned to senior wing officers to the block of double cabins assigned to Gold Squadron. He halted in front of the door labeled LT. WINSTON CHANG— LT. MICHELL LOPEZ and set down the empty cargo module he picked up on his way.

  Blair touched the buzzer beside the door and stepped back. It took a few moments before it slid open. Inside, the lights were out, but a figure was sitting on one of the two narrow beds.

  "Come in," Vagabond said. There was little of his usual bantering manner about him today. He squinted into the light. "Oh, Colonel. What can I do for you?"

  Blair kicked the cargo module through the door and stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. "Sorry to bother you, lieutenant," he said, feeling awkward. He wished he could have faced this part of the job alone, as he had in Ralgha's quarters. "I just… I came to round up Vaquero's stuff. Shuttle's heading back to the Eagle later today, and I figured they could take the personal effects back to Torgo when they jump…"

  "In case we don't make it," Chang finished the thought for him. He raised his voice slightly. "Lights."

  The computer brought the light level up. Under the illumination, the lieutenant's expression was bleak.

  "Don't borrow trouble, Vagabond," Blair said quietly. "I know how you feel… this mess is getting to all of us. But we've all got to get a grip. Bounce back."

  "The cliche of the week," Chang said. He pointed to one of the lockers on the far wall. "That one's Vaquero's. Was Vaquero's." The Chinese pilot paused. "He was a good roommate. And a good wingman, for a kid."