False Colors

CHAPTER 14

Operations Planning Center, FRLS Karga

Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System

1821 hours (CST), 2671.011

Admiral Geoff Tolwyn glowered from his position at the foot of the oval holo-tank, the good mood of just a few hours earlier shattered by the attack on the carrier. Someone had attacked his ship, and he wanted nothing more than a chance to strike back. But it was unlikely he’d have that chance any time soon.

“Shields are still holding well enough,” Commander Graham was saying. “If the bastards had made a couple of runs against us, they might’ve strained the generators past their limits, but we were lucky. All we took was collateral damage. But with Sindri gone we’re going to want to rethink the repair schedule. Either we get the drives working so we can put this boat into a higher orbit, or we try a tow from Xenophon.”

‘Towing something this size is a risky proposition,“ Admiral Richards said slowly. ”I think I’d rather do it under our own power. Can you get the drives on-line?“

“On a crash-priority program, I’ll have us able to change orbit inside a week,” Graham said. “But it means pulling everybody off all the non-essential repair work. We have to virtually rebuild the maneuvering drives from the deck up, which means a lot of work for the Carnegie.” He gave a thin smile. “So I’m afraid the repairs to the hot water heaters on Deck Eight are going to have to wait a while.”

“We’ll live with it,” Richards said. “Geoff, what do you think?”

Tolwyn was still frowning. “It all depends on whether we’ve driven them off for good, or if they’re just off regrouping to hit us again. As Graham says, we can’t handle a full-scale attack, and without Sindri…”

“Yeah,” Richards nodded. “Yeah, without Sindri, we fry if the shields go down for more than an hour or so. Just like the original crew.”

“Their intentions must depend on their resources,” Bondarevsky said from his usual place in one of the upper tiers of seats. He looked tired and grim. “If we knew who they were, and what they were after, we might have a clue as to whether they’ll be coming back any time soon.”

“Not Kilrathi,” Tolwyn said. “Not Landreich or Confederation, either, the way I figure it. Mercenaries?”

Captain Bikina of the Durendal stirred. “Mercenaries have to have an employer,” he said. “And I’ve never heard of mercenaries with a carrier, even a ramshackle job like that one.” His contempt for their erstwhile foe was plain in his tone. The carrier had gathered in its surviving planes and fled at the approach of the two Landreich destroyers.

The other destroyer captain, Pamela Collins, cleared her throat. “I don’t know who they’re working for now. But I know who designed that carrier.”

“Who?” Richards demanded. He seemed angry. Probably, Tolwyn thought, he was frustrated that he didn’t have access to the intelligence information he was used to having. That was often the difference between a staff posting at home and a command in the field. And it had been a long time since Vance Richards had held a combat command.

“There were plans for an improvised carrier like that one in the Landreich Navy several years back,” Collins told them. “I was up for a spot as T/G Officer on the prototype. But the Council did a study that proved the design wouldn’t be worth putting into action against superior Cat fighting ships, so the whole project was scrapped before the first boat was completed.”

“I remember that flap,” Forbes of the Xenophon said. “’Twas a big brawl in Council. Auld Max almost ended up with a vote of no confidence over it all, until Danny Galbraith talked him into shutting down the program.”

“What happened to the prototype, then?” Bondarevsky asked.

“I heard it was bought up by a consortium of shipowners for use as a convoy escort.”

“Zachary Banfeld’s gang of pirates,” Richards said, sounding disgusted. “I should have thought of him. He’s got fingers in every pie from here to Sirius, and he’s completely without loyalty to anything or anyone except his own profit margin. Somehow he found out there was a nice fat derelict out here just waiting to be taken over, and he tried to move in on it. But when he saw he wasn’t going to get it cheap he cut his losses and bailed out.”

“If that’s the case he’s not likely to come back,” Bondarevsky said.

“I’m not so sure,” Tolwyn said slowly. “He had inside information. Nothing’s more certain. All the orbital elements, and details of Sindri’s part in the repair work. Probably at least a hint of our sensor and shield problems, judging from how the attack was mounted. I think we’re up against more than one greedy privateer. Somebody who could collect all that data on us and then bring Banfeld in to act on it.”

Richards looked thoughtful. “Maybe so,” he said, frowning. Tolwyn recognized his expression. It was the one Richards usually adopted when he thought Tolwyn was being overly paranoid. “But the fact is we took out five of his Broadswords. A quarter of his force in one engagement, and that was when they had the element of surprise. Banfeld’s too smart to try again, whether he’s working for himself or somebody else.”

“Whether they try again or not, we’ll be ready next time,” Bondarevsky said. “I’m increasing our patrols and bringing the rest of the Black Cats on-line as quickly as possible. If Commander Graham isn’t going to monopolize all the workers and the entire output of the Carnegie I figure we’ll have the port flight deck up and running in three or four days, and Sparks tells me she’s got most of the Kilrathi birds that we’re ever going to get running just about ready to start flying.”

She nodded from her seat beside the Wing Commander. “We’ll actually have an oversized flight wing by the time we’re through,” she said. “At least by ConFleet standards. Karga originally carried a hundred and twenty-eight planes of all types, in sixteen of their standard eight-plane squadrons. Eight of those were fighter squadrons-two each of light, medium, heavy, and stealth craft-with two more of bombers, and six support squadrons. Support planes, command and control birds, attack shuttles, and so on.”

McCullough glanced at her computer monitor. “Here’s how we’re looking to stack up,” she said. “We have four squadrons from the Independence wing. That’s eleven Hornets in the Flying Eyes, twelve Rapiers, and twelve Raptors. That makes thirty-five ConFleet-type fighters, just about half of a standard wing.”

“I wish a few of them had been available today,” Deniken growled.

“They were out there, Lieutenant,” Bondarevsky shot back. “We lost a Rapier today, and almost had the CO of the Eyes taken out too. And one of the Broadswords we got was killed by one of the Raptors from the Crazy Eights.”

“They caught us at a bad spot in our maintenance schedule,” McCullough added. “That won’t be happening again.”

“What’s the story on the Kilrathi planes?” Richards asked. “You said you can get most of them up this week.”

She nodded. “Here’s how it stands. We have one squadron of Darket light fighters, and a couple of working birds in reserve if you’re not too fussy about how you define ‘working.’ Both squadrons Dralthi Fours, medium fighters. Apparently they never got into action at all during Karga’s raiding mission, and they didn’t suffer any losses. We’re short one plane to make an eight-ship squadron of Vaktoth heavy fighters, but there’s an extra Strakha that I’m fitting out as the CO’s bird for that outfit. A full squadron of Strakhas, of course. They did a damned fine job out there today. And we’ve managed to cobble together a full squadron of Paktahn bombers, although there’s a couple of them that are going to be maintenance-intensive for a while. Jorkad tells me the Paktahns got pretty badly chewed up in the fighting near Landreich.” She checked her list again. “We’re also able to fly full squadrons of each of the noncombatant types, and we’ve even got spares on most of those. Forty fighters, eight bombers, twenty-four miscellaneous noncombatants from the Kilrathi side of our stocks, though of course their squadron sizes are based on eight birds instead of twelve. Even so, seventy-five fighters makes a pretty damned impressive aerospace wing.”

“And these will be ready for normal duty in a few days?” Richards asked.

“Well…” Bondarevsky cleared his throat. “Most of the pilots have had at least some sim time. The Strakhas performed well enough. I’ll be happier after everybody’s had a chance to get the feel of their birds, but with an intense cycle of flight ops we ought to get everybody up to snuff fairly soon.”

Graham shifted. “You said you’ll need some men and resources for all this. Just how much do you absolutely have to have? Because I wasn’t kidding about needing crash priority to get the drives back in operation.”

“I’m sure we can work out a compromise, Commander,” Bondarevsky said wearily. “But much as we need to get the engines working and get this tub into a safer orbit clear of the brown dwarf’s radiation, we also need to be able to rely on both flight decks to get our fighters into play faster. That was the big bottleneck this afternoon. Half the Strakha squadron didn’t even clear the flight deck before the bandits were running. We’ve got to have a faster response time. Next time around it might not be a bunch of pirates in a half-improvised carrier coming at us. If the Cats found out we were here and sent in a supercarrier of their own, we’d be dead meat.”

“The two of you can hash out a work schedule tomorrow morning before our regular meeting,” Richards suggested. “Captain Lake, maybe you could be there too?”

The commander of the factory ship inclined his head.

Richards looked around the chamber. “If that’s all, I think we should probably call it a day…”

Tolwyn met his eyes. “The memorial service,” he said quietly.

The battle group commander nodded. “Right. We’ll be holding a service for the Sindri’s crew at twenty-one hundred hours tonight on the flight deck. I’d appreciate it if all department heads were there, and anyone else who cares to come. I know those of you from other ships will want to hold your own observances, but representatives would be welcome. This has been a blow to morale, despite the fact that we beat the attackers off, and I think it would be a good idea for the whole battle group to demonstrate out solidarity and determination before we get on with the next stage of the project. Agreed?”

There was a murmur of approval from the assembled officers. Richards stood slowly, looking his full age and more today, and turned to leave. Tolwyn watched him thoughtfully. He was beginning to wonder if Vance Richards was really up to the strains of leading a battle group after so many years behind a desk.

Flight Deck, FRLS Karga

Orbiting Vaku System, Vaku System

2112 hours (CST)

Bondarevsky tried not to sway from sheer fatigue as he stood in ranks together with the other senior officers and listened to Karga’s ranking chaplain, Commander Francis Darby, somberly reciting the words of the memorial service to the assembled crew on the flight deck and all around the carrier over the internal video channels. It was principally for the thirty-two crew members aboard the Sindri when she was destroyed, but Bondarevsky, at least, considered it a send-off for Lieutenant Jensson as well. And tired as he was, he wanted to honor the memories of the dead the best way he knew how.

How many times had he done this over the years? He’d watched more good men and women the than he could ever hope to remember, and it never got any easier. Tomorrow he would have to write the letter to Jensson’s widowed mother back home on Terra. He’d barely known her son, transferred to the supercarrier less than two weeks before his death. What could he say to comfort her?

He remembered how he’d felt the day Svetlana died. There was precious little comfort to be given when a loved one was killed in action.

Darby finished speaking and nodded to Harper, who stood poised by an intercom station. The young Taran touched a button and the recorded sound of a great bell tolled out. The gathered officers and enlisted personnel on the cavernous flight deck stood in respectful silence as the bell rang thirty-two times, slowly, mournfully. One stroke for each man and woman aboard FRLS Sindri.

When the bell had faded, Harper hit another control, and called up a recording of “Amazing Grace” played on bagpipes. Sparks operated another set of controls to wheel out an empty coffin bearing the name of Eric Jensson. It rolled to the edge of the force field at the stern end of the flight deck, paused for a moment, then lifted on thrusters to drift through the opening and out into the void. A team of Bhaktadils marines raised their laser rifles to their shoulders to fire a last salute.

Bondarevsky was a little bit surprised to find his lips moving in a silent prayer for the dead man, the first battle casualty of the Black Cats.

The coffin drifted from view, the marines shouldered their arms, and “Amazing Grace” faded away. Geoff Tolwyn stepped forward to replace Darby and stood for a long moment in silence, surveying the audience.

“The loss of a ship in combat is always a tragedy for the people left behind,” he began at last. “Especially when the ship was never intended to fight in the first place. Those of us who are trained to warfare regard it as our job to protect the noncombatants from harm, and failure weighs heavy on us all when we find that all of our efforts, however heroic or determined they may have been, have turned out to be to no avail.

“Sindri was destroyed today because an enemy saw it as a way to get at us. They believed that it was the tender’s shields that were keeping us alive, and they targeted her with the deliberate intention of rendering us helpless. Every analysis of the battle that we’ve run only reinforces that statement. We were lucky enough to have our own shields up, thanks to Commander Graham and his engineering staff, but the attempt could easily have been successful. In a sense, then, the crew of Sindri died protecting us. Though she was not a fighting ship, her crew was as much a part of the Free Republic Navy as any of us, and they gave their lives doing their duty. For that reason, I say, we should not feel guilty at our failure so much as we should feel pride and respect for them.“

Tolwyn paused a moment. “For some time now I’ve been under pressure to give a new name to this ship. Calling it for a Kilrathi hero is not exactly appropriate to our plans for her, after all. There have been plenty of suggestions, some laudable, not a few disparaging or downright obscene.” That stirred a ripple of laughter in the audience, despite the solemnity of the occasion. “President Kruger wants us to bear the name Alamo, after the heroic struggle for freedom by a dedicated band of patriots. I’ve resisted him on a point of principle. I don’t like my ship being named after a bloody massacre where the defenders lost the fight!”

A few of the crew on the flight deck laughed. Tolwyn raised a hand and went on. “Today, though, I’ve settled on a name I intend to put forward to the Navy as soon as possible, if all of you approve. It’s not normally my habit to run a democracy on my ships, as anyone who knows me will tell you, but in this case I want you all to feel that this ship stands for something.” He smiled. “Some of you might not be familiar with the background from which I’ve taken this name, so bear with me while I explain it to you. In the mythology of the Scandinavian countries back on Terra, dating back to a time before Christianity, it is told that the gods once asked a master smith of the dark elves to make them a collection of wondrous gifts. There was a magic ring that produced copies of itself, a boat that could be folded up into a pocket, a wig of spun gold to replace the golden hair stolen from one of the goddesses by the trickster Loki, and so on. Now Loki became jealous of the craftsman’s work, and set out to ruin it. He changed himself into a stinging insect and did his best to keep the dark elf from his work. But he was only partially successful in this. Only one gift was marred, the war hammer intended for the weather god Thor. The handle ended up too short, but the weapon itself was still a powerful one that the Thunder-God used time and again to smite his powerful enemies.”

Tolwyn scanned the audience for a moment before continuing. “The name of the craftsman was Sindri. It’s the FRLN’s custom to name tenders after mythical smiths and craftsmen, and the tender we lost today was named for this mythic Norse character. Like the dark elf, we were plagued by flying insects…and they did more than just distract our Sindri. So I think it only appropriate that we call our ship after the weapon that Sindri made, marred perhaps but still a powerful force that will smite the enemies of the Landreich wherever we find them.

“Thor’s hammer was called ‘Mjollnir.’ And that is the name I think we should give to this ship, our war hammer. Our thunderbolt.“ He paused, milking the moment for all the drama he could draw. ”Ladies and gentlemen, I give you FRLS Mjollnir!”

The pronouncement was greeted with applause and even a few cheers. Bondarevsky smiled despite himself. Under ordinary circumstances such a choice of names wouldn’t have been likely to go over well. It was an awkward, archaic name, and drew on esoteric knowledge of ancient mythology. A bureaucrat assigning names from a computer list might have come up with it-that was surely how someone had arrived at something like Sindri in the first place-but it wasn’t the sort of name to inspire any enthusiasm or win contests among the crew.

Yet Tolwyn’s little speech had made it the perfect name for the carrier. Wherever they went, whatever they did, whichever battle honors they won in future encounters, they would always know that the name of their ship commemorated the thirty-two who had given their lives helping to forge a new weapon of war for the Landreich’s arsenal.

In a way the choice even honored Viking, the dead pilot, whose ancestors in Earth’s remote past had likely worshipped the god of Thunder and told stories of how he’d acquired his great weapon. Bondarevsky thought for a long moment, then allowed himself a brief nod of approval. It was fitting, however you looked at it.

FRLS Mjollnir…the Hammer of Thor.

Guild VIP Office, Guild Base

Hellhole, Hellhole System

1631 hours (CST), 2671.015

Hellhole had taken a pounding during the Kilrathi attack on the Landreich back in the days preceding the Battle of Earth. The Landreich base there had served as a field headquarters for the president’s personal task force, and when the Cats had launched their assault they’d devastated the tiny Landreich colony before they were turned back by the Free Republican Fleet. The harsh conditions on the planet coupled with the complete loss of the original colony had made resettlement a chancy proposition at best, and the Landreich’s government had decided against any such attempt.

That had suited Zachary Banfeld just fine. In fact, he had spread around plenty of money among the members of the Council to encourage them to vote down Kruger’s request to invest in a new outpost there. Hellhole’s strategic position squarely on the border between Landreich and the nearest Cat colony had made it useful to the Republic’s war effort. But that same position made it just as valuable to the Guild. Once it was certain the Landreich wouldn’t be coming back, Zachary Banfeld’s people had moved in to set up a base of their own on the single marginally habitable planet that circled the binary system.

Now, sitting at his desk in the office reserved for his use when he visited the Hellhole base, Banfeld was feeling frustration and worry. Bonadventure had brought him back after the abortive fighting at Vaku, and remained in orbit overhead. But though this base was a secret, known only to a few key men in his organization, Banfeld was concerned about the possible fallout from the failed attack.

“Are you sure you can’t get Highwayman ready any faster?” Banfeld demanded of the man sitting across from him. “The clock is ticking.”

“Can’t move any faster,” Antonio Delgado told him. The commander of the Guild’s secret base on Hellhole was a large man with a bristling black beard and swarthy skin. He accorded little respect to anyone, even the leader of the Guild, but he could get away with it. He was one of Banfeld’s best base commanders, even if he had joined up with the Guild less than three years back. Before that he’d been a mercenary resistance leader Banfeld’s people had dealt with during the Cat occupation of Siva. “Not if you want the cloak working. Three days, minimum.”

‘Three days,“ Banfeld repeated, getting to his feet and pacing restlessly across to the window that overlooked the tarmac where a small party of base workers were busy opening up the access ports along the sides and stern of the scoutship Highwayman. Banfeld knew Delgado was right about the estimated time to complete the work, but that didn’t make him any less anxious.

The battle in the Vaku system had shaken the privateer leader badly. After making his plans so carefully, his strike force had been thoroughly rebuffed, and a quarter of his best pilots had been lost before they’d been able to disengage from the unexpectedly potent supercarrier. Now there was no question of trying again, not with his available resources. Banfeld hadn’t become a power in this sector of space by throwing good money-or men-after bad. But the trouble was that there were sure to be people on that carrier who knew about Bonadventure. That meant his connection to the attack might come to light, and that would threaten his cozy position inside the Landreich.

And by the same token all the original reasons for taking that carrier out of action still remained. If the Landreich gained the upper hand in the arms race against Ukar dai Ragark, there was an end to the healthy profits the Guild had enjoyed. Especially if Max Kruger declared war on the Guild in retaliation for their attempt to hijack his pet project.

The only way to deflect the double threat was to get the Landreich embroiled in combat now. Kruger wouldn’t have time or resources enough to go after the Guild once he had Kilrathi ships knocking on his front door. In fact, he’d need the Guild, with its black market contacts and its pipeline to the arms dealers Kruger relied on back in the Confederation. It was just possible that by the time the dust cleared Max Kruger would owe too much to Banfeld to move against him…but only if Ragark struck now, before the Landreich could respond to the news of the attack on the supercarrier at Vaku.

There was only one way to guarantee that. Banfeld would have to reveal what he knew to the Cats. News of a supercarrier fitting out inside the Landreich, a Cat supercarrier at that, would probably be enough to goad even a cautious leader like Ragark into action. And, if not, there was that other tidbit of information, news that there was also an Imperial heir alive and well on that same vessel. That was sure to interest Ragark. And hopefully it would lead him to strike now, while he could still catch the carrier at Vaku and eliminate it with a raid in force.

That should precipitate a very nice little conflict. The confees, Williams and Mancini, might not be too happy to see the fighting start so soon. Y-12 and the Belisarius Group were trying to control the timetable for events out here very carefully, although Banfeld wasn’t entirely sure why. He only knew they were taking the long view.

But the long view was something the Guild could no longer afford. Highwayman had to be readied for launch as quickly as possible so that Banfeld could act before the effects of the battle at Vaku overwhelmed everything he had worked his entire life to build.

If Bonadventure was the crown jewel of the Guild fleet, Highwayman was its best-kept secret. It had taken plenty of bribe money to obtain a surplus stealth generator big enough for a scoutship, but the money had been well-spent. Highwayman could slip across the border and back without being spotted by outlying patrols, and that meant that Banfeld could get to Baka Kar and get in touch with his contacts in Ragark’s government without exposing himself to any trigger-happy Cats who might not understand the finer points of keeping private channels open between enemy states. Ragark’s Economic Minister, Baron Ghraffid nar Dhores, had found it highly profitable to cooperate with the Guild from time to time in the past. He would see to it that Ragark learned what he needed to know.

Then rest would follow easily enough…and maybe, just maybe, the Guild would see its way through the crisis intact. The alternative was unthinkable.

Commander’s Office, Guild Base

Hellhole, Hellhole System

1645 hours (CST)

Antonio Delgado locked the door behind him as he entered the tiny office that was his innermost sanctum at the Hellhole base. He crossed to the bank of communications equipment along the far wall and seated himself at the console. With the ease of long and constant practice he activated a circuit that would alert him if there was any land of surveillance in progress. He thought Banfeld trusted him-at least as much as the privateer leader trusted anyone-but it was always wise to take precautions in Delgado’s line of work.

He switched on the hypercast transmitter and began programming the transmission parameters. He needed a narrow beam directed precisely at the communications station at the jump point from Hellhole back to Landreich. An ordinary broadcast might be picked up by Banfeld’s men, and that would not be good for Antonio Delgado. While the computer worked on those instructions he called up the subroutines to encode and scramble the transmission, as added precautions.

At length the computer informed him that the parameters had all been met and the hypercast was ready to begin. He switched on the audio-visual module, leaned close to the microphone, and took a deep breath before he began to speak.

It was important that he inform his employers-his real employers, not Zachary Banfeld-of the latest developments on Hellhole. Banfeld hadn’t shared his plans with Delgado, but the only possible reasons for readying Highwayman for a trip so soon after returning from the ill-fated attack on the Landreich carrier at Vaku were liable to go against the wishes of the Y-12 organization.

Delgado couldn’t delay Banfeld more than a few days without raising suspicions, so it was important that he pass on the information as soon as possible. He hoped he was acting in time to be useful to Y-12. Though he was only a small cog in the Belisarius Group, he knew he played an important role in being one of the Confederation’s men assigned to keep an eye on Zachary Banfeld.

He began his message.

Terran Confederation Embassy Compound, Newburg

Landreich, Landreich System

1841 hours (CST)

“Damn it! The man’s a loose cannon!” Clark Williams slammed his fist down on his desk, making a rare Firekkan vase jump alarmingly. “The stupid bastard wasn’t satisfied with screwing up the mission against the carrier. Now he’s abandoned us entirely and getting ready to go freelance!”

“You’re sure your agent can be trusted?” Mancini asked, sounding calm and cool. “And, more importantly, are you sure you’re interpreting the report accurately? This man Delgado didn’t give any details as to what Banfeld is planning.”

“Delgado’s a good man. He’s been sending reliable reports ever since we slipped him into the Guild organization.” Williams leaned forward in his chair. “As for what Banfeld’s up to, there’re only two reasons I can think of to prep a stealth-capable scout. Either he’s planning to make a run for it before Max Kruger finds out he was behind the carrier attack, or he’s planning a run into Cat country. My vote’s for the second choice.”

“Any reason why? Other than your well-known reliance on logic and rational thought?” Mancini’s tone was sarcastic, and Williams forced himself to calm down. The colonel’s implied rebuke made him take stock of his behavior. It wasn’t wise to let his anger get the better of his judgment, no matter how furious the events of the past few days had left him.

“I know Banfeld,” he said, striving for a quiet, controlled voice to match Mancini’s own. “He would only run if he had reason to believe that the Guild was going down once and for all, and he’s got no reason to believe that the Landreichers know where any of his bases are. So until he has some kind of proof that the Guild is really in danger of immediate reprisals, his immediate response will be to try to strike some kind of new balance that’ll keep the operation intact.”

‘That makes sense,“ Mancini admitted.

“So odds are he’s on his way to Ragark. He’ll want to sell the Cats whatever secrets he can provide.” Williams sighed. “Not just for money, either, I’m afraid. He’s liable to figure that word of the Landreichers refitting that carrier will stir Ragark up and make him attack. That would take the pressure off the Guild if Kruger or the Navy realize that Banfeld was the one who hit at Vaku.”

“I’m not sure that would be such a bad idea,” Mancini said. “Clearly Richards and Tolwyn were able to get a lot more of their systems on-line before Banfeld could launch his strike. The previous report from Delgado suggested they had salvaged Kilrathi planes backing up their Landreicher craft, and full shields on top of that. Banfeld couldn’t hope to threaten them now… but maybe a full Kilrathi strike force could turn the trick.”

“No, damn it!” Williams exploded again. “No! This isn’t the way to handle the situation.” He slumped back in his chair. It was all very well for Mancini to be so rational, but the fact remained that the whole scheme to take out the supercarrier before it had a chance to become a real threat to the Belisarius Group’s plans for the Landreich had come unraveled thanks to Banfeld’s failure. “The stupid bastard. First he screws up the carrier attack, and then he breaks and runs instead of finishing the job. Now this…”

Mancini shook his head. “He didn’t screw up anything, Commissioner. He was just caught by bad intelligence data, that’s all. And once he was confronted by an attack gone bad and a pair of destroyers threatening his ship, he did the only thing he could do. He got out of there while he could. You wouldn’t expect Zachary Banfeld to go down with his ship against hopeless odds, would you? There’d be no profit at all in playing the hero.”

“Was Springweather feeding us bad information?”

The colonel shrugged. “I doubt it. Look, she said they were having trouble with the shields on the carrier, and needed the tender. But the information was almost two weeks old. Time doesn’t stand still just so we can plan military ops, Commissioner. Richards and Tolwyn have a good team out there, and they’re moving faster than we expected, pure and simple. Shields repaired, more fighters deployable. Maybe if Banfeld had made it to Vaku a few days earlier…” He trailed off with another shrug. “In any event, you were telling me why it wouldn’t be wise to let Ragark handle our little problem with Richards and Tolwyn for us.”

“There are plenty of reasons, starting with the fact that something like that could ruin the whole plan before it gets off the ground,” Williams said harshly. “If he strikes too soon, out of panic or some misguided notion of protecting Kilrathi honor or whatever the hell it is that makes Cats like him tick, we could be right royally screwed. What if he didn’t get the carrier, either? Or what if he did, but lost too many of his own resources to follow through with an attack on Landreich? A strike into Landreich space that didn’t result in a clear-cut victory for Ragark-and I’m talking about taking the Landreich system itself, not just grabbing up outlying outposts or winning a couple of minor engagements-an attack that didn’t overrun this part of the frontier could trigger Confederation intervention before we have a chance to build the case against the government and launch our coup. Then we’d be back where we were when Blair took out Kilrah with the T-Bomb.” He paused. “And don’t forget that our pirate friend has another secret to sell. Us.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Ragark wouldn’t like it at all if he found out we were trying to manipulate him into an attack. If Banfeld told him about Belisarius, and what he knows about what we’ve been doing the last few months, Ragark might back off entirely. And that would be even worse than letting him go off half-cocked.”

“Yeah, I see your point.” Mancini nodded. “Ragark’s predictable within certain narrow limits, but there’s no telling how he might react if any of this other stuff comes out. Okay, we don’t want him going to Ragark. How do we stop him? Your man Delgado?”

Williams shook his head. “Not a chance. Banfeld’s too canny to be caught by a lone assassin, and he’s well-protected. Delgado would turn down an order like that cold, and I’m not sure I’d blame him.”

“What, then? We don’t have the resources to stop him.”

“No, we don’t.” Williams allowed a cold smile to crease his puffy features. “But the Landreichers do. And they’ve got plenty of motivation, too, after the attack at Vaku.”

“But they don’t know…”

“That can change. Easily.” Williams showed his teeth in an expression that reminded Mancini uncomfortably of a Kilrathi warrior anticipating a killing. “We leak what we know about the Hellhole base to one of our people in Kruger’s government. He passes it on to the Navy, and Kruger sends his fleet in to smash Hellhole before Banfeld gets away. We’ve got a narrow window to make it work, but Delgado will buy us as much time as he can.”

“That could work,” Mancini said. “Who do we own in the government who could do the job for us?”

“We don’t own him, but I think Councilman Galbraith is the man. His son’s a captain in the Navy, and they’re both ambitious as hell. I’m sure they’d both be pleased if they could be the ones responsible for evening the score for that tender that was lost.”

“Not bad…” Mancini paused, a wolfish smile lighting up his own face. “Not bad at all, Commissioner. We can also use this to our own advantage, maybe help the plan along a little.”

“Oh? Tell me.” Williams leaned forward again, intrigued. He’d been improvising his way out of a crisis, but it sounded as if Mancini saw something even better.

“For months we’ve been doing our best to counter Kruger’s claims of Kilrathi raiding by building a case for pirates operating on both sides of the border. Now we’ve had a demonstrable pirate attack on a unit of the republican fleet, and the people involved-Tolwyn, Richards, Bondarevsky, and so forth-are unimpeachable witnesses. All we need to make the case perfect is a real, live pirate base and a genuine pirate leader, Banfeld. It’ll go a long way towards making our whole case for us.”

“Very good, Colonel,” Williams said with a smile. “Excellent. If we could go a step further and stir up some political opposition to Max Kruger as a result of it all, we might even be able to sidestep the whole mess with the carrier at Vaku. Let them think he’s been directing all his energies-and all the Landreich’s resources-against the wrong opponents after all.”

Mancini gave a nod. “That’s one option. As close to bankruptcy as Kruger’s government already is, how do you think the Council would react if they found out what he’s been investing in? The refit on that supercarrier must be costing a fortune. Their factory ship alone represents a major investment that ought to be earning its keep instead of producing spare parts for a derelict. Not to mention the money Kruger’s been spending to bring in surplus ConFleet ships and high-priced outside talent.”

“Councilman Galbraith’s the man to use, for this part of the operation as well as the other,” Williams said slowly. “He’s already miffed that Kruger’s been bringing in people like Tolwyn and Bondarevsky. Makes his son’s career that much less spectacular, and Old Man Galbraith’s got political ambitions for his son the would-be naval hero. Probably figures on having Kenny win some spectacular fight and then beat Kruger in an election, with Daddy pulling the strings afterward. Might just work, if Kenny can manage to land the op that takes out Hellhole.”

“So…we leak what we know to Galbraith and let him ask some hard questions in Council about the carrier and some of the other rearmament policies.” Mancini rubbed his jaw. “Do you think the Council will really pull the plug on him? The war party’s still strong. Hell, Galbraith’s no pacifist. He just wants to squeeze out Max.”

“It doesn’t really matter what the final vote is,” Williams said. “The point is, it’ll slow things down all around. Kruger will be facing a political crisis and won’t dare throw any more resources at the carrier until there’s some land of decision. And more delays give Ragark more time to get his plans in motion.” He paused. “Sounds like our best plan. By God, Mancini, we might pull this off yet. Even if we did damn near lose it all to Zack Banfeld.”

Commander’s Office, Guild Base

Hellhole, Hellhole System

2330 hours (CST)

The door to the office swung open soundlessly, and the figure silhouetted against the lights out on the tarmac stood for a moment as if unsure of what to do next. After a moment he let the door close behind him and hit the locking stud. Only then did his fingers touch the light plate. When nothing happened he started to curse in Spanish.

“Please, Antonio, such language,” Zachary Banfeld said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with the lights. I just overrode the wall plate from here.” He tapped a control on Delgado’s desk, and the lights came up bright.

Delgado gaped at the laser pistol Banfeld held trained on him with an unwavering aim.

“What-what do you think you’re doing?”

Banfeld smiled. “All your precautions, Antonio, and you didn’t think that I could monitor your power usage, did you? When I found out you were making a hypercast so soon after our meeting this afternoon, I just had to know who you were sending to.” He shook his head. “It took time to get the back traffic downloaded from the comm satellite at the jump point…and even longer to crack your codes. But once we had your message to Williams, well…” He shrugged, but the barrel of the laser pistol didn’t shift at all. “Three days to bring the Highwayman’s stealth systems back up to standard, eh? Imagine the shock when the work crew discovered that you had simply tampered with the control mechanisms, and the stealth generators turned out to be fine after all. I can leave tomorrow…”

The traitor’s eyes flicked toward the comm gear.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m told we can produce an excellent computer simulacrum to keep your friends Williams and Mancini quite happy. You’ll continue to make reports as needed.” Banfeld paused. “I wish I didn’t have to leave so quickly, Antonio. I’m sure a few days with our persuasion specialists will have you eager to spill everything you’ve given away about Guild activities. But I really do have to be on my way, so I’ll have to defer the pleasure of listening to you scream until I get back.”

Delgado lunged forward, but Banfeld was ready for him. He fired the laser pistol, aiming for the big mercenary’s knee. Delgado screamed once and collapsed.

“That was just a sample. You’ll find things will get much worse as time goes on, Antonio. Much, much worse.”