False Colors

CHAPTER 18

Command Bridge, KIS Wexarragh

Near Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2322 hours (CST), 2671.041

Captain Nrallos lan Vharr lounged in his command seat, letting his bridge officers perform their jobs without interference. The duty here was routine after nearly eight eight-days on this station. Wexarragh was nearly due to rotate home to Baka Kar, and Vharr for one didn’t believe that day could come too soon. He was heartily sick of picket duty in this worthless frontier system.

The Vordran system was something of an anomaly, a seemingly ordinary red dwarf star system which supported an incredible number of strategically valuable jump points. Nearly thirty had been surveyed by Imperial astrogators, but many more were believed to be present. No doubt the humans knew of others.

Balancing the number of jump points was the scarcity of worthwhile real estate, though. A single loosely defined asteroid belt circled the star at a distance of just over one AU, and even the mineral content of the orbiting chunks of rock was too low to make it worth exploiting the system. Early in the war the Landreichers had established an asteroid base, which the Kilrathi had promptly blown up and replaced with one of their own. After it, in turn, had been destroyed by raiders from the Landreich both sides had decided the place just wasn’t worth a full-scale presence. After the destruction of the Landreich installation on Hellhole the Landreichers had stopped even trying to maintain ships in the system, since there was only one jump point leading into human-controlled space anyway and the Landreich s posture had always been primarily defensive. But there were plenty of jump points leading in to the Empire, so Governor Ragark had ordered a constant presence be maintained.

At one time this would have entailed the presence of an entire carrier battle group, perhaps a task force, but Ragark had been steadily pulling back most of his capital ships to Baka Kar to build up his strike fleet or to detach on garrison duty elsewhere in the province. Ever since Kilrah had been destroyed, Kilrathi star systems had started declaring their independence as the clans pulled their separate ways, deprived of the unifying force of Emperor and Homeworld.

Vharr understood the need for ships elsewhere in the province, but he sometimes wished there was still more than a single picket ship posted in the system now. The new strategic thinking seemed to be that all they really needed out here was a tripwire, a ship that could report if the Landreichers entered the system so that defensive forces could be mustered at Baka Kar to stop them. Under that theory, the picket vessel could be considered expendable once it had got off its warning by hypercast. Why waste additional ships when one could do the job?

All well and good…except when you were the expendable ship in question. And it could get boring, endlessly watching the same extent of space for eight-days on end, without another ship or crew to provide relief from the tedium. The only excitement they’d seen on this tour had been the encounter with the cloaked human ship that had escaped through the jump point after Wexarragh had damaged him, and that had filled less than twenty minutes all told.

“Disturbance in the jump point,” the Sensor Officer reported suddenly.

“Specifics,” Vharr rasped, turning to face him.

“It appears to be a single point-source, Lord Captain. Displacement in excess of one hundred thousand tons.”

“Carrier-equivalent. I did not think the human Landreichers had a ship that large.” Vharr swiveled his chair to face forward. “Helm Officer, get us under way. Build a vector outward from the jump point until we see what we’re up against. I have no desire to be engaged by something while we’re at a standstill. Communications Officer, send a hypercast. ‘Unknown ship is emerging from Jump Point Nine’…”

“There he is!” the Weapons Officer announced.

The ship emerged suddenly from the hyperrealm, large and angular. It had come out of jump within a hundred kilometers of the Wexarragh, and the sensors and computer imagery systems were already beginning to process the data.

“IFF transponder reads him as the Karga, Lord Captain,” the Communications Officer reported. “Imperial carrier of the Bhantkara Class. Computer lists it as missing in action since early last year, operating against Landreich under Admiral Cakg dai Nokhtak and Captain nar Hravval.“

“An Imperial carrier?” Vharr studied the computer image forming on his monitor. It certainly looked like an Imperial carrier, at that, one of the new breed of supercarriers created by the Ministry of Attack following the Battle of Earth. Not so big as Thrakhath’s fleet carriers, with two flight decks rather than three, but powerful ships with plenty of fighters. Could he really have survived all this time behind enemy lines? It seemed almost beyond belief.

The images showed signs of extensive damage, crudely repaired. Vharr leaned forward, studying the monitor intensely. It would make a story for the Codices, he thought, to hear how the carrier had survived on its own for so long…

“Incoming message, Lord Captain.” The Communications Officer announced.

“On my screen.”

A plain-faced kil wearing the rank tabs of a Trathkhar of Communications appeared on the screen. “This is the carrier Karga. Admiral dai Nokhtak commanding.” The signal broke up for a moment, then returned. “We have evaded a force of ape ships which had been following us for several eight-days. Request clearance through to Baka Kar so we can make repairs and report to the Imperial Governor for new orders.”

“Lan Vharr, escort destroyer Wexarragh. Your authentication codes, if you please. And I would like to speak to your commanding officer.”

Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2327 hours (CST)

“Well, you heard the kil,” Admiral Geoff Tolwyn said. “Give him his authentication codes.”

Jhawid Dahl, the Kilrathi communications specialist, turned in his chair to look at Tolwyn. “These codes are a year old. We can only hope they have them on file.”

“Just do it,” Tolwyn snapped. He turned to face the monitor beside the kil. “Prince Murragh, are you ready?”

The Kilrathi prince gave him a grasped-claw gesture in response. Murragh was on the carrier’s flag bridge, surrounded by other Kilrathi officers and enlisted ratings from amongst his castaway group. Dahl had assured them that he could use the ship’s computers to morph Murragh’s features into those of his uncle, drawn from the communications files, in a real-time program that would allow Murragh to provide the interactive movements and the phrasing of his uncle far more effectively than a pre-programmed simulacrum. With luck, what the picket ship’s captain would see would be a convincing imitation of a bridge full of Kilrathi.

Tolwyn hoped it would work. If the picket ship got off a warning, they would never penetrate to Baka Kar to take out the dreadnought. Everything was riding on this ploy, and Geoff Tolwyn carried the whole weight of responsibility for the operation squarely on his shoulders. Admiral Richards had transferred his flag to the Xenophon at Hellhole to take command of the Terran-made warships of the battle group, leaving Tolwyn to handle the approach to Baka Kar entirely on his own.

The last time he’d held command had been the Behemoth mission. Memories of the battle passed through his thoughts from time to time, reminding him of just how much was riding on his performance as a commanding officer.

Right now, though, it was Murragh’s performance as an actor that counted most.

“This is Cakg dai Nokhtak,” Murragh intoned solemnly. It was strange to see his familiar face and figure on the intercom screen, but beside it, on the interchip monitor, the computer-altered image of his uncle, shorter, stockier, with touches of silver around his blunt-faced muzzle. “It is good to see another Kilrathi face again after all this time, Captain. We have been cut off for many eight-days…over a Kilrah-year, in fact.”

The captain of the escort was looking unsure of himself. “Your authentication codes are not current…”

“Didn’t I just say we’ve been out of touch!” Murragh roared, flexing his claws in evident agitation. “Karga was badly damaged in battle with the apes. All his battle group destroyed! We have been stranded in a system in ape space, our engines useless, since then. Only recently were we able to effect repairs! Of course our codes are invalid. Check your records for the period when we left on our mission! And be quick about it!”

Tolwyn had to smile. Murragh hadn’t actually uttered a single untruth. He had simply omitted a few crucial things. And he was doing a credible impersonation of an irritable and irritated aristocrat about to have a junior’s head, quite possibly literally. In the Imperial fleet, junior officers did not offend a senior officer’s sense of honor and live to tell the tale.

But the look on the picket ship captain’s face bothered Tolwyn. He isn’t buying the story, he thought grimly. And he’s already sent out a message alerting them that something’s on the way. If we don’t get him to pass us through, we’re finished…

Command Bridge, KIS Wexarragh

Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2329 hours (CST)

Vharr’s claws flexed nervously. The admiral’s anger was enough to make him cringe. But there was something that nagged at him, something not quite right.

He studied the monitor more closely. There…that was what was bothering him. An almost unnoticeable distortion in the video image. It seemed to be localized right around the admiral. If it had been a systems problem, surely it would have disrupted the whole screen…

A trick of some kind? Or just a communications glitch? Vharr didn’t like the choices he was being offered. A wrong choice either way could lead to the utter disgrace of the Vharr hrai, not to mention his own execution.

“Lord Admiral,” he said cautiously, thinking fast. “I am required to send over a shuttle. To verify…and to assist.” He turned away from the monitor, gesturing to his Executive Officer. With the transmission briefly muted, he gave his orders. “Send a detachment of assault troops on the shuttle. The admiral is to be given all due deference…but we must verify his story. I don’t like the smell of it.”

A squad of troops would be useless against what could be aboard that carrier, but they, like the ship himself, were a tripwire. If there was trouble, they would alert him to it, and he could alert Baka Kar…before he died in turn.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2330 hours (CST)

“He is within his rights,” Dahl said. “And if he truly does have orders to inspect passing ships, he would not yield even to an admiral. It would cost his honor to do so.”

“Yeah,” Tolwyn said. “And we just look more suspicious if we try to argue it. Okay, Murragh, give him the go-ahead. And get me Bhaktadil and Bondarevsky on the intercom circuit. Time for Operation Welcome Wagon.”

Starboard Flight Deck, FRLS Mjollnir

Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2345 hours (CST)

Bondarevsky crouched behind a bank of instruments, uncomfortable in full space armor. With his helmet set to infra-red imaging to compensate for the dim lighting of the flight deck, he was starting to get a headache. And the waiting was starting to get to him. He wondered how the marines could bear it. This was nothing like being in the cockpit of a fighter on the way into battle…or even holding down the command chair on the bridge. There you had enough to do to keep you from having to think about what was coming. All he could do now was hunker down and try to keep from worrying.

The Kilrathi shuttle passed slowly through the airlock force field and stooped in for a landing on the flight deck. It was an older design than those used aboard the Mjollnir, somewhat smaller but standing high on landing gear that gave plenty of clearance for the loading ramp that opened from its belly. The design allowed for savings in space aboard cramped ships like the escort, where the ventral ramp would open up into an airlock through the outer hull of the escort when the shuttle was secured to its piggyback position aft of the bridge.

Bondarevsky could almost feel the intensity of the emotion on the flight deck now. He wondered what they were thinking aboard the shuttle. With no Kilrathi in sight to greet them, they were probably getting edgy.

He gave a hand signal that he knew Sparks could see from the windows of Primary Flight Control overlooking the flight deck. They had planned for the contingency of boarders, and the sequence had been rehearsed, but Bondarevsky’s heart still beat a little faster, knowing that this time it was for real.

If all was going according to plan, the carrier was now broadcasting on the same frequency they’d picked up from the shuttle on its way across, a panicky broadcast as if from the CSTCC claiming the shuttle was in trouble on final approach. There was a localized jamming field here on the flight deck, though, to keep the Cats from realizing they were featuring in an imaginative drama playing for the benefit of their suspicious friends. The Kilrathi communications expert, Dahl, would be playing his role to the hilt. The tough old peasant had seemed to enjoy the notion of putting one over on the aristocracy when he’d helped them hatch the scheme during a council of war at Oecumene.

The ventral ramp opened slowly, and a pair of Kilrathi in armor came cautiously down. After a moment they were joined by more. It looked as if there was entire squad of assault troops there, plus a single Cat in the cockpit of the shuttle. With the troopers beginning to fan out, and no more in evidence, Bondarevsky gave a second hand-signal for Sparks.

In an instant, the silent, darkened environment of the flight deck changed dramatically. The lights came up to full intensity, a siren began hooting an urgent warning, and the artificial gravity cut off.

Then the airlock force field cut off, and a wind like a sudden, unexpected tornado swept through the long, tunnel-like flight deck.

The Kilrathi troops, armored and trained for work in space, were in no actual danger from any of it, but the sudden combination of distractions was enough to confuse them for a few crucial seconds. Unable to see clearly, and instinctively clutching to save themselves as they were blown free from the deck in sudden zero-g by a torrent of escaping air that threatened to carry them into the vacuum of space, none of them was in any position to think of anything beyond the immediate crisis. Even the pilot in the shuttle was caught by surprise, rushing to help his friends.

Colonel Bhaktadil’s marines, on the other hand, were braced and ready.

They had been posted in the shadowy corners of the flight deck, wearing full space armor and magentic clamps that secured them into position. Like Bondarevsky, they had set their helmet vision aids to infrared, so the sudden change in lighting didn’t bother them. And, most importantly, they knew what was coming. Neither the rush of air nor the loud blare of the siren disoriented them for an instant. Instead they opened fire with low-power lasers, and sixteen Kilrathi troopers were cut down almost as one. A sniper took out the pilot as he hesitated for an instant at the top of the ramp. It was over almost before it had started, and Sparks cut off the distractions and restored atmosphere and gravity a few seconds later. Bodies hit the deck with loud thumps. Most of the Cats were only wounded, but suddenly being slammed against a metal deck did nothing to improve their already grim condition.

Bhaktadil and his marines swarmed out into the open, moving in to disarm and secure the survivors.

The unfriendly visitors had been secured. Now they had to take the next step…and the clock was ticking.

Bondarevsky moved to the nearest intercom terminal and signaled CIC. Tolwyn’s face appeared on the small monitor screen with barely a pause. “The shuttle is secure, Admiral,” he reported.

“Good. Have the Colonel get his platoon aboard.” Tolwyn paused. “That escort’s the same class as the one that went down on Vaku. Some of your people went over that ship while you were pulling the castaways out.”

“Yes, sir. I was one of them.”

“I want a couple of people who know the layout of a Kilrathi escort with the marines. Time is crucial. If someone can save them a few minutes by knowing the layout, it could spell the difference between success and failure.” Tolwyn seemed to hesitate. “It’s a volunteer mission…”

“I’ll go,” Bondarevsky told him. “And I’ll see who else I can round up.”

He cut the intercom and strode across the flight deck, shouting as he walked. “Harper! Somebody get me Harper!”

A small knot of flight wing personnel were helping the marines load up on the shuttle. Harper was among them, swapping low-velocity projectile weapons for marine lasers. In the open flight deck, in ambush, lasers had been the best weapons to use, but if the marines were going to fight a boarding action in the smaller confines of a Kilrathi escort, they’d want weapons less likely to cause accidental structural or equipment damage. Using magnetic pulses to fire small projectiles at variable initial velocities, the Marscorp MPR-27 was the best possible weapon for the job. Bondarevsky joined Harper, explaining the situation. The aide nodded cheerfully. “I’m with you, sir,” he said.

“Me, too.” That was Alexandra Travis. He hadn’t even seen her there, passing out webgear hung with grenades and extra magazines. He remembered that she had been one of the party surveying the downed Cat ship on Nargrast, but he shook his head.

“Harper and I can handle it, Amazon,” he said, using the nickname she’d picked up after the fight with the pirates.

“You said it was a volunteer mission,” she said stubbornly. “I’m volunteering.” She lowered her voice. “Look, Captain, you might need an extra person who knows that layout…”

There wasn’t time for arguments. “Fine. Gear up and get aboard. Harper, leave off this detail and give Boss Marchand my compliments. She can deploy the symphony now.”

Harper grinned and hurried off to carry his message.

The frantic preparations went on.

Captured Kilrathi Shuttle

Near Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

2356 hours (CST)

The shuttle made contact with the Kilrathi escort with only the gentlest of bumps, and Bondarevsky momentarily forget his apprehension as he silently praised the skill of the Cat pilot, Jorkad lan Mraal. Stiff and pompous he may have been, but he was also one hell of a good flier.

They had needed a Cat to be visible in the shuttle’s cockpit, and Jorkad had volunteered for the job. Though he wasn’t part of the Cadre, he was fanatically loyal to Prince Murragh, and had developed a genuine liking for many of the humans in the flight wing. Bondarevsky had been faintly concerned at what might happen if his new-found allegiance was tested too hard, but so far he’d done an admirable job.

The operation was moving into the final phase now. The broadcasts from Mjollnir had shifted to reporting that all was well with the shuttle, except for a minor problem with the computer and communications systems. Jorkad had bolstered the story by using a searchlight semaphore code to communicate with the escort on the way across, the same technique Graham had used when they’d first encountered him at Vaku. An obviously Kilrathi pilot, flashing a well-known emergency semaphore code from the cockpit of the shuttle, should have been reassuring to the captain of the picket boat. At least they had allowed the shuttle to dock, and no further messages had been hypercast regarding the carrier.

They wanted only one additional message to be sent from the picket boat, and that would have to be one of their own composition, since they hadn’t been able to keep the suspicious captain from investigating. Now the trick was to capture the escort with its communications codes intact, so that they could transmit the word to Baka Kar that the carrier was a friend. In the meantime, nothing further could be allowed to go out.

Bondarevsky checked his wrist computers timepiece. In another diirty seconds…

When the countdown hit zero, he nodded to Colonel Bhaktadil. “They should be starting,” he said.

While the shuttle had made its way across the gap between the two vessels, a second plane had lifted from the far side of the Mjollnir. A Zartoth EW craft had remained loitering in the shadow of the carrier. Now it would be accelerating toward the escort, looking like a Vaktoth fighter out on routine patrol. But it would be starting the “symphony” they had planned, a full-spectrum jamming effort to block all possible communications from the escort.

Right about now the captain and crew would know their suspicions had been right after all…

Bhaktadil strode to the head of the loading ramp, kicking the pedal that operated the ventral door. As it slid open he calmly pulled a grenade from his webgear and dropped it through the gap. Five seconds later it exploded in a blinding flash of light and a deafening clap of noise. The flash-bang wasn’t designed to do damage, only to distract and disorient.

The marines poured down the ramp, guns at the ready. A few shots echoed from below as they took care of their stunned targets. After a moment Gunnery Sergeant Martin called up that the docking area was secured. Bhaktadil led Bondarevsky, Harper, and Travis down to join his men.

The small docking compartment was crowded. Thirty-six marines, their colonel, and the three Navy officers made a fair-sized party to be crowded in this one fairly small chamber. At Bhaktadil’s signal one of the marines hot-wired the door. It slid open, and a pair of his men rolled through the opening with their MPRs blazing away on full auto. The others followed after the two on point announced the corridor clear.

It proceeded like that for the first few minutes, with the marines leapfrogging their way forward, trying to get to the bridge. But they ran into a stiff pocket of resistance in the warren of control rooms under the main bridge, where ten or twelve Kilrathi with small arms contested their approach from cover. The marines bogged down, unable to clear the Cats from the strong position without risking unacceptable casualties.

Bhaktadil dropped to a crouch beside Bondarevsky and Travis. “Any suggestions?” he asked coolly.

The two Navy officers exchanged looks. “Seems to me I remember some kind of an access tunnel running from somewhere around here to the rear of the bridge,” Travis said, frowning.

Bondarevsky nodded. “You’re right. I remember it too.” He called up a tiny schematic on the screen of his wrist computer. “There…behind that bank of instruments.” He pointed.

“Loomis! You take Bravo Squad. Follow these two.” Bhaktadil jerked a thumb at Bondarevsky and Travis.

They found the entrance to the hatch easily enough, pulled off the access plate, and started in. The tunnel ran upward at a sixty degree angle, with rungs planted inside at intervals just slightly too far apart to be entirely comfortable for human hands and feet. It would have been cramped for Kilrathi technicians, but it was reasonably wide and open for the Landreich party.

Travis insisted on leading the way, with her own wrist computer displaying the route. There were several tricky branching before the tunnel reached the bridge. Bondarevsky would have preferred to lead, but as a senior officer it was foolish for him to take the lead in something like this…as foolish as Max Kruger personally leading every foray by the Landreich’s fleet.

They had nearly reached the top when they realized they were in trouble.

Up ahead, a clang of metal on metal and a sudden gleam of bright light alerted them to the fact that the Cats had opened up an access plate. Bulky figures clambered into the tube, then stopped, obviously taken by surprise by the sight of the human marines climbing toward them. Evidently someone had hit upon the same idea as Bhaktadil, of using the alternate route as a way of outflanking their enemies.

There was a pause when nothing happened. Then the lead Kilrathi opened fire. Mag-pulse projectiles whined through the tunnel, ricocheting as they hit the bulkhead. The first burst sent Alexandra Travis tumbling back against the marine just behind her, both of them crying out.

The only thing that saved the Landreicher party was the heavy build of the typical Kilrathi. Lieutenant Loomis, third in line, was able to get off a clear shot past the two sprawled figures, and her fire brought the first Cat down. The one behind him, hampered by the massive figure of his comrade, went down as well. If there were other Kilrathi at the entry, they backed off fast.

Loomis squeezed past Travis and the marine and pulled out a flash-bang. She signaled to two of her troopers to join her, then flipped it past the two Cat casualties, through the hatch. Somehow she managed to get past the bodies and start pumping full-auto fire through the hatchway.

Command Bridge, KIS Wexarrngh

Near Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

0010 hours (CST), 2671.042

Vharr surged from his chair as the grenade clattered on the deckplates, snarling a Kilrathi battle-challenge. The blinding light and the overwhelming shock pulse as it detonated seemed to sear directly into his brain, and for long moments he couldn’t see, or hear, or think.

Then mag-pulse weapons shrilled and chattered, and more by instinct than by coherent reasoning he hurled himself behind the protective bulk of his command chair.

Most of the others on the bridge weren’t so lucky. The party that had reeled back from their attempt to use the tunnel as an alternate attack route were caught completely in the open. Most of them went down in clawing, screaming red agony. The Executive Officer got off a single wild shot with his sidearm before he fell.

Summoning all his willpower, Vharr threw off the effects of the stun grenade and hurled himself across the bridge at the computer station, one massive hand upraised to initiate the sequence that would wipe the computer codes clear.

A human-a human female, at that-intercepted him, planting the muzzle of her sidearm squarely in his chest. “My name is Lieutenant Katherine Loomis, Free Republic Marine Corps,” she said in flawless Kilrathi. “And you, sir, are my prisoner.”

Access Tunnel, Deck Two, KIS Wexarragh

Near Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

0013 hours (CST)

Bondarevsky didn’t pay attention to the firefight. He crawled to where the two human casualties lay, turning them over. The marine was clearly dead, a full burst of mag-pulse projectiles making a nice target grouping right over his heart. But Travis was still breathing, and moaned as he pulled her to one side so that the rest of the marines could work their way past.

Her armor hadn’t been able to stop the bullets from such short range, and he could see where it had given way along her left side. Bondarevsky pulled off her helmet, checking the pulse at her throat, then unsnapped the chest plate and worked it free. The t-shirt she wore under the armor was wet with blood. He unhooked the first aid kit from his web gear and opened it up, then drew his knife.

Her eyes focused on the blade, and she managed a faint smile. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” she said, wincing. “I mean, you don’t have to go through this ‘put her our of her misery’ routine…”

“Stay still,” he ordered. “I have to stop that bleeding.”

He used the knife to cut open her shirt. The blood was still flowing freely from multiple lacerations on her side. A few centimeters over and she would have been dead.

Bondarevsky used the t-shirt to clean the wound as well as he could. Then he began to apply a healstrip which would trigger clotting of the blood leaking out from the multiple wounds. Pulling her artificial blood pack from her belt, which was coded to match her type, he squeezed the bag. An energy cell inside the bag ruptured, mixing the dried blood with a frozen saline solution and heating it to body temperature. Wrapping the bag to her forearm, he took the needle attached to the side of the bag and slipped it into a wrist vein, then lashed the bag in place.

It was touchy work, and he was afraid his artificial hand might go back into spasms again if he tried to do anything too delicate.

He was so wrapped up in the job that he didn’t notice where his other hand rested as he tried to steady himself. Travis flashed a painful grin. “Most guys at least give me dinner and a holo-vid before they try something like that,” she said.

Bondarevsky pulled his good hand away from her bare breast, flushing. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “All in a good cause. Just remember about the dinner if we get back to Landreich, okay?”

“It’s a date,” he said, adjusting the healstrip one last time. “Can you handle the armor again?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I won’t be doing any dancing for a while.” He helped her back into the chest and back pieces of her space armor, uncomfortably aware of her bare skin now. When it was sealed up, he gathered up her helmet and pointed to the top of the ramp.

“The firing’s stopped. Let’s see what’s going on.”

She gave a nod, and allowed him to help her up the incline.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

Deep Space, Vordran System

0315 hours (CST)

Vectors matched and flying in close formation, Mjollnir and the captured picket boat shaped their course for Jump Point Three, the route that led straight to the Imperial provincial capitol at Baka Kar. Tolwyn should have been in his quarters, at least pretending to sleep now that they had passed the first obstacle, but he was too wrapped up in considerations of what the new day would bring to even consider retiring to his bunk.

The captured escort had been relatively easy to pacify once the bridge had been secured. The crew of one hundred thirty-two had been ferried across in stages, and were now secured in a locked cargo hold aft of the port hangar deck. Casualties had been fairly light, with two marines killed, three wounded, plus one of Bondarevsky’s officers. And, most importantly, they had captured the computer files intact, and extracted the communications codes and protocols they needed without difficulty. Dahl had put together a soothing message from the picket boat to the Cats at Baka Kar, declaring that the carrier they had encountered was friendly and headed in to the capitol to refit after their long ordeal in space. Encoded with the picket ship’s burst signal encryption tag, the transmission would read as a completely genuine message from Vharr.

Tolwyn checked a status display. The last shuttle load of crew and passengers for the escort was on the way over. He had decided to put a prize crew aboard, a mix of trustworthy Cats from Murragh’s party and human crewmen. They would keep the picket boat on station for the time being, with orders to run if anything came after them looking for trouble. It gave him a way of keeping watch over his rear as he went through to Baka Kar…and a place to offload his few remaining noncombatants. Armando Diaz was probably glad to be off the carrier as it spaced into battle. He and his two top computer experts, Voorhies and Mayhew, had done wonders extracting the authentication codes and transponder signals from the old computer records, and their work on the simulacrum of Admiral dai Nokhtak had been about as good as anyone could have produced on either side of the frontier. But there wasn’t much more they could do at this stage of the game, so they were aboard the escort, clear of Mjollnir’s upcoming fight. But many of the crew detailed to the picket ship had been reluctant to go. Even though they knew the odds against them, their morale was high. Even the casualties from the firefight had refused the chance to go.

Murragh and the other Kilrathi were just as adamant, too. Tolwyn was beginning to get a renewed faith in the loyalty and support of a good crew. The Belisarius Group had shaken that faith once, but Mjollnir’s officers and spacers proved that not everyone was tainted with that kind of corruption.

“Sir, multiple disturbances in Jump Point Nine,” Kittani reported. After a moment, the Exec went on. “First trace is the Xenophon. It’s the battle group.”

He nodded. “Right on schedule. Pass on an update of our situation to Admiral Richards, with my compliments, Lieutenant Vivaldi.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the Communications Officer responded.

“What’s our status, Exec?” he asked.

“Four hours to Jump Point Two,” Kittani responded. “All systems are nominal. Mr. Deniken reports that he’s come up with a solution to that gunnery problem you posed him yesterday, and he should have it in operation by the time we reach Baka Kar. And the Wing Commander passed the word that he’s got two Zartoths and a Kofar ready to launch. He recommends you delay dropping them until we’re ready for the jump.”

“Very good.” He stood slowly, stretching weary limbs. Suddenly he felt that he might, after all, be able to sleep for a little while. Everything was running smoothly…and if he didn’t rest now, while he could, he’d certainly have no opportunities later. Once they hit Baka Kar, rest would be impossible for any of them. “Call me when we are ready to make the jump. You have the bridge, Mr. Kittani.”

The Turk nodded solemnly. “I have the bridge, sir,” he said formally, taking the command chair.

Geoff Tolwyn left CIC, striding with his back ramrod-straight. They might be about to engage in their last battle, but he was damned if he was going to show the least sign of strain or worry.

Right now, he had everything he could want-a good ship, a good crew, and the prospect of striking a blow for freedom.

For Geoff Tolwyn, that was enough and all else, all the other things were at last, for this moment, forgotten. Things were again as they once were.