“You copied that, Vance?” Tolwyn went on.
“Yeah.” Even over the commlink from the flag bridge Richards sounded like a death row inmate after a reprieve. “I’m not going to ask how close you were to that computer test you guys were talking about a little while back. Okay, general orders to all survey personnel. Shut it down, reboard shuttles, and head for home. We’ve got some serious thinking to do before we go any farther.” He paused. “If we go any farther.”
Tolwyn let out a ragged breath. Another obstacle!
But, by God, he’d figure a way around it. Because they needed this ship, and he was determined they would have it, come what may. He looked around the bridge and finally smiled. If the plan within the plan ever needed to be used, learning mastery of how a Kilrathi carrier operated just might come in handy some day.
CHAPTER 8
“The true Warrior perseveres against any and all obstacles, and gains the greater glory for his efforts.”
Survivor’s Camp
Nargrast (Vaku VIIa), Vaku System
0822 hours (CST), 2670.314
The arrival of the first of City of Cashel’s shuttles brought scores of figures, human and Kilrathi, surging out onto the frozen plain. Watching a video monitor, Bondarevsky felt his heart race a little faster at the sight of them all. The humans were thin, clad in ragged uniforms that didn’t look able to cope with the cold weather. Even the Kilrathi looked less than healthy. All of Graham’s descriptions had not prepared him for the realities of the situation.
They had adapted to the climate as best they could, using the shattered wreck of the Frawqirg as the basis for makeshift shelters. But they had used dome-shaped survival modules scavenged from the ship to supplement the protection offered by the downed escort, so that they now had what amounted to a tiny village clustered around the twisted remains of the once-proud warship.
“God, what a mess.” The comment came from Commander Alexandra Travis. She had been assigned to the Karga’s flight wing as a squadron commander, though as yet she didn’t have any planes to command. She was an attractive woman, not very tall but with a face that reminded him of Svetlana’s, framed by a helmet of short, lustrous dark hair, but behind her beauty was the heart and mind of a fighter. She had commanded a squadron of ground-based fighters prior to joining Goliath, and according to her files her squadron had consistently scored top honors in every exercise they’d taken part in. She had even turned down a job as an instructor at the Landreich’s Fighter Training Center in order to stay on active duty.
Today Travis and other members of the nascent Karga flight wing who had been available aboard the transport were Bondarevsky’s chosen deputies for the difficult task of helping to organize the castaways and get them off of Nargrast. It should have been a job for the marines, but all the marines working with Bhaktadil’s force aboard Karga, and Richards and Tolwyn had been adamant about not redeploying them now that they were already committed. So flight wing pilots, who were already under Bondarevsky’s direct command anyway, made the best sense as his landing party for this mission.
“You try scratching out a living in a garden spot like Nargrast, and see how good you look in nine months, Commander,” Graham spoke up. He was struggling into a Landreich-issue parka.
“No offense, sir,” Travis said. “I meant it as a tribute… I don’t see how anybody could survive in all that.”
“It was not easy,” Mirrach lan Vrenes rumbled. His Confederation English was slightly accented, but easily understandable. His fellow Kilrathi, Dahl, knew little English and remained silent…an odd situation for a Communications Officer. Evidently, if Bondarevsky understood what he’d been told, Dahl was of lower birth than most Kilrathi officers, and had missed much of the basic education Cat nobles usually commanded-including a working knowledge of the chief language of their enemies. “I must admit that I was not in favor of working with humans at first…but I am sure we would not have survived without their help.”
Graham opened the shuttle’s rear troop door. It was an assault craft, designed for moving marines in and out of danger in the quickest possible time, and the whole back end of the shuttle dropped to form a ramp capable of holding an armored personnel carrier. Outside a crowd of humans and Cats surged forward, noisy and excited. Stepping to the top of the ramp, Graham held up his hands and the mob fell silent.
“We found a rescue ship,” he said loudly. “They’ve come to take us home!”
“Whose home, ape?” a large Kilrathi demanded, pushing to the front of the crowd. Even from inside the shuttle, Bondarevsky could see he was powerfully built, though the fur of his chest had been burned away and his skin was a criss-cross network of scar tissue. That he was still alive and kicking at all spoke volumes for the Cat’s toughness, and Bondarevsky had to fight the urge to reach for his laser pistol. “Whose home, I say!”
There was a muttered reaction from many of the Kilrathi in the crowd. But it died away as one of their number stepped out from among them and mounted the ramp to join Graham.
“Kuraq,” he said, facing the scarred Cat. He spoke in English, as the other had. Graham had said that they mostly used English in the castaway’s camp these days, since more Kilrathi knew that language than Terrans knew their snarling tongue. There were several Cats translating what was said, though, for the benefit of those who didn’t understand. “Listen to me, Kuraq. When we first agreed to cooperate with Graham, we pledged then that whichever side found us, we would all go willingly.”
The Cat paused. He was slimmer than most of his kindred, with an aura of authority Bondarevsky found startling in such a young officer. The human couldn’t quite tell what his rank insignia meant, but thought they were the tabs of some kind of lieutenant. Yet he handled this crowd with an ease few admirals could have projected.
Turning to look at Graham, the young officer went on. “We also agreed, Graham, that the side whose people came first would do everything possible for the rest of us.”
Graham nodded. “I haven’t lost my grasp of it, Murragh,” he said firmly. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet, but I’m sure Captain Bondarevsky and his people will treat the Kilrathi survivors with respect I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that Meantime, we’ve got a chance to get off this rock! I don’t know about you Kilrathi, but I’d gladly live in a zoo if it was anywhere but Nargrast!”
There was some cheering, then, mostly from humans but with a number of Cats adding the peculiar monotone chant that was their version of approbation.
Graham led the young Kilrathi to Bondarevsky. “Captain, this is Murragh Cakg dai Nokhtak. He is the ranking nobleman from the Kilrathi half of our little community. Murragh, Captain Jason Bondarevsky, in the service of the Free Republic of Landreich Navy, formerly a Commodore in the Confederation fleet.“
Murragh extended a hand, a very human gesture. “I have heard of you, Captain,” he said formally as Bondarevsky took it. “Your raid on Kilrah was most daring.”
“Er…thank you.” Of all the things Bondarevsky had prepared for over the course of his life, meeting an urbane Kilrathi nobleman wasn’t one of them. “Cakg dai Nokhtak. That was the name of the admiral commanding the Karga battle group, wasn’t it?”
“My uncle,” the young noble said proudly.
“I’m…sorry.”
Murragh frowned for a moment, then suddenly nodded. “Of course. Your human concept of the sadness of death. My uncle fought a long struggle with the God of the Running Death, Captain, and he killed himself to the greater glory of our hrai. There is no sadness in that.”