"And do you really believe it?"
Jason hesitated.
"Well, do you?"
"I want to believe it, sir."
"Damn it, man, that's exactly it. You want to believe it. Everyone wants to believe it. But there's a hell of a long stretch between wishing for something and actually seeing it come true. Anyone who believes something simply because it sounds good and he wishes it to be true is a damned fool and that's why I did what I did."
"Sir?"
"This war is not over by a long shot," Tolwyn growled, "and I'll kiss the hairy backside of the first Kilrathi I meet if they can ever prove it differently to me.
"It's too pat, it's too damn straight forward and simple. I remember once hearing a great line about another war, 'this is such madness only an idealist could have started it.' Well, this peace offer is the same thing, only an idealist would be stupid enough to believe it. By God, son, we were finally getting an edge. We stumbled on the tactics of it all thanks to you, realizing just how under-protected and vulnerable their construction sites were. They haven't gotten a single new carrier on line in the last year. They still outnumber us, but they're hurting, hurting even worse with the loss of their transports. We just might be turning the edge in this war, and now the damn fool politicians go for this armistice offer."
"So you disobey orders on your own and decide to keep the war going a little longer."
"The target was there and I took it, a carrier that if we allowed it to get away might cost us fifty to a hundred pilots the next time around," Tolwyn said quietly. "And I think that even you, Jason, who once risked your career to try and save a ship load of Kilrathi civilians, even you down deep agree with me."
Jason drained the rest of the Scotch from his glass and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Yes, sir, I do."
Tolwyn could see the struggle such an answer had created. From most other officers he would have dismissed it as brown nosing a superior but he knew that from Jason it came from the heart.
"Why?"
"Like you said," Jason replied. "It just doesn't smell right. I know that even after Vukar Tag, and the Third Enigma Campaign they still have the edge on us. For the Kilrathi, war is part of the core of their soul. This intel stuff about a shift in the power structure of the palace. If it's true, the new power behind the throne would have his throat ripped out if he tried for a serious peace after all the sacrifices they've endured. Now I don't know much about Kilrathi psychology other than what I got in the naval college while waiting for Tarawa to finish out her refitting, but I know enough that the seeking of peace other than after a total triumph is anathema to them.
"Going for peace is impossible to their mindset. If they were losing there would be only one possible action, a suicidal fight to the end; if they were winning, a fight to ultimate triumph. There is no inbetween. Their society functions primarily through submission to strength, with the one in power gaining complete loyalty by refraining from killing the one who has submitted. But since we are not of the blood, we are therefore inferior, and as such it is impossible to submit to us. There might be exceptions, such as that warrior who serves Hunter, but that was through direct orders from his superior."
"So if the emperor or whomever is behind the emperor orders it, then why not peace?"
"Because the power at the top derives its strength through conflict. They know that if their aggressive instincts are not diverted outwards it will turn inwards and the families will eventually destroy each other. And besides, it's one thing for a lone warrior to submit, but for the highest of noble blood to do so, to submit to someone not of equal blood, is impossible."
"Precisely," Geoff said quietly, inwardly pleased as if a favorite pupil or son had mastered an intricate question.
He felt a flash of warmth for Jason, remembering the relief he felt when he had jumped into the heart of the Empire to pull Tarawa out and discovering that the ship was still alive. He felt the warmth as well because it was Jason who had taken his nephew out to war as a spoiled brat and brought him back as a man.
"This whole thing is a set-up, I'm convinced of it; and I tell you this, Jason, if our government falls for it, all our butts will be in the wringer."
"I best get back to my ship," Jason said quietly and he stood up, putting his glass down on the side table.
"Jason?"
"Sir?"
"What do you plan to do about my violation of orders?"
"If I'm asked about it, sir, I plan to tell the truth." He hesitated. "I have to tell the truth, that you launched an attack after knowing that the initial cease fire had been agreed to. To do anything else would be dishonorable."
Tolwyn smiled.
"You're a good officer, son. I've always been proud of you; I know I always will be."
He extended his hand and Jason took it.
"Let's hope I'm wrong about this armistice, but I know I'm not."
CHAPTER TWO
Jason Bondarevsky winced from the glare of the lights. Damn, how he hated the press. He had endured "the treatment" before when he had brought Tarawa back to Earth for refitting after the raid to Kilrah. The press swarmed over the ship, poking cameras in his face, asking the same asinine questions over and over again, probing far too deeply into parts of the raid he simply wanted to forget. When one had finally hit him with a question about the death of Svetlana, asking how he felt while watching his girlfriend die, he had to be restrained from punching the reporter's lights out, a fleet PR officer, all smoothness and charm, separating the two.
The press madness flared up again when Jason was presented with the Medal of Honor and yet again when the absolutely ridiculous holo movie about his raid, First to Kilrah, came out. The film was a humiliating embarrassment, especially since the plot had little to do with the actual raid, spending most of its time focused on his doomed affair with Svetlana, with half a dozen steamy scenes padded in. It still made him boil that the holo spent precious little time on the hundreds of others who had fought, sacrificed, and died with him. He wanted to take the damn money the producer had given him and jam it down the lying scum's throat after seeing the film, which he had been promised would be shot as a straight forward documentary honoring those who had served. The only satisfaction he got out of the whole fiasco was in donating every dollar he earned from the film to a scholarship fund set up for children of the Marines and naval personnel lost in the raid.
And now he was stuck under the lights again, all because he had taken a wrong turn while looking for a bathroom. The same lousy reporter who was far too curious about Svetlana had seen him first and rushed over, the others moving like a herd of cattle when the word spread that "the guy they made the movie about," was present as a staff officer for the armistice conference.
"So whatya think of the war ending? It's Bondevsky, isn't it?" one of them shouted, aiming his holo recorder at Jason's face.
"That's Bondarevsky," Jason said quietly, remembering how his old captain O'Brian had always mispronounced the name.
"Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?"
"First of all, negotiations for an armistice do not mean that the war has ended. There's a big difference between an armistice and formal peace, he tried to explain patiently. "Other than that, no comment," and he tried to shoulder his way through the crush.
"Still hate the Kilrathi, is that it? Seems like you fleet officers don't want peace," a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.