"Then can we truly win this war?" Melek asked. "If we are so much more vulnerable than they, do we have any choice but a glorious death?"
Thrakhath smiled. "We know only a little of their doomsday weapon, this . . . Behemoth, as they call it. Our agents say it is untested, but they have not been able to penetrate its secrets as of yet. We must draw out the apes; force them to commit their new weapon before it is fully ready, in a way we can control and manipulate. Unseen Death will be the first stage. By demonstrating our bioweapon and proving our willingness to use it, we will leave the Terrans no choice but to deploy the Behemoth."
"Against . . . against Kilrah?" Melek's look was one of horror and fear, but Thrakhath didn't reprimand him for his shameful display.
"Not at once," the Prince told him. "They will test it first. We will learn where the weapon is to be tested and we will discover its weaknesses. For this purpose we keep the Heart of the Tiger in readiness. And when we have destroyed their one hope of retaliation, leaving their Navy demoralized and confused . . ."
"Then Terra dies," Melek said softly.
"Then Terra dies," Thrakhath agreed. "The first of many human worlds . . . until their race is gone forever."
CHAPTER X
It felt strange to be in the cockpit of a fighter and yet drifting free, without acceleration or preprogrammed destination. Blair had never thought of flying a Thunderbolt as a claustrophobic experience, not with all of space in full glory around him . . . but he was ready to admit that it could be cramped, constricted, and more than a little bit boring.
They had been in the Locanda System now for three days, operating frequent recon flights in search of some sign of the Kilrathi fleet. Today was the first time they had put up the Hellcats in a recon role, and Blair had elected to fly escort on the refueling shuttle with Flint rather than assign the job to one of the other Gold Squadron teams. The entire force, four Hellcats, the two Thunderbolts, and the shuttle, had flown together to this prearranged rendezvous point at the edge of the point defense fighters' maximum range. They topped off their tanks and set out in two patrols to sweep a wide arc before they returned. Then they would refuel and make the return trip to the Victory together.
Everything went like clockwork Blair hoped their luck would continue to hold.
The worst part of being alone in deep space for long amounts of time was the scope it provided for brooding. The lack of specific information on Kilrathi intentions and dispositions made for a game of hide and seek extending over an entire solar system, and it was a game where the Kilrathi had all the advantages. The idea that they might be planning a biological attack on Locanda bothered Blair more than he cared to admit. It suggested that the Empire was upping the ante by introducing the prospect of mass slaughter, possibly escalating to an all-out genocide. Blair had felt that, before, both sides had agreed on what "winning" meant. And now the Kilrathi might be trying to change that definition. If the Kilrathi turned to weapons of mass destruction on any major scale . . . the Confederation would have no choice but to answer them in kind.
But something else troubled Blair; something he hadn't shared with anyone, not even Hobbes. Given that the Kilrathi had this new weapon, and given the rumors that it had already been tested elsewhere, why Locanda? The system was practically worthless in any strategic or material sense, although its long-time position on the front lines gave it a certain sentimental and media prominence the place hardly merited. It was as if the Kilrathi had picked a place to wield their terror weapon which was most likely to attract Confed attention. It would be much more difficult for the High Command to seal off the system and black out the news, because Locanda was so well known to the Confederation at large.
A bioweapon attack here would be like a gauntlet thrown at the feet of the High Command; a challenge. . . but why hadn't the Empire chosen some system where they would win more than just a propaganda stroke? Tamayo, with its high population and important shipyard facilities, or the Sector HQ at Torgo, or any of a dozen other systems nearby would have made far more logical choices than Locanda. There had to be something more behind the Kilrathi campaign, but Blair couldn't fathom it.
He wasn't even sure that he was working from anything more than rumor, speculation, and fear.
"Hey, Colonel, tell me again how we're contributing to the success of the mission," Flint's voice crackled on the radio channel. She sounded bored.
"They can't all be free-for-alls, Flint," he told her, glad of the interruption. He didn't like the depressing turn his thoughts were following.
"You really think this latest sighting's going to pan out? I'll lay you ten to one that freighter captain was drunk when he logged that sensor echo."
The current reconnaissance effort had started after a report from a tramp space freighter of multiple sensor readings at the edge of his scan range two days back. It wasn't much to go on, but it was the only solid lead they had just now.
"No bet, Flint," Blair said, checking his sensor screen as he spoke. "I know better than to believe in elves, goblins, or reliable tramp skippers."
"You want to know what I think, sir?" Flint said. "I think some Kilrathi cap ships might've shown themselves to that freighter just to get us away from the colony. Know what I mean?"
"Any special reason, or are you just getting good at reading Kilrathi minds? I can get you a cushy job with Intelligence if you can tell what the cats are thinking." Blair caught a flash on his sensor screen. "Hold on . . . "I'm reading contacts at two o'clock, low, outer ring. Check me."
There was a pause before Flint responded. "Yeah, I got them. Three . . . no, four bogies, inbound. And I don't think they're our buddies from Red Squadron."
"Shuttle, power up and get the hell out of here," Blair ordered, "we'll cover your withdrawal. But keep in mind our guys will need a drink when they get back here, so don t go too far unless the bad guys break through us."
"Roger that," the shuttle pilot replied. Blair saw the twin flares as the boxy little craft accelerated away, gathering speed. "We'll relay word to Victory, too."
"Okay, Flint, let's welcome our guests," Blair said, bringing the fighter around and firing up the engines. "Keep close formation as long as possible, but remember the top priority is to screen the shuttle. You see somebody breaking past and heading his way, you nail the bastard, and don't stop to ask for permission."
"Don't worry, Colonel," she replied. "I hardly ever ask permission anyway."
"I read three targets, two fighters, the other . . . a utility vessel of some kind. It is moving off. The other two are turning our way."
Flight Lieutenant Kavark nodded inside his bulky helmet. The report matched what his own sensors detected. His patrol, four Darket off the Imperial carrier Ras Nakhar, was near the end of its scheduled pattern when the targets suddenly appeared at the edge of their sensor range. He promptly ordered a course change to investigate.