"There have been stories about bioweapons," he said guardedly. Inwardly he wondered who had been talking. Probably not Rollins; he'd sounded sincere when he promised not to spread the story. But everyone at the squadron commanders' briefing knew about the rumors now, and some of them — Maniac, for example — wouldn't think twice before sharing the stories with the rest of the crew. "Right now they're just that: stories. Whoever's been circulating them probably wouldn't know a bioweapon from a biosphere."
"Oh, come off it, Colonel," Cobra said. "The cats've been working on these kinds of weapons for years. They use human test subjects from their slave camps. They've tried their bugs out on other human planets already. It's only a matter of time before they start using them routinely. If the grapevine says it'll be here, I wouldn't argue with it.
"You know a hell of a lot about what the Kilrathi are doing, Lieutenant," Blair said "Maybe you should spend more of your time talking to Intell, and a little less on telling me how to run my Wing."
"Intell! I've had enough of Intell people and their questions!" She shook her head. "Anyway, you're just trying to change the subject. The simple fact is, Colonel, that there are some damn fine people on this ship who deserve better than what you're givin' them. Flint's jus' the worst case. But if I was you, I'd start treating people right, or you just might find out what friendly fire's all about sometime —" She broke off and started to stagger to another seat but ended up sitting down heavily where she was and putting her head down on the bar next to her bottle.
"Should I call Security to give her an escort to her quarters, sir?" Rostov asked from behind the bar. Blair wasn't sure how long he'd been there.
He shook his head. "Let's keep this in the family," he said, looking around. He caught Flash's eye and summoned him with a wave. "Major, I need a favor. Could you help lieutenant Buckley back to her quarters please? She's had a little too much to drink . . ."
"Sure, Colonel," Flash said with a grin. "I was starting to wonder how much booze she was going to be able to put away before she pulled a crash-and-burn." He helped Cobra to her feet, wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders. "Come on, Cobra, let's get you home."
Blair watched them leave, then let out a sigh. "Give me a drink, Rosty," he said, feeling suddenly weary. "A double anything. It's been that kind of a day."
He took the glass from the one-armed bartender, but didn't drink it right away. Instead he stared into the amber liquid, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. From the very start he was an outsider here, unable to pass the barriers his pilots held against him. Sometimes it felt as if he was flailing the air. Most of these pilots had been through a lot together and felt the same type of comradeship he had shared with the men and women of the Concordia. They resented him, resisted him, and everything Blair did only seemed to make things worse.
At least there were a few people he could still trust. Blair picked up the glass and took a sip, then walked to the table where Ralgha was still sitting, alone now. "Mind if I join you, Hobbes?" he asked.
"Please, my friend," the Kilrathi said, gesturing courteously toward the chair Flash had relinquished. "It would be good to spend some time with someone who . . . truly understands what this war is about."
"I take it you and Flash don't see eye to eye?" Blair sat down across from his old comrade.
"That cub!" Ralgha was uncharacteristically vehement. "He sees everything through the eyes of youth. No judgment. No experience. No concept of the truth of war."
"When he gets to be our age, he'll know better," Blair said. "If he lives that long. But I know what you mean. Things sure have changed since the old days."
Ralgha gave him a very human smile. "Maybe not so much," he said. "I can recall times when I thought I was immortal . . . and when you would get drunk and tell off a superior officer."
Blair shot him a look. "You heard all that?"
"My race has better hearing than yours," Hobbes reminded him. "And the lieutenant was not exactly concerned with keeping her voice low. Alcohol may cause some people to speak and act in very strange ways, my friend. I do not think there was any serious intent behind her words."
"In vino veritas," Blair said.
"I am not familiar with those words," the Kilrathi said, looking puzzled.
"It's Latin. A dead Terran language. It means 'there is truth in wine.'"
"I do not think Cobra would actually fire on you," Ralgha said. "Perhaps me, given the intensity of her dislike. But despite her anger tonight, I believe she respects you as a pilot. . . and even as a leader. Unfortunately, she also has a high regard for Lieutenant Peters, who saved her life in the last battle before the ship refitted at Torgo. And you should understand what it means to defend a friend from what you see as unjustified persecution."
"Yeah, I understand. I just wish there was a way to get through to her . . . to all of them."
"Perhaps you should consider unbending somewhat," Hobbes said slowly. "You have seemed . . . aloof . . . on this mission. That contributes to the trouble."
"I know that, too," Blair admitted. "But. . . I don't know, Hobbes. I just keep thinking about all the other times aboard the Tigers Claw and the Concordia. It seems like every time I make friends and start to share something with good people, they end up dead. When I first arrived, I thought I would be better off keeping my distance. I thought maybe it wouldn't hurt as much, if it happened again. But that isn't the answer, either, because even if I can't call them my friends, I still feel responsible for these people. I respect them. And I'll still mourn them if they buy it out there."
"I doubt it could be any other way, my friend," Hobbes said gravely. "Not as long as you are . . . yourself."
"Maybe so." Blair drained his glass. "Well, who knows? Maybe we're into the last game, after all, like all the Confed press releases claim. Maybe the Kilrathi Empire is about to give up the whole thing as a bad idea, and we'll have peace and harmony and all that sweetness and light."
Ralgha shook his head slowly. "It is a time for strange ideas," he said. "My people have invented a word for surrender, a concept I can still barely grasp after years among your kind." He gestured toward the viewport. "I used to raid these worlds with my brethren. Now I defend them . . . and my people talk of giving themselves up without further struggle."
The Kilrathi paused, and for a moment Blair thought he looked lost. "I cannot guess at what my one-time comrades might do next. But I do not believe that the Imperial family can change so totally. If there is peace, it will be because the Emperor and Thrakhath are overthrown, and their supporters broken. That will not happen without a major change in the way this war progresses"
Angel was with him, looking just as she had the day she left Concordia with her kit bag slung over one arm and the open ramp to the shuttle yawning behind her like a black, toothless maw.
"Farewell, mon ami," she said. "Look after the others for me, all our comrades. I will come back when Paladin does not need me . . ."
"Don't go, Angel," Blair heard himself saying the words as if from some great distance. "Stay here. If you go everything will fall apart . . . everything . . ."