Tolwyn nodded. "You'll actually have it better than some of the other carriers on this duty," he said. "And when you get back, the admiral's already decided that Victory will get the real plum job. Flagship for the Behemoth Squadron . . . so you'll be in on the kill, as it were."
"Flagship? Us?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "Your uncle must have developed a sudden taste for slumming, if he's not going to go out in one of the big boys."
"Victory has its . . . compensations, Colonel," Tolwyn told him. "Like a genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology, your buddy Hobbes. You also have a one-time Intelligence source with specialized knowledge of cat behavior, too. I think the name is Lieutenant Buckley. In fact, the admiral had this in mind when he assigned you here as wing commander."
"That was before Locanda," Blair said, "before things escalated. You mean Tolwyn planned to use this Behemoth thing even before the cats started with the bioweaponry?"
"Some of the data we later decoded from that deep intel probe Tarawa had on board, leading into the discovery of the Kilrathi super-carriers, contained information about the bio program. That's why we've been running the race to get the new weapons on line and why Behemoth sails now, ready or not. Locanda was a horrible tragedy, but thank God it wasn't one of the innerworlds or Earth — and believe me, that will be their next target."
Blair held up his hand. "Never mind, Kevin," he said. "Don't try to explain. I know your uncle well enough to know what he had in mind. And why."
"Just what are you getting at, Blair?" Eisen asked.
He shrugged. "It's just that the admiral has always been . . . zealous, sir. I've served with him a few times, and he's always been the same. He wants to win the war . . . Admiral Geoff Tolwyn, himself. He'd love it if he could lead the ConFleet to victory, sign the papers that ended the war in orbit over Kilrah . . . whatever. And if Behemoth can make it possible, he'll use it . . . and the devil take moral questions and anything else that stands in the way."
Eisen's frown deepened. "I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this, Colonel," he said slowly. "Its coming dangerously close to libeling a superior officer."
"Maybe so, Captain," Blair said, shrugging again. "But it isn't libel when you're telling the truth." He shot the younger Tolwyn a look. "Sorry, Kevin. I know he's family but . . . well, you know how I've always felt."
"You haven't said anything I haven't thought a dozen times over, Colonel," Tolwyn said. "But, like the Captain says, we'd better stick to the briefing."
"Agreed. What else do we need to know about?"
"Captain Eisen's been bruising a lot of ears back at HQ about the flight wing's shortages. I've brought out authorization for you to requisition fighters, munitions parts, and stores from Blackmane Base before the last load goes out next week. They've got all types of fighters in mothballs there already, so that won't be a problem."
"The real shortage is in pilots," Blair said. "We have nine empty slots to fill."
"You won't get all of them, I'll tell you that much up front," Tolwyn said. "I've already spoken to the base commandant. You'll get four or five, no more. Sorry I couldn't do better." Tolwyn looked wistful. "I'd volunteer for a slot myself, but the admiral would never approve it."
"I wish you could," Blair told him. "Well, four or five is better than none at all. Major Mbuto lost five ships at Locanda Four, so she'll get first call on any pilots we do get. I just hope to God it's enough."
"It has to be, Colonel," Eisen said. "Now that we finally have a ray of hope that we might see the end of this damned war, it has to be enough."
"Okay, skipper, this one checks out too. Looks like those no-talent bums at Blackmane Base actually sent us some real fighters, and not just junk off the scrap line."
Blair checked off the last of the new fighters on his portable computer pad and nodded. "I'll breathe a little easier now, Chief," he told Rachel Coriolis. "I was starting to think we'd never get the replacement fighters aboard."
Four days had passed since Kevin Tolwyn was whisked aboard his courier ship to report to his uncle, and in that time, Blair's life became nothing but a string of petty frustrations. The worst problem was expediting the requisitions Tolwyn issued to Blackmane Base in the midst of the chaos and confusion which reigned during the last days of the base's closing process. But after many shouting matches over the comm channel, Blair finally got results. Now he possessed a full contingent of fighters in Victory's hangar deck, store rooms bulging with spare parts and stores of all kinds, and three new pilots to assign to Mbuto's interceptor squadron. It was progress, of a sort. But it had been slow going for a time, and Blair was worn out with the constant strain of it all.
A tractor towed the fighter, a Longbow looking as if it had never been flown, toward a storage bay. The flight deck was bustling with activity, but for the moment Blair and Rachel were out of problems. It was a rare yet pleasant feeling.
"Uh . . . skipper?" Rachel spoke with none of her accustomed brashness. "Can we chat? Off the record . . ."
"Isn't that the way we usually do it?" Blair asked her.
"Yeah," the chief admitted. "That's one of the things I like about you." She hesitated "And the fact that I do like you is why I want to say this . . ."
"Spit it out, Chief," he said as she paused again.
"You've got this . . . look in your eyes that I've seen before," she said slowly. "I had this guy, see? A pilot. One day he saw his wingman get fried, and he came in blaming himself for it. Didn't matter what I said, what anybody said, he was convinced he let old Shooter down."
"And?" Blair prompted.
A few days later . . . he took an Arrow out and just kept on going. Hit a jump point just as the Kilrathi were coming through. There were a lot of fireworks . . ." She trailed off, her eyes focused on someplace far away. "They never found him . . . not even a debris field. He might still be out there, for all I know."
"I'm . . . sorry," Blair said quietly. "But. . . why tell me about it?"
"That look in your eye, it's like the one he had before he cracked, skipper." She paused again. "You want to talk? I may be a lowly techie. but I've got a sympathetic ear."
Blair didn't answer for a long time. "I had . . . have . . . someone, too. I don't know which it is, any more. She got caught up in some hush-hush mission, and nobody's heard from her for months. Maybe she's managed to sidestep the whole war-ditched in neutral territory somewhere. But I keep having these nightmares about her . . He looked away. "I keep thinking, one way or the other I would hear . . . only I haven't heard, and I'm afraid . . . you know."
Rachel nodded. "I know. Maybe your gal and my guy found each other out there."
He forced a smile. "Yeah . . . maybe so. At least they'd both be alive, then . . ."
"Yeah, but on the other hand if I found out he'd been making time with some hot-shot lady pilot, I'd have to kill him myself when he finally got back." She managed a laugh.
After a moment, Blair joined in. It felt good to laugh.