"Scotch," Blair said, perching on a stool at the bar. "Preferably something that's at least been in the same sector as Scotland, this time."
Rostov grinned at him. "There's a war on, Colonel. You gotta take whatever they hand you, da?"
Maniac Marshall was sitting further down the bar, studying a holomagazine and sipping at a tall glass of beer. He looked up as if only just noticing Blair's arrival. "Well, well, honoring the peasants with another visit, eh, Colonel? Shall I kiss your ring, or will a reverential bow be enough?" He mimicked the slight bow Hobbes often made.
"Can't we have a truce, at least for tonight, Maniac?" Blair said wearily. "I'm not in the mood for sniping."
"Hah! You looked like you were in a pretty good mood down there in the hangar deck today," Marshall said. "What's the matter, loverboy? You put the moves on everybody's favorite grease monkey and get yourself shot down?"
Blair frowned. "I didn't 'put the moves' on her . . .
"Hey, man, it's all right, really it is," Maniac told him with a grin. "I mean, even a high flyer like you has to have an off day now and then. Of course, I doubt it'd take a whole hell of a lot of high-risk maneuvering to get into her pants, but maybe you're just out of practice . . ."
"So what's your excuse, then, Maniac?" Blair asked. "You must have tried out your usual wit and charm on the lady. Did you crash and burn?"
"Yeah, right," Marshall said, looking away. "As if I'd waste my time on some punked-out little techie. Of course, you never did have any taste. First that snotty French bitch . . . now. . . . Wise up, Blaze-Away. There's a lot better to choose from on this tub than that cheap slut . . .
Blair was out of his seat and beside Marshall in a single quick move. He grabbed the front of Maniac's uniform and hauled him to his feet. "Get this, Marshall, and get it good," he hissed. "You can talk about me any way you want to. But I won't tolerate you running down anyone in this wing, man, woman . . . or cat. And if you want to keep using that nose to breathe through, you won't ever insult Angel again . . . or Rachel Coriolis either, for that matter. You getting any of this, mister?"
Maniac pulled back, freeing himself from Blair's grip and holding up both hands. "Whoa! Back off, man. He studied Blair for a moment. "Looks like you've got a real case, after all. Question is, which one's the lucky girl?"
Blair took another step forward. "I told you to lay off, Major," he said slowly.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke, man. I'm sorry." Maniac turned to leave, then faced Blair one more time. "But listen to me, Colonel, sir. If you don't start loosening up pretty damn quick. you're cruising for a psych hearing. You're tighter than a vacuum seal and I wouldn't like to be around when everything blows out."
"Mind your own business, Maniac, and let me worry about mine," Blair told him. "And in the meantime, just stay out of my way."
CHAPTER XVII
In due course, Victory entered the Ariel System, traveling by way of a jump point in the Delius Belt. Deep in the heart of the Caliban Nebula, the system had only one planet of any notable size, though there were many other smaller worldlets, asteroids, and similar junk in the system as well. Ariel I was never judged worthwhile as a potential colony, but Confederation Intelligence sources had long identified it as a major headquarters for Kilrathi raiders. Previous Terran attempts to deal with the base met with little success, thanks to the strength of the ground-based defenses on the planet and the difficulties of mounting operations within the nebula. Long-range sensors were virtually useless, and even shortrange scans required more time, more power, and more computer interpolation than usual, which made for many extra problems.
But the conditions also helped hide Victory from detection, as Eisen had explained during the original briefing. The Kilrathi maintained a network of detection buoys around the planet and near most of the jump points, but away from those the Terran carrier was able to avoid contact from everything except an extremely close pass by enemy ships. It was almost as good, Eisen maintained, as mounting a cloaking device aboard the ship.
On the other hand, the sensor limitations cut both ways. Blair was forced to double patrols again just to sweep nearby space for Kilrathi shipping. It required some skillful flying to penetrate the web of detection buoys to put fighters close enough to Ariel I to conduct the surveys Headquarters needed. Over the course of nearly two weeks, the flight wing operated at peak capacity, almost without let-up, and the strain inevitably took its toll on people and equipment alike.
Blair could only hope that ship and crew were up to the job.
Blair came out of the elevator next to Flight Control and nearly ran into Rachel Coriolis. She was clutching a personal data pad in one hand and a half-disassembled control module in the other, walking briskly with an air of distracted urgency. As she caught sight of Blair she made a face.
"Can't talk now, skipper," she said, hardly slowing her pace at all. "All you fighter jocks were so damned eager to draw recon work. Well, now you got it, and that means us common techies have to bust our asses to keep you flying."
"Okay, okay, Chief," he said, holding up one hand. "On behalf of the entire wing, I apologize. Next time HQ gives us an assignment, I'll tell them to clear it with you first."
She grinned as she dodged past him and into the lift. "Maybe if us techs had a say in things you hot-shots wouldn't always be getting in so much trouble."
The doors snapped shut, and Blair turned back to the entrance to Flight Control.
There were only routine patrols out now no survey missions, so the chamber was manned at minimal levels. The relative calm in the room was a stark contrast to the scene visible through the windows overlooking the hangar deck, where technicians and fighter crews were hard at work on maintenance, repairs, and mission prep for the next batch of launches, scheduled to begin shortly. The bustle of activity would have been a scene of utter confusion to the uninitiated, but Blair recognized the order and purpose underlying the chaos. It was the dance of the deck, the almost rhythmic cycle that made any pilot's heart beat just a little bit faster.
He became aware of another figure standing by the windows, intently watching. It was Cobra, wearing her flight suit and carrying a helmet under one arm. Blair was surprised to note her smile. It transformed her entirely, changing her customary bitter moodiness into a genuine look of enthusiasm and anticipation.
"About time," he heard her say softly, as if to herself. "About time we showed them."
"Lieutenant," he said quietly.
She looked at him. "Sir?"
"I don't recall ever seeing that before," he said. When she looked confused he continued with a grin. "That smile on your face. It looks good. Suits you."
The wolfish smile reappeared. "It's good to be in their back yard for a change. I can almost smell them, Colonel. And with any kind of luck, I'll get a couple of them in my sights sometime soon . . ."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, being on the offensive seems to have helped bring you out of your shell, I'd say."
"Scuttlebutt says we're here to scout the cats out for a real attack. That HQ has a weapon that'll blast them to hell, where they belong. I want to be here for the kill. I didn't become a pilot just to baby-sit bases and such."