Kevin Tolwyn looked at him from the adjacent console. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Your boys and girls are pretty damned good, Colonel."
"It could've been better," Blair grumbled. He switched on the mike again. "Cobra, Vagabond, if that had been the real thing there would have been a fifty-fifty chance of that Vaktoth slipping past you and getting off a shot at the Behemoth. You were lucky the computer called it the way it did, but you're going to have to tighten up next time, okay? The defensive specs are in the tactical database. Study them. We can't afford to leave those weak spots uncovered."
"You want us to run through it again?" Vagabond asked.
"Not now," Blair told him. "We'll run another set tomorrow morning, after the new point-defense squadron is on board. For now, get some rest. And study that database. Now. . . dismissed."
You're starting to sound like my uncle," Tolwyn said with a grin. "Don't tell me you've become a convert."
"Hardly. Matter of fact, I have a feeling you've been holding out on me, Kevin. The admiral as much as admitted he's planning to take that monstrosity to Kilrah, one way or another. I don't think he'd stop if the Emperor himself offered to sign peace terms . . . with Thrakhath's blood for the ink!"
Tolwyn shrugged. "I told you everything I know, Maverick. But you know the admiral. He wouldn't tell his left hand what his right hand was doing if he thought it would get him a tactical advantage."
"Yeah . . ." Blair trailed off. He looked hard into Tolwyn's eyes. "What do you think, Kevin? Really? Should we blow Kilrah while we have the chance?"
"I don't know, Maverick, and that's a fact." Tolwyn looked down. "After what you said the last time, I started doubting the whole project. At the Academy they taught us we were serving a higher purpose, and a weapon this devastating . . . But what if the Intell reports are right? What if we're on the verge of losing everything? If it's us or them . . ." He met Blair's eyes again. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."
Blair shook his head. "Not . . . changed. But nothing's as clear as it was before. Angel died out there, and Thrakhath's the one who killed her. In front of a damned screaming audience of . . . barbarians. Part of me would like to wipe them all out, Kevin. But another part of me says it's wrong." He paused. "I'm glad it's the admiral who has to pull the trigger on that thing. I'm not sure I could do that. And if I did, I would never know if I did it to save the Confederation, or to even the score over Angel."
Tolwyn nodded slowly. "Yeah. And could you live with yourself afterward, whichever course you took?"
CHAPTER XXIV
The intruder entered the compartment silently, moving with complete confidence among the consoles and computer banks in the darkened room. Seen through a bully night vision device, the room glowed with an eerie greenish light. Normally, no one stood a watch in the Communications center except when the ship was at General Quarters, and the intruder was confident that no one would notice this stealthy foray.
Gauntleted hands fumbled for a moment with the controls on one of the consoles. The panel came to life. On a monitor screen, bright letters glowed as the computer responded to the intruder's commands.
ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND SECURITY CODES.
The intruder tapped the keypad awkwardly. Voice command would have been easier under the circumstances, but it was more difficult to cover one's tracks afterward with a voice record . . .
IDENTITY AND SECURITY CODE ACCEPTED. PLEASE INDICATE DESIRED FUNCTION.
It took a moment to identify the proper selection and key it in. Another console came to life across the room.
TIGHT-BEAM LASER LINK ON-LINE. INPUT LINK COORDINATES.
Consulting a personal data pad for the required information, the intruder entered a short alphanumeric string through the keyboard. A green light glowed beside the monitor as the computer's reply appeared.
COORDINATES ACCEPTED. READY TO TRANSMIT.
The intruder slid a tiny cartridge into the chip receptacle below the monitor, then keyed in another command. The computer responded.
DATA ON-LINE. TRANSMITTING AT 100:1.
The monitor showed a dizzying succession of images, external views and schematics of the Behemoth platform. Seconds later, a new message flashed on the screen.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
The intruder paused a moment, then entered another command. Once again the computer was quick to flash an answering message on the monitor.
WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.
The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was done.
Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the intruder had ever been present.
"Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."
Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.
His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.
The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to relax again.
They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once the Terrans had fallen into his trap.
The view from the rec room was impressive, Blair had to admit that much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow — apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of engines, either — but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.
He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already as good as over.
Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"
"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least, seemed pleased.
"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice little place . . ."