He started to unstrap himself from the Thunderbolt's cockpit. If all went well, Blair thought hopefully, this interlude would soon end. And then . . . ?
It was difficult to picture what peace would be like, after a lifetime dedicated to the war.
CHAPTER XXV
"God, that sucker sure is thirsty," Rollins commented. "Good thing you don't have to pay for a fill-up when you're skimming hydrogen."
"Eyes on your board, Lieutenant," Eisen growled. "And put the mouth in neutral."
"Yes, sir," Rollins replied quickly. The edge in Eisen's voice made it clear that the captain was dead serious.
The Terran squadron had proceeded from the jump point to their first destination, the gas giant Loki VIII, without encountering any sign of Imperial resistance. Victory remained close by while the Behemoth moved into a tight, hyperbolic orbit around the huge ball of gas. The cruiser and her consorts stood further off to give warning of any enemy interference, but there was nothing. The weapons platform dipped into the atmosphere long enough to top off the depleted tanks of liquid hydrogen needed as reaction mass to move her ponderous bulk toward the target world.
"Sensors are still reading clear, sir," the Sensor Officer reported. "Looks like we're home free."
A red light flashed on the Communications board and Rollins called up a computer analysis of the stray signal locking onto his computer. "Captain . . ." he began, hesitating a moment. "Sir, I've got some kind of lowband transmission here. Seems to be coming from one of the gas giant's moons."
"What do you make of it, Mister Rollins?" Admiral Tolwyn cut in before Eisen could respond.
"I'm not sure, sir . . . uh, Admiral. I don't think its a ship. More like an automated feed . . . from an unmanned relay station or sensor buoy. But powerful. A very strong signal . . ."
"Any idea what it's saying?" Tolwyn asked.
"No, Admiral. It's scrambled. Could be almost anything." Rollins looked up at him, apologetic, but Tolwyn had already turned away.
"Colonel Ralgha? What do you think?"
Hobbes had been scratched from the fighter roster with a down-gripe on his Thunderbolt, so Tolwyn decided he should join other members of the admiral's staff at supernumerary positions on the bridge. The Kilrathi renegade shook his head, a curiously human gesture.
"I am sorry, Admiral. I do not know."
"Well, I do," Tolwyn said. "It means we've been noticed. And the cats will be organizing a welcoming committee for us."
"Any orders, Admiral?" Eisen asked. Rollins had never heard him sound quite so stiff and formal.
"The squadron will continue as before," Tolwyn ordered. "Have Behemoth secured from fueling stations and fall into formation. Coventry to take station ahead." He paused, almost seeming to strike a heroic pose. "Maintain your vigilance, gentlemen. And be ready for anything."
"Lord Prince," Melek said, approaching the dais and bowing deeply. "We have a report from one of the sentinel stations near the eighth planet. Terran ships have been detected. Their movements conform to a wilderness refueling operation, and one of the vessels appears to be their Behemoth weapon."
Thrakhath leaned forward on his throne, his eyes gleaming in the harsh red light. "Ah . . . so it begins." He showed his fangs. "You see, Melek, how well our agent has performed? Not only the design specifications of the weapons platform, but also the intended Terran movements. Refuel at planet eight, then a crossing to six. Exactly as specified in the report from Sar'hrai."
"Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed. Behind his mask, he allowed himself a moment's impatience. As the plan unfolded, the Prince was becoming increasingly filled with a sense of his own self-importance. The arrogance of the Imperial Family was one of the major sources of disaffection among the great nobles of the realm, and Melek was finding it difficult to maintain his pose of sycophancy as Thrakhath's posturing grew more blatant. "It seems we will indeed have a battle here, and soon."
Thrakhath's gesture called for silence. "The strength of the Terran force?" he asked.
"Five capital ships, Lord Prince," Melek replied. "Plus the weapons platform itself. Only one carrier . . . Victory. The others-a cruiser, and three destroyers. Nothing to challenge our force significantly."
"Excellent. They assumed the outpost here was not worth a larger squadron." Thrakhath paused. "How are our preparations proceeding?"
"Nearly completed, Lord Prince. The Terrans will find their planned firing position difficult to reach. Our own forces will be deployed by the time they realize the threat." Melek paused. "There is still time, Lord Prince, to order more capital ships into the battle zone, to ensure the Terrans are destroyed."
The Prince gestured denial. "No, Melek. Fighters will have the best chance to penetrate the defenses of the weapons platform. We do not want to scare the enemy away with too great a . . . detectable show of strength. Even if some of their ships escape, we will have the Behemoth. And with it . . . the war."
"As you wish, Lord Prince." Melek bowed and retreated, but a part of him wished he could see Thrakhath lose some of that arrogant assurance. Perhaps then the prince would finally come to understand the true nature of the dangerous game he played with the future of the Empire.
It took hours to cross interplanetary distances, and the flight wing settled into a grim routine of waiting, with two squadrons on watch in their ready rooms and the other two snatching downtime while they could. There were only six of them in the Gold Squadron ready room, with Hobbes on the admiral's personal staff, but it seemed unpleasantly cramped after nearly four hours of boredom waiting for an alarm that never came. No one wanted to take up Vagabond's challenge at cards any more, and talk lagged. Most of them sat quietly, enveloped in their own thoughts.
Blair wasn't sure how much longer his staff could wait.
"Man, I'd almost rather the cats would try to stop us," Maniac Marshall said suddenly. "Anything would beat sitting here on our asses with nothing to do."
"Hey, get used to it, Vaquero told him. "If that Behemoth thing works, and we get peace, then we're history. No more magnum launches, no more long patrols . . ."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Cobra said. "I figure we'll still have to keep the fleet ready, peace treaty or no. You can't trust the cats to keep to any treaty. Just look at what they did the last time we signed an armistice with them!"
At that moment an alarm siren cut off all talk. "LAUNCH STATIONS, LAUNCH STATIONS, the computer announced. ALL FIGHTERS UP. MAGNUM LAUNCH."
The Gold Squadron pilots scrambled to their feet, snatching up helmets and gauntlets and heading for the door.
"Thanks a lot, Maniac," Blair said as the two nearly collided at the door. "Looks like you're getting your wish."
Marshall grinned, a wolfish, uncanny smile similar to Paladin's. "What's the matter, Colonel, sir? You'd rather sit here and collect dust than get out on the firing line again?"