Heart Of The Tiger

by William R. Forstchen

  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.

  TICHT-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.

  Bridge, KIS Sar'hrai

  Torgo System

  "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 perfecdy. 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.

  Flight Wing Rec Room, TCS Victory

  Blackmane System

  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 Lola 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…"

  "Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant," Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the Kilrathi down overnight."

  He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.

  "So… how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly. "Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"

  Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously, Colonel."

  "No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But you've been on this for… how long's it been? Over a week, now, isn't it? I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."

  Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one of my computer commo logs. And I can't account for it. I think it was sabotage."

  "It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then had the record wiped."

  "Nobody said anything about a transmission…"

  "Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet. You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list classified."

  "Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild, Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the screen. "Look at this… and this."

  "I'm no expert in signals analysis, lieutenant," Blair said. "To me, you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they mean?"

  "I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of signals somewhere before… something outside of normal communications use. If I could just figure out where…" He trailed off, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel. I guess I still have a ways to go before I can deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look into, either."

  Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing. But I'd figure the admirals staff would be the place to plant an agent."

  "Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

  Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat in the chair he'd vacated.

  "It never stops with you, does it, lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless program loop."

  "You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just don't have a clue."

  "Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."

  "It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these… nightmares. People talked, you know how it is."

  "Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.

  "The stuff I heard was… pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me when I was ten…"

  "The Kilrathi?"

  She nodded. "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting. Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know. But there were only a few of us who lived thro
ugh it."

  "It must have been—"

  "You'll never have any idea of what it 'must have been' like, Colonel. I saw things…" She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.

  "So the Navy pulled you out of there… and you signed up?"

  "The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said. "First it was debriefing… you know, regression therapy, trying to find out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they couldn't wipe it all out, not without giving me a personality overlay. And I wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"

  "You must have been damned tough, Lieutenant, after something like that… to go on to join the fight…"

  "It was all I ever wanted, Colonel. A chance to kill cats. And that's what I'm still doing today."

  He gestured toward the Behemoth. "And if that thing puts an end to the war? What then?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Hating cats is the only way I know to keep myself human." She gave a short, grotesque laugh, an unnerving sound that reminded Blair of jeering Kilrathi. "The fact is, Colonel, there's a little bit of the Kilrathi prowling around inside my skull and I can't get it out Every day, I can feel it getting a little bit stronger… and one day, there won't be any human left inside me any more."

  He didn't answer right away. "I think you aren't giving yourself enough credit. Lieutenant. You survived a horror most people could never handle. You'll outlive this, too. I'm sure of it."

  Her look was bleak. "I hope you're right, Colonel. I really do. But… well, maybe you don't understand it, but I can't let go of the hate."

  He thought of Angel, of the raw emotion that had surged through him when Thrakhath's taunts were ringing in his ears. "Maybe I do understand, Cobra. Maybe, in your place, I would have cracked up long ago."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Cracked? You? I can't imagine you giving anybody the satisfaction of seeing you crack."

  Blair didn't tell her that she was wrong.

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory

  Blackmane System

  "COUNTDOWN TO JUMP, ONE HOUR, FIFTEEN MINUTES." Blair glanced up at the digital readout below the Flight Control Room window to confirm the time remaining. Activity was reaching a fever pitch aboard the carrier as they approached the jump point taking them to the Lola System. No one really expected the Kilrathi to have much in the way of defenses at their Loki outpost, but the preparations in hand assumed they would be jumping into a combat zone. With so much riding on the Behemoth, nobody wanted to make any mistakes.

  Technicians prepped the fighters for launch, working quickly but with a care born of long experience and a respect for the dangers of the flight deck. Red-shirted ordinance handlers busily fit missiles and checked fire-control circuits while engineering techs dressed in blue supervised the topping of fuel tanks. Thrusters were put through their final checks. The huge hangar area was one large scene of frantic activity, and Blair felt like an outsider as he watched the crews go about their jobs.

  Rachel Coriolis appeared from behind the tail section of a Hellcat. Her coverall was considerably cleaner than usual… and so were her hands and arms. She looked, in fact, almost regulation, a far cry from her usual go-to-blazes sloppiness. Blair smiled at the sight, earning himself an angry glare.

  "Don't say a thing," she growled. "Unless you want a number-three sonic probe up your nose."

  "Heard you got chewed out by the admiral himself," Blair said. "But I never thought it would actually take."

  "Sloppy dress means sloppy work," she said, mimicking Tolwyn's crisp British accent flawlessly. "Well, excuse me, but I don't have time to change my uniform every time I swap out a part, you know?"

  Blair shrugged. "He's got a real thing for the regs. But you should wear the reprimand as a badge of honor. I figure it's a wasted week if I don't get at least one chewing-out and a couple of black scowls from him, myself."

  "After the war, I'm going to make it my personal mission in life to loosen the screws on all the moving parts on guys like him." She was smiling, but Blair heard the edge in her tone.

  "Save a screwdriver for me, okay?" Blair said. "Meanwhile, what's the word on the launch?"

  "Pretty good, this time out," she said. "Only three down-checks." Rachel hesitated. "I'm afraid one of them's Hobbes, skipper."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Power surge fried half his electronics when we went to check his computer. It's about a fifteen hour repair job."

  Blair frowned. "Damn, bad timing. But I guess his bird was about due. What about the others?"

  "Reese and Calder. One interceptor, one Hellcat. There's an outside chance we can get the Arrow up and running by H-hour, but I wouldn't count on it."

  "Do what you can," Blair told her.

  "Don't I always?" she said with a grin. As he started to turn away, she caught his sleeve. "Look… after the mission… what say we get together?"

  He looked into her eyes, read the emotion behind them. Everyone who served on the flight deck knew that each mission might be the last one. "I'd… like that, Rachel," he said slowly, feeling awkward. "Ever since… ever since I found out about Angel, I've felt like you were there for me. It's… made a big difference."

  Someone called for her, and Rachel turned back to her work without another word. Blair watched her hurrying away. She wasn't anything like Angel Devereaux, but there was a feeling between them that was just as strong, in its own way, as the one he'd shared with Angel. Less passionate, less intense, yet it was a more comfortable and familiar feeling, exactly what he needed to balance the turmoil around and within him.

  Bridge, TCS Victory

  Blackmane System

  "Coventry has jumped, sir. Sheffield is next up." Eisen acknowledged the Sensor Officer's report with a curt nod and studied the tactical display with a critical eye. This was the period of greatest danger in any squadron operation, when ships performed their transits in succession and everyone involved hoped and prayed they wouldn't be emerging in the middle of an enemy fleet.

  They weren't taking any chances this time. Coventry would go through first, ready to engage anything waiting near the other end of the jump point. The destroyer that followed her would jump at the first sign of trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.

  That would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how Jason Bondarevsky felt about flying point on this mission. He was supposed to be one of Admiral Tolwyn's shining young proteges, but apparently the admiral's patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.

  Eisen glanced uneasily at the admiral. He was dressed to perfection, uniform starched and crisp, every hair in place. But Tolwyn did look nervous, pacing restlessly back and forth behind the Sensor Officer's station. For all the man's air of confidence, it was clear that he had his share of worries.

  "Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported. "Jump field forming… there she goes!"

  Tolwyn glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the final countdown, Captain," he ordered.

  For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on board he'd interfered in routine ship's operations: barking orders, taking over briefings, dressing down crew members who didn't live up to his image of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that could guarantee the success of the mission.

  But perhaps Tolwyn had good reason to be concerned. Eisen leaned forward in his chair and repeated the Admiral's order. Commander Gessler slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.

  "now, jump stations, jump stations," the computer announced, "five minutes to jump sequence start."

  The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax
a little. Maybe this operation would go by the numbers after all…

  "Remember, Captain, Behemoth will be five minutes behind us all the way," Tolwyn said. "I expect response times to be tight. We can't afford a screw-up. Not now."

  "Yes, Admiral," Eisen said. They'd been over it all a dozen times before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.

  And nothing would ever be the same again.

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory

  Loki System

  "And five… and four… three… two… one…"

  Jumpshock!

  Blair's guts twisted and churned as the carrier went through transition. No matter how often he experienced it, he could never get used to the sensation. The physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there was always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness that left him confused, numb.

  He blinked and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Everyone in the wing had gone through this transit strapped into their cockpits, a standard precaution when jumping into hostile space. They had the flight deck to themselves. Force fields and gravity generators sometimes faltered during jump, and technicians stayed clear of the flight deck for fear of a catastrophic failure. So the pilots were alone, lined up at their launch tubes, as ready for action as anyone could be in the aftermath of jumpshock.

  Blairs eyes came back into focus, and he checked his readouts and control settings automatically.

  A voice crackled in his headphones. "Jump complete," Eisen said. "Welcome to Loki System."

  There was a pause before Rollins took over. "According to sensors, the area is clear," the communications officer announced, still sounding a little groggy. "And Coventry says the same. Sorry to disappoint you, ladies and gents, but it looks like an all clear."

  Blair let out a long sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. They had cleared the first hurdle, but they weren't finished yet, not by a long shot.