Ralgha waved the rest of the explanation wearily away. "And I lost my entire clan to an evacuation ahead of an attack by your people," he replied, wishing at that moment that this was all over. There had just been too much death on both sides, it made no sense to reckon up who owed blood-guilt to whom. "I understand, and this in no way invalidates your safe-conduct or my surrender. At least he was more competent than the last Kilrathi who attempted my life."
And as Halcyon stared at him, mouth falling open just a little in what was probably surprise, he continued down the corridor towards the place where the healers were. The interrogation chemicals would without a doubt include some euphorics and painkillers.
Right now, he would welcome both.
Chapter Six
He was flying a Rapier fighter…no, it was a Kilrathi ship, very alien, with a curved cockpit roof and that weird alien writing everywhere. He scanned the controls, trying to figure out how to fly the strange craft, but nothing made much sense. And something was wrong, the alien fighter was moving strangely, rocking from side to side.
No, someone was shaking him…
"Go away," Hunter mumbled, his face buried in his pillow.
"Come on, Hunter, get a move on! The briefing's in ten minutes!" Hunter opened his eyes slowly, to see Joe Khumalo looking down at him with a sardonic look in his dark eyes.
"Go away, Knight. I flew a patrol at Oh-Four-hundred hours," Hunter said. "That can't even have been two hours ago! Give me a break, I can't be up for patrol."
Joe pulled his blanket off, leaving him shivering in the blast from the ventilators. "You're on the roster, Hunter. Hell, we all are. As of last night, everyone's flying patrols on a four hours on, four hours off schedule. Colonel's orders."
Hunter crawled out of his bunk, found one last clean flight suit hanging in his locker, and dressed quickly. No time to shower, or even shave…
Joe brought over two cups of coffee from the wardroom next door to the Barracks while Hunter was dressing, and Hunter gratefully accepted one. "Thanks, mate," he said, grimacing at the bitterness of the coffee. This is why this guy's callsign fits him, Hunter thought, Because he acts like a knight and a gentleman, even in the face of a surly Aussie who hasn't had enough sleep!
"I'll meet you at the briefing room," Knight said, starting for the door.
"I'll be there in a few," Hunter said, finishing the coffee. It didn't quite clear the fuzziness out of his brain, but was a good start. Enough so he could at least start thinking about what Joe had said.
In the week since they'd brought the renegade captain's Fralthi into a parked position next to the Claw, the enemy presence in the Firekka System had increased by a factor of ten. Hunter was beginning to wonder if the Kilrathi ships that were arriving in force were all because of the escaped Fralthi. He could understand them sending a couple ships after the Ras Nik'hra, to try and destroy it before the humans could take it out of the system, but the number of ships they'd been encountering…
He was keeping a running tally of the ships they'd sighted, and a personal tally of the ships they'd destroyed, and their own losses. So far the Tiger's Claw and Austin pilots had done exceptionally well, no casualties and only a few ships damaged beyond repair, mostly because the cats didn't seem to expect any enemy presence this far out in this system. But that was bound to change eventually. Sooner or later, the Kilrathi ships were going to start comparing notes. Sooner or later, someone was going to send a message back to their equivalent of High Command.
And sooner or later, the Confed pilots were going to start making mistakes. Especially if he and the other pilots were flying so many patrols that they were too exhausted to think straight.
It had to break, eventually. Either the reinforcements would arrive, or they'd be recalled from this system. Hunter didn't want to think about that, knowing what was likely to happen to the Firekkans if their only defenders left.
Those bird-folks don't have any planetary defenses, any space-based defenses or interception fleet… they'd be sitting ducks—
I hope the reinforcements get here soon, he thought grimly. We can't leave the Firekkans to face the cats alone, but we can't hold this system by ourselves for much longer, either. We're going to start running out of missiles very soon, and fighter replacement parts, not to mention what's going to happen once the Kilrathi really start fighting back and we begin losing pilots.
He didn't want to think about that. But it's only a matter of time, if we continue to be so badly outnumbered. How many Kilrathi ships have we run into in the last week?
He consulted his mental tally. Another Fralthi cruiser. Two Dorkir. A Snakier carrier. Several corvettes. And lots of enemy fighters.
And the tally was still rising…
It's not a strike fleet, it's a bloody invasion force! Those damned cats!
Well, time to do my part to get rid of them. He pulled on his boots, and started for the Briefing Room.
As usual, he was late. The Colonel was already at the podium, detailing the assignments. This time, though, the Colonel didn't pause in his litany of assignments and patrol routes to chastise Hunter as he always did. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd heard the Colonel's sardonic "So glad you decided to join us, Captain St. John" comments.
He slid into an empty seat next to Knight, listening as the Colonel assigned the patrols.
"Gamma Wing is Angel and Bossman, they'll patrol the jump point area. Delta Wing is Spirit and Iceman, flying the wide patrol beyond the jump points. Epsilon Wing is Hunter and Knight, you'll stay close to the Claw in the usual defensive patrol. With an unknown number of enemy ships in this area, we can't risk any Kilrathi fighters getting close to the carrier."
"Babysitting duty again," Hunter whispered to Knight.
"Remember, you'll be back on duty again in four hour shifts," the Colonel continued. "Get as much sleep as you can between flights. Dismissed." The assembled pilots rose to their feet as the Colonel left the podium, starting for the flight deck.
"I think we got the defensive patrol because of you," Joe said as they walked to the flight deck, too tired to sprint the way they had a few short weeks ago.
Hunter gave him a puzzled look. "Because of me? Why's that?"
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror yet?" Joe asked, a little grimly.
He didn't want to think about how he looked. Really, it was no worse than anyone else. "I'll be fine with another cup of coffee," Hunter muttered.
The flight deck was already busy; two Hornet fighters took off, one after the other, as Hunter mustered up a tired trot to his fighter. A tech was under the Rapier, invisible except for a pair of booted legs sticking out from beneath the wing. "Good morning, Jimmy," Hunter called, forcing himself to sound cheerful.
The face that emerged from under the ship was definitely not Jimmy's, or male. She was a pixie-faced young woman with short red hair and smudges of grease on her face. 'Jimmy's not here, sir."
"And who might you be?" One hell of a cute lady, that's who, Hunter thought, hiding his delighted smile. He was never too tired for an attractive lady, after all.
"I'm Janet McCullough, a new technician on the Austin, sir. But, please, call me 'Sparks.' Everyone does." She was so cheerful she sparkled; a much-needed dose of good humor among all the exhaustion. "Jimmy's been working on the Ras Nik'hra for a few days. They're supposed to take the Fralthi to Confed High Command tomorrow, and they needed Jimmy to doublecheck some of the ship systems."
Hunter didn't mind dallying, a little—this was information the rest of the crew would be interested to hear. "So they're finally taking that tugboat back to Sol Station?"
She nodded. "That's what I've heard, sir."
But that left some "loose ends" unaccounted for. Some very hairy loose ends, one of which seemed determined to attach himself to Hunter. "What about the Kilrathi that we took off the ship?"
Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Most of them have already been taken out-system. I think the only ones
that are left on the Claw are the two cooperative guys. They're still here, but under guard, of course."
"Right." The grizzled old Captain and the young Kilrathi. What was his name? Kirha, that's right. The one that was given to me as a gift. Some gift. Now I know how the old Rajahs felt when they got those while elephants. 'Course, this time the elephant knew what was going to happen to him. Hunter repressed a grin, remembering the shocked look on the young Kilrathi's face. Well, he's not my problem anymore. Taking care of all of his friends out there who're trying to invade our system, that's my problem now.
"How soon will this old bird be ready to fly?" he asked the technician, who had disappeared under the wing again.
"Just… another few minutes… sir!" came her voice from underneath. "I need to tighten… the fuel intake to this engine…"
"Take your time, sweetheart," Hunter said, leaning against the side of the fighter. After all, the longer she took, the shorter the amount of time he'd have to spend strapped in. Could be the Colonel didn't reckon on how much down-time these Rapiers need. "Say, you wouldn't happen to like listening to live jazz music, would you?"
Her voice came out from under the fighter with a kind of muffled quality to it. "I've heard Lieutenant Colson play several times, if that's what you're asking, sir. He's quite good."
A most excellent opening. And Hunter was going to take full advantage of it. "Yes, he is. Well, I was wondering…"
"Hunter! What's taking so long? I'm waiting to launch!" Joe Khumalo's voice boomed out over the flight deck PA. Everyone on the Deck stopped working and looked up. A moment later, Khumalo's voice continued, "Oh, this is set to the loudspeaker frequency? Sorry about that, let me switch it to…"
"Your ship's ready for launch, sir," Sparks said, scrambling to her feet and saluting him smartly. She was flushed, and Hunter thought that her color was due as much to embarrassment as to exertion.
Well, there went his chances, right down the old tube.
"Thanks, Sparks," Hunter said, and sighed. "Great timing, Joe," he muttered, climbing up into the cockpit.
Five minutes later, he was floating free in space, gently working the controls to bring his fighter up on Knight's wing. The Tiger's Claw floated beside them, huge and imposing against the starfield and the silhouetted planet of Firekka. Just beyond the Tiger's Claw was the Ras Nik'hra, the captured Fralthi.
"What was taking so long on the Deck?" Knight asked, his voice a little tinny over the comlink.
"You're a married man, Joe," Hunter said, wondering if he could somehow track the girl down again, and then wondering if he'd have any time to spare for her even if he did. "You wouldn't understand. So, what's our patrol coordinates?"
Knight kept his curiosity—if he had any—to himself. "Five thousand klicks out, a diamond configuration. It shouldn't take us more than an hour."
"Good," Hunter said, yawning. "Then I'm going to set my Nav computer and put this on Autopilot. Wake me up if anything interesting happens, okay?"
Joe sounded aghast. "Hunter!"
Couldn't the guy tell a joke when he heard one? "All right, mate, just kidding." Did he really think I'd even consider flaking out like that? "Setting first Nav coordinate, AutoNav on your mark?"
Knight was right back to business. "Affirmative. Two… one… mark!"
The two fighters banked simultaneously, cruising in the direction of Nav 1.
An hour later, Hunter was more bored than he'd ever been in his life. Aside from a few minutes of conversation and bad dirty jokes with the Deck Officer of the TCS Austin, as their patrol path brought them within sight of the smaller Gettysburg-class ship, the patrol was totally uneventful. Totally boring, Hunter thought. I probably could have taken a nap.
As if Knight had heard the thought, he came on-line with a crackle of static. "You need to be more serious about your job, Hunter," Joe said, as they dropped out of AutoNav, within sight of the Tiger's Claw. "Life isn't all jokes and beer, you know."
Be gentle on him; he's probably hoping for a promotion. "It's been that way for me so far, mate," Hunter grinned, as if he took Joe's reproachful attitude as yet another joke, then switching his vidscreen to the Tiger's Claw channel. "Tiger's Claw, we are requesting permission to land."
"Affirmative, you are clear to land," the Deck Officer reported a moment later.
"After you, Joe," Hunter said. He sat back and watched as Knight's fighter turned smoothly into the final approach, gliding down into the Deck.
"Hunter, you are cleared to land," the Deck Officer repeated a moment later, obviously expecting Hunter to follow Knight down onto the Deck.
Little did they know…"Negative on that, Tiger's Claw, your signal is breaking up. Communications malfunction, I can't quite hear you. What were those new orders?"
"Hunter, bring that fighter down right now!" The Deck Officer sounded suspicious. Well, he should be. Especially if he knew Hunter by reputation.
He tried to keep a straight face, knowing that the Deck Officer could see him very well, even if a supposed malfunction made it impossible for him to hear the D.O. "Affirmative, Tiger's Claw, now proceeding with new orders." He brought the throttle up and tilted the fighter on a new course, a direct route to the floating Ras Nik'hra.
It's even bigger than I remember, he thought, maneuvering for final approach on the odd circular-shaped landing bay. He brought his speed all the way down, but miscalculated on his angle of approach, and bounced once off the deck as he brought the fighter to a complete stop within the Fralthi's bay.
The vidscreen still had the D.O. squawking angry orders at him as Hunter climbed out of the fighter, looking around the deck. He recognized a thin space-suited figure standing on the wing of a Dralthi fighter, looking down at an open panel. He switched on his suit's radio. "Hey, Jimmy!"
The young technician looked up, and saw Hunter. "Hunter?"
Hunter walked up to the Dralthi. "Just wanted to see how things were going for you. And get a last look at this Fralthi before they take it away. Say, that's one of the new Dralthi, isn't it?"
Jimmy nodded, the helmet of his suit bobbing slightly. "Yes, it's what we're calling a Dralthi Mark Two. It has a new weapons system, better armor, and a few other improvements." His voice brightened as he began describing the differences; Jimmy was a techno-junkie, for certain, and like all techies, he loved talking about gadgets and widgetry. "It's a lot better than the first model of Dralthi, not quite so likely to have that power overload problem the first time the shields get pounded a little too hard. That's why the older version of these fighters was so easy to kill, three or four direct hits would overload the shield generator."
"That's good to know," Hunter observed, looking at the parked fighter. Good to know, hell. It might save our lives. Why doesn't anyone ever see that the pilots get info like this? "I wonder how well these old girls fly?"
"I've sat in the cockpit, but haven't turned on the engines," Jimmy said. "The visibility isn't so great, and the controls are a little weird, but I think it'd fly pretty well. The wing stabilizers are kinda neat, they're—"
"Good," Hunter interrupted, climbing up onto the wing next to Jimmy. "How do you get into the cockpit?"
"Actually, you climb in from below," Jimmy said, frowning slightly. "The top of the cockpit doesn't pop off the way ours do, in fact it doesn't seem to have an ejection system, either. That'd be awful, to be trapped in a dying fighter with no way to get out."
"I guess the cats don't care much about that," Hunter said, jumping down from the wing and looking underneath the belly of the ship. "Well, Jimmy, I think I'm just going to have to take this Dralthi for a test drive. Better stand clear."
Even through the helmet faceplate, Hunter could see Jimmy's eyes widen. "But, sir—" he protested.
Hunter ignored him, popped the bottom hatch and crawled up into the fighter. This is a peculiar way to do things, he thought, climbing up into the cockpit and sliding over into the pilot's chair. He latched the hatch, listening as it autom
atically sealed to become airtight. His spacesuit readings said that the cockpit was slowly pressurizing with breathable air. Good. He wriggled in the seat, trying to make it feel more comfortable. The seat was made of plant fibers woven into a chair, with a large empty spot at the back of the chair … probably for the cat's tail, he decided. It was too large for him, but he strapped himself in anyhow. As his suit readouts switched to green, indicating that the cockpit was fully pressurized with breathable air, he popped open the faceplate of his helmet. The suit had twenty minutes of breathable air on the emergency tank, but there was no reason to use it now.
"Hunter, are you authorized for this?" Jimmy's voice said anxiously through the speakers in Hunter's helmet.
"Not a problem, mate!" Hunter replied, looking in perplexity at the control panel. All of the controls were labeled in the odd vertical letters of the Kilrathi language, which Hunter had never learned how to read. But that looks like a joystick, and that looks like an air pressure gauge, I don't know what that is but I'm sure I won't need it, and that looks like an engine power gauge… I wonder what that switch is, next to it?
He pressed it, and the fighter vibrated suddenly as the engines rumbled to life. "Clear!" Hunter shouted, a little too late.
"Don't worry, Hunter, I'm standing in the airlock where it's safe," Jimmy replied, his voice more than a little strained. Poor kid was probably wondering how he was going to explain this to his superior officers.
"You don't have any faith in me, mate?" Hunter grinned, and pulled up on the joystick slightly. The Dralthi fighter lifted a few meters off the deck. Hunter eased it forward, aiming for the circular exit of the bay. I wonder what that switch does? he thought, looking at a toggle that was halfway down the console. He depressed it, and the engines suddenly roared into full power. Hunter's eyes widened as the Dralthi shot from the landing bay like a bullet from a gun. He brought the speed down a moment later, and drifted in space in his alien fighter. He slowly turned the Dralthi so he could look back at the Ras Nik'hra, floating majestically against the starfield.
Wing Commander: Freedom Flight Page 11
