False Colors

CHAPTER 15

Bridge, Guild Scoutship Highwayman

Near Baka Kar, Baka Kar System

1034 hours (CST), 2671.017

“Cloak is holding. All systems nominal.”

Zachary Banfeld nodded at the helmsman’s report, his eyes on the tactical plot beside his command chair. The voyage to Baka Kar had gone smoothly, but Banfeld was still nagged by worries. How much had Delgado betrayed of the Guild’s secrets? What was going on back in the Landreich while he made this foray into Kilrathi space? How would Ragark receive his information? Everything now balanced on a knife-edge, and he knew one wrong move could spell disaster.

The trouble was, so many of those possible wrong moves weren’t even his to make. That was what galled him most, not being in control. That had hardly ever happened to Banfeld before, and he didn’t care for the feeling at all.

The scout had managed the three jumps from Hellhole to Baka Kar in less than two standard days, a tribute to the high acceleration Highwayman could generate at need. With the stealth generators on, they had slipped past the Kilrathi picket boat at Vordran, where a whole locus of jump points located close together made the system a vital strategic link along the frontier of the Hralgkrak province. Now they were less than two light-minutes out from the provincial capital, still cloaked.

Banfeld was still not sure how to initiate contact with the Kilrathi. He had never sent one of his smugglers to the provincial capital before, never faced the problem of dealing with so much naval traffic. If they were in a trigger-happy mood the Guild ship could be fried by patrolling elements of Ragark’s fleet before he could get a message through, once the cloak went down. But he had none of the usual facilities for making contact with his links to the Economic Minister. The usual procedure required initiating contact at a remote outpost, but there wasn’t time for that.

He would have to hope the Kilrathi would give him time to talk rather than take Highwayman for a spy or the forerunner of an attack. All he had to do was get in touch with Ghraffid nar Dhores, and the Baron would do the rest.

“Drop the cloak,” he ordered. “Jonas, broadcast the hail. Broad channel…we want everyone to know we’ve got business with the Minister.”

“Broad channel,” Jonas Hart, manning the communications station, confirmed.

He continued to study the tactical monitor. The traffic in the system was making him edgy, and he was sure there was something important he just wasn’t seeing out there…

Certainly there were plenty of Kilrathi ships orbiting the planet. On the way in from the jump point Banfeld had counted four escort carriers and their battle groups, an imposing fleet indeed to be assembled at one point. Assuming Ragark had garrisons posted at other worlds of the province, his fleet was going to be a powerful threat to the Landreich even if the carrier at Vaku was made operational. Perhaps he had worried unnecessarily about the threat to the balance of power, led astray by the paranoia of Williams and Mancini.

On the other hand, that salvaged carrier had turned out to pack quite a punch, and with the support of the rest of Kruger’s fleet it could still turn the tide against a Kilrathi task force made up of escort carriers. Banfeld would stick to his original plan.

But there was still something that wasn’t quite right about the readings they were getting. He continued to look at the monitor, especially at the symbols that described the main orbital docking complex over Baka Kar.

He stared at the readout for a long time before it hit him. The mass was wrong, completely different from everything in their records on the faculties at Baka Kar. The docking complex was supposed to be large, but these figures were almost twice what they should have been. Banfeld ordered the computer to zoom in on the orbital dock so that he could study it more closely.

It took a long time for the computer imaging system to interpret the sensor data well enough to comply with his request, and that wasn’t right either. Something anomalous was out there, something that was distorting Highwayman’s probes…

Banfeld let out an audible gasp as the computer imager finally displayed a picture based on the collected data. Something massive really was over there, docked with the orbital facility. Something that dwarfed the spidery framework of the station. It was the biggest ship Banfeld had ever seen-if it was a ship, and that’s what the computer was insisting. It measured nearly twenty-two kilometers in length, bristling with hardpoints and radiating an awesome amount of energy even when it lay quiescent alongside the dock.

The Guild leader had only heard rumors about such ships, but now he was sure he was seeing the reality behind those rumors. A Kilrathi dreadnought, one of the vast and powerful warships Prince Thrakhath had ordered for the final solution to the war with Mankind.

And it was here, with Ragark’s fleet.

Cold fear washed over Zachary Banfeld. He had wanted to help Ragark even the odds so that the war on the frontier might be prolonged and the Guild profit from the war. But a Kilrathi dreadnought made all the defenses of the Landreichers useless. Even their new supercarrier would be no match for such a powerful ship of war, whether they fully restored it to fighting trim or not.

When the Kilrathi smashed their way across the border, the question of Guild profits would no longer be a factor in his plans. The question would be one of Guild survival.

“Abort the mission,” he ordered sharply. “Get us back to the jump point. Best speed. And get the goddamned cloak back up!”

Reception Area, Orbital Station Asharazhal

Orbiting Baka Kar, Baka Kar System

1040 hours (CST)

Ukar dai Ragark stood by the broad transplast window and studied the impressive bulk of the Vorghath, or rather the comparatively tiny part of him visible from this part of the orbital dock. Ragark had never seen one of Thrakhath’s dreadnoughts, and merely reading over the specifications had hardly prepared him for the reality of seeing the huge ship in person.

One such dreadnought could carve out a new Empire. The apes would never stand against his firepower.

He turned to look at the crowd of ministers and officers waiting a respectful distance behind him. “Look at him, my friends,” he said expansively, gesturing to encompass the great ship that lay outside. “Look at him! Vorghath the Hunter, come to lead us to victory. With this ship, we shall crush all opposition, and have our revenge on the apes for the Homeworld.”

As if in response to his declaration the boarding tube door adjacent to the window cycled open, and Dawx Jhorrad stepped through with an eight of his senior staff behind him. Jhorrad was a short, thickset kil, half his face hidden by an extensive prosthetic plate that contained bionics to replace an eye and an ear lost in the first Terran raid against Kilrah years ago. No one could have mistaken him for an aristocrat even if he’d bom the honorific between given name and surname that marked a noble’s rank. But despite being a commoner Jhorrad was a brilliant tactician, and his underlings, even those who were titled, would follow him to the Underworld and back at his slightest command.

Ragark envied him his charisma, but he didn’t allow that envy to warp his perceptions. Dawx Jhorrad was the perfect subordinate. He could never aspire to lead the Empire; he had to pledge his loyalty to someone else, someone of birth and land, and titles. That was why he had come to Ragark after so many eight-days of wandering. Ragark could give him the two things he needed-a purpose, and a chance to keep on fighting the apes he hated so passionately.

“Captain Jhorrad,” Ragark said, stepping forward and opening both hands in a gesture of greeting. “It is a pleasure to see you at last.”

Jhorrad sank to one knee and bowed his battle-scarred head in submission. “My lord Ragark,” he said formally. “Permit me to pledge you my service. I offer you my claws and teeth, to rend your foes. I offer you my mind and spirit, to do your bidding. I offer you my eyes and ears, to seek out your foes. And I offer you my throat, to slash, should ever I be found unworthy.”

Ragark showed his teeth. The full Warrior’s Oath, right out of the Codices…that hadn’t been heard in the Empire for years, not after Thrakhath had revealed his irreligious nature to the nobility. Jhorrad did him the ultimate honor, pledging a form of realty that placed him entirely at his new master’s command.

“Rise, Captain,” he said sternly, recalling the proper formula. “I accept your pledge of service, your claws and teeth, your mind and spirit, your eyes and ears. May I never require to accept your throat, as long as you serve my hrai.”

Jhorrad stood. “I thank my Lord.”

“You have journeyed for a long time, Captain,” Ragark said in a more conversational tone. “Tell me, how is Vorghath? When will he be ready for service?^

“Many eight-days, I fear,” the commoner said. “The ship was badly damaged when Kilrah was destroyed. We barely escaped the system. Since then we have had no place of refuge to make more than makeshift repairs, and Melek’s ships have hounded us.“ He showed his teeth. ”But even wounded, Vorghath taught those a lesson in respect, and Melek gave up the hunt some time ago. We need an extensive refit. New stores, a complete retiming of shield generators and fusion plants. Repair of battle damage to the hull. Replacements for crew members killed and wounded, and for those who have expressed a desire to be discharged now that their oath to the Emperor binds them no longer.“

Ragark almost responded with an angry remark about Warriors who abandoned their posts before their lords gave them permission, but he grasped the words before they were uttered. He was not the Emperor yet, and until he was acclaimed and seated upon the throne he would have to watch his step, even with commoners like Jhorrad. Especially with Jhorrad, who could smooth over so many possible obstacles that lay between Ragark and the throne.

Before he could say anything at all, a warning siren sounded. Nerrag jaq Rhang raised a commlink to his face and spoke urgently. Then he turned to Ragark.

“My Lord, sensors have registered a ship of Terran design decloaking less than two light minutes from orbit. It is broadcasting a signal asking to speak with Ghraffid nar Dhores, and identifies the sender as a ‘Zachary Banfeld.’ ”

Ragark turned to face the block of followers nearby. “What is this about, Lord Ghraffid?”

The Economic Minister looked abashed. “Lord, the Terran Banfeld is a renegade ape who works for his own profit. I have found it useful, from time to time, to have dealings with him…as a way of gaining access to information about activities on the other side of the frontier.”

Ragark studied him for a long moment in silence. “And of course my Economic Minister needs such intelligence from Terran space, to know what the price of raw meat and claw sharpeners is on their side of the frontier,” he said, mustering all the sarcasm at his command. “Let me see, how often has this source of yours been mentioned in the frequent talks we’ve had regarding intelligence operations conducted by your Ministry?” He paused. “You have been dealing with a smuggler, a black marketeer, and the only reason I can think of for that is the desire to make profits of your own. Isn’t that right?”

“N-no, my Lord…I mean, not simply that…”

“Never mind. I will deal with you later.” Ragark made a dismissive gesture. “Your smuggler friend has arrived at a very bad time, I’m afraid. He has been in the system, under cloak, for an unknown period of time. Long enough, at least, to register the presence of the Vorghath here. This is information we cannot afford to let the apes have too soon.” He turned back to Nerrag. “Order that ape ship intercepted and destroyed. We cannot allow him to pass on word of Vorghath to his people. And have this huckster arrested and held for trial. Now!”

“More information, my Lord,” Nerrag said, looking up from his commlink. “The ape has cloaked again. Last readings indicated he was heading for the jump point at top speed. Interception will be difficult as long as he remains under cloak…”

“I know that!” Ragark snapped. “All right, if you cannot stop the ship, pursue it. Energy readings at the jump point should give a fairly good idea of when and where he goes. Dispatch a task force to follow the ape-the carriers Hravik and Klarran, and their battle groups. Some time he will have to decloak, and when he does I want him destroyed! And any other apes he comes in contact with, as well. See to it, Nerrag.”

Ragark turned away, seething, to hide his look of frustration from the others. Especially Jhorrad, the peasant who must never see his Lord at a loss.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Independence

Near Hellhole, Hellhole System

0730 hours (CST), 2671.019

“Wing Commander reports all resistance on the planet has ended, Captain. Bombers are proceeding with planned strikes on the base. The carrier has broken orbit and is withdrawing in the direction of Jump Point Six…to Vordran, sir. Cat territory.”

Captain John Galbraith leaned forward in his command chair, full of anticipation. “Thank you, Commander Roth.” He said formally to his Exec. “Instruct Commander Tolwyn to have his fighters pursue the carrier. I want it stopped.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Navigator, lay in a course to intercept the Guild carrier. Helm, increase to maximum acceleration. Break orbit and get us up to that ship ASAP.” He turned towards Roth. “Order the bombers to complete their runs, catch up with us, and rearm. I want them ready in case Tolwyn can’t finish off the pirates by himself.” Actually, he intended to get a few blows in whether Tolwyn could handle the job or not. It was important that he be able to demonstrate his own vital part in this whole affair, and not let an outlander like Admiral Tolwyn’s nephew claim any of the credit.

He leaned back again, feeling satisfied. Independence had caught the pirates in the middle of disassembling their base on Hellhole and smashed through their feeble attempts at resistance. Several pirate ships had broken orbit and scattered, and in the absence of orders from Camparelli, who was in his bed today as he had been for the past week, Galbraith had ordered the rest of the battle group to split up and pursue the various fleeing vessels. Now the pirate base was under aerial bombardment and their largest surviving ship, the so-called carrier that had attacked the Goliath Project at Vaku and then escaped from Richards and his men, was running once again. Galbraith would make sure it didn’t get away. That would be quite a feather in his cap when Independence returned to Landreich.

His father’s political faction would gain considerable influence as a result, perhaps even enough to finally topple Max Kruger.

Galbraith wasn’t sure where his father had obtained his intelligence information, but it had checked out one hundred percent so far. News that the pirates were operating out of a base on Hellhole had brought loud demands for naval action in the Landreich Council Hall, and the orders for Independence and her brand-new battle group to spearhead the attack had come down almost immediately. With the fighter wing brought back up to full strength, a new Marine contingent on board, and a battle group that now consisted of two cruisers, three destroyers, and a pair of stealth scouts, Independence had come roaring into the Hellhole system ready for action. The pirates had barely registered them on sensors before Tolwyn’s fighters were in among their orbiting ships. The rest of the battle group had split up to pursue the smaller pirate ships attempting to reach several different jump points that lay fairly close to the planet.

Yes, it was a textbook operation, and it could only help bolster his naval career. Perhaps when Kruger lost a vote of confidence in council some changes would be made, the outsiders relegated to their proper place and a proven commander promoted to command the supercarrier when it was finally ready to leave the Vaku system and go into action.

Calbraith smiled, thinking of the possibilities.

Raptor 600, VF-84 “Liberators”

Near Jump Point Six, Hellhole System

0752 hours (CST)

“All right, boys and girls, let’s give these bastards an idea of what it is to tangle with the Liberators!” Kevin Tolwyn matched actions to words and broke formation, rolling his heavy fighter sideways and accelerating toward the limping ship that looked even less like a carrier than it had before it had taken a string of hits in the opening round of the fighting planetside.

The converted transport swelled as he plunged closer, a single turret offering Double-A-S fire that went wide of the mark. Tolwyn targeted the engineering section and opened fire with neutron guns and mass drivers, unleashing the full power of the heavy fighter’s arsenal in a single consolidated burst. It drained his power supply quickly, but with no sign of enemy fighters around and such a poor showing from the carrier’s own gunnery it was a safe enough maneuver.

Energy sparkled and flared as the weapons met the carrier’s shielding. At the last possible moment, Tolwyn pulled up to whip past the stern section at full military acceleration. The shields were still holding, so he didn’t waste either of his two remaining missiles yet, but he had softened the enemy up for the next fighter, his wingman for the day’s ops, Lieutenant Carlos “Venture” Ventura. The second Raptor mimicked Tolwyn’s attack, but as Venture skimmed over the engineering section he released two Gladius heat-seeking missiles. The first hit the ship’s shielding, but the energy released by its detonation brought the carrier’s rear shields down and the second hit armor.

“Now that’s the way to let ‘em know we’re out here!” Ventura whooped.

“Good shooting, Venture,” Tolwyn said. “Stormy, Jazzman, you take the next run. Let ‘em have it!”

“Skipper?” That was Commander William “Willie Pete” Peterson, the CO of the Hornet squadron, the Stingers of VF-16, which had just joined the wing to replace Babcock’s Flying Eyes. “I’m getting a disturbance at the jump point, but no visual. Could be something cloaked coming through…” He trailed off. “Holy shit I Multiple disturbances now…we’ve got company coming, skipper, and a hell of a lot of it!”

“Camelot, Camelot, this is Lancelot,” Tolwyn said, switching to the carrier’s frequency. “Camelot, did you copy that? We’ve got ships incoming through the jump point…” He stopped as the first targets began registering on his screens. “My God, they’re Cats. I’m reading a Cat task force, one carrier…no, two carriers now, plus cruisers and destroyers. Repeat, Cat task force with two carriers and supporting combat ships. What are your instructions, Camelot?”

But there was no response from the Independence.

Flag Bridge, KIS Klarran

Jump Point Six, Hellhole System

0755 hours (CST)

Jumpshock blurred his vision and made it hard for him to concentrate, but Admiral Julgar nar Ta’hal forced himself to focus on the flag bridge’s tactical monitors. What he saw caused him to bare his fangs in an instinctive desire to rend and tear.

His task force had pursued the Terran scout for nearly six-eights standard Kilrah hours, but the cloaked ship had led them a merry chase. At times it had been almost exhilarating, like a primal hunt for a cunning and well-camouflaged prey animal, but Julgar had been uncomfortably aware of the serious nature of his orders from Ragark. The initial instructions had been blunt: catch the Terran ship, whatever the cost, and smash it and any other apes it came into contact with. But before jumping from the Baka Kar system more detailed orders had come from Ragark in person. The Governor had been adamant about stopping the human vessel, yet he had also been determined that the Kilrathi ships should not get drawn into a major battle. Until the Vorghath was refitted Ragark needed all his combat ships intact, ready to block the expanding Landreich fleet or to carry out the initial moves of the planned invasion of the human frontier worlds. A major clash of ships at this stage would be premature, and Ragark would entertain no tolerance for failure.

So they had followed the humans to Vordran, alerting the picket boat posted there of the cloaked ship’s presence in the system. Running at maximum acceleration, they had arrived at the jump point from Vordran to Hellhole just in time to see the last stages of a skirmish between the picket boat, the escort Wexarragh, and the human vessel which had been forced to drop its cloak for an instant in order to transfer power to its jump drive. The escort had damaged the Terrans, but they had jumped anyway, switching the cloak back on as they slid into the hyperrealm for the interstellar transit to Hellhole.

The task force had followed close on the enemy ship’s heels. Julgar had almost been able to smell the chance at a kill, knowing the prey was damaged.

But what awaited the Kilrathi task force on the other side of the hyperrealm was not a single badly damaged scout, but a large ship and a swarm of fighters almost on top of the jump point, and more warships identified by the computer as elements of a Landreich carrier battle group further off, out of formation but representing a potent force.

The Imperial ships had the edge in numbers, but they were risking the possibility of a major battle…exactly the thing Ragark had warned against. How could Julgar carry out both sets of instructions?

To add to his troubles, that nearest Terran ship was entirely too close to the Klarran for comfort. In his zeal for the pursuit Julgar had taken his flagship through the jump point first, rather than sending lighter ships on ahead. That put the Klarran in a dangerous position. His speed was minimal after the hyperspace transit, and it would take time to build up a substantial vector. Meanwhile the Terran ship was well within the usual defensive perimeter a battle group’s destroyers and cruisers were supposed to maintain. Carriers were not intended to engage in ship to ship duels, but there was a risk here. The rest of the task force would be following, of coarse, but hyperspace transit arrival points were wildly variable and some of the other ships might not build up a vector that would get them to the scene of the battle for as much as an hour.

Much could happen in an hour.

Julgar flicked his claws in and out nervously, studying the tactical board and trying to get over the lingering effects of jumpshock. The Terran ship was like nothing in the Kilrathi warbook program. The computer was calling it a transport, but energy readings were equivalent to a destroyer or a small cruiser…and the long-range imaging scan made it look like some kind of pocket carrier. The fighters around it were old human designs, but time and again even older human fighters had dealt severe blows to Kilrathi fighter squadrons in actions during the decades-long war.

His thoughts finally began to come together, and Julgar turned his seat to face his communications officer. “Establish a blanket jamming field,” he said. “I want no contact between the apes here and those on the edge of our sensor range. Lord Ragark does not want the ship we are chasing to communicate with anyone else.”

“Yes, Lord Admiral,” the officer responded crisply. “We will not be able to damp out tight-beam communications, my Lord. At close range they will still be able to maintain contact. It is possible there will be intermittent contact over the longer range as well, at least between the larger ships.”

“Understood. Do your best.” He turned to his own console. “Captain, this is Admiral nar Ta’hal. Launch all fighters, fastest possible rotation. Crush the enemy ships nearest us as quickly as possible. Especially the scout, if you can locate it. I would suggest it will probably be attempting to rendezvous with the capital ship ahead of us.”

“Yes, Lord Admiral,” the Klarran’s captain responded.

“Do not get underway from this position, Captain,” he went on. “I do not wish to be drawn into closer action until we have some support from the rest of the task force. Keep the vector low until then. Pass the word to the rest of the task force as well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the captain responded.

“And once the fighters have launched, put out a pair of Zartoths. We will be jamming enemy communications, but I want to be able to extend our area of interdiction in case the apes attempt to break off.“

Julgar cut the intercom link before the captain could reply. He bared his fangs once again, this time in anticipation. A single overwhelming attack would eliminate the fugitive and anyone he communicated with here. Then the task force could disengage if they needed to…or, if the odds looked favorable, they could close with the other apes and defeat them as well, whatever Ragarks orders specified.

It was a glorious day for combat.

Flag Officer’s Quarters, FRLS Independence

Deep Space, Hellhole System

0759 hours (CST)

Admiral Vincent Camparelli struggled to sit upright in his bed despite the pressure in his chest and the uneven wheeze of his breath. Although ill and confined to his bed, he had been monitoring the tactical board from his bedside computer hookup and the holographic projector that occupied a table by the door. He had watched in satisfaction as the battle group had surprised and scattered the pirates, although he’d been tempted to call back the capital ships Galbraith had scattered in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. In the end, though, he’d decided against that. Galbraith knew what he was doing, and didn’t need an old, sick man telling him what to do from his bed.

He had promised himself that this would be the last cruise. No matter how much Max Kruger wanted him to stay in harness, Camparelli knew it was time for the old war-horse to go to pasture.

The admiral had almost dozed off, until a warning alarm had signaled the appearance of new ships on the board. Awake once more, he had studied the newcomers, his chest tightening as he’d realized who they were.

Cats…a small task force built around a pair of carriers. They had erupted almost on top of the fighters and their quarry, the makeshift pirate carrier.

Camparelli reached for the intercom controls at his bedside. Independence was heading straight into that mess at maximum acceleration, and without any supporting destroyers or cruisers. The carrier operating alone wouldn’t stand a chance against those Cats.

He fumbled with the controls, and swore an ancient oath in the Italian dialect of Romanova, his boyhood home. His fingers weren’t obeying the orders from his brain-a fine admiral he made, unable even to command his body any longer, much less his battle group-and a sharp pain was shooting up his left arm and side.

Camparelli persevered and activated the intercom circuit, now gasping for breath. He had to get Galbraith to act…or Independence, maybe the entire battle group, would be lost.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Independence

Deep Space, Hellhole System

0801 hours (CST)

Galbraith stared at the tactical monitor, hardly able to comprehend the new data flowing across the screen-or the Wing Commander’s words echoing in his ears. Of all the times the Cats could mount a raid…

“Sir? Admiral Camparelli on the line.” Roth didn’t wait for Galbraith to respond. She switched the intercom on.

Hie admiral’s face looked pale and drawn. “Captain…Captain, you have to get the battle group together quickly. The other ships are too badly dispersed…too badly dispersed…” The battle group commander was gasping. “Get them together…have to withdraw… Cat force too large for a stand-up fight…” He trailed off, still fighting for breath. “Can’t…can’t think straight, Captain. Turning overfull command…to you.” The screen went as dead as Galbraith’s hopes.

He forced himself to act. “Helm, kill our vector. We won’t sail into the middle of that without some support from the rest of the battle group.” He paused. “Exec, have a medical team lay down to the flag bridge and see to the Admiral. And order all ships to break off operations immediately and form on Independence ASAP.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Roth replied. “Sir…what about Tolwyn’s flight wing? He was calling for orders. Then everything went dead. Looks like jamming by the Cats. We can’t recall him, and we can’t even let him know our plans.” Something in her tone suggested she wanted to know them herself. “The Cats have started launching fighters, and I don’t know if Tolwyn’s got enough planes to handle fighters from two Cat escort carriers.”

“I know,” Galbraith said grimly. “But he’s going to have to try. The Flight Wing has to buy us some time, keep those Cats off our backs until we reassemble the battle group and can pull back to the jump point to Landreich.” He paused, swallowing. “He’s a good man, Tolwyn. He’ll know what he has to do.”

Raptor 500, VF-84 “liberators”

Near Jump Point Six, Vaku System

0804 hours (CST)

“It’s no good, skipper,” Peterson said. “The jamming’s too damned thick around here. I can’t raise Camelot.”

Kevin Tolwyn cursed under his breath. If a Hornet fitted out with an elaborate suite of electronics and communications gear couldn’t break through the static, none of them could. That left the Liberators on their own, and Kilrathi birds were already beginning to form up around their lead carrier as if organizing for an attack.

Meanwhile he didn’t know what to do. If he withdrew to the carrier he risked getting jumped halfway by the Cats…or, worse yet, drawing them back to Independence, where they could inflict a lot of damage before the Kilrathi capital ships came up and finished her off. But if he stayed out here his fighters, already short on missiles and fuel from the long running battle with the pirates, were likely to be overwhelmed.

Everything depended on what the Kilrathi did.

He turned his attention to his sensor readouts, and gave a low whistle as he took in the changing situation out there. He had forgotten about the pirates.

In the confusion that had followed the appearance of the Cats, the battered pirate carrier had altered course. Strangely, though, it was not running away, not from the Landreich fighters, nor yet from the Cats. It had veered so that its course took it across the line of advance of the oncoming Kilrathi. In the circumstances it was an insane move…

Unless they had a reason.

Tolwyn remembered the surge of energy in the jump point that had preceded the appearance of the Cat ships. Something had come through ahead of them, unseen. A cloaked ship?

Maybe…and if it was a cloaked pirate, it may have contacted the carrier on a channel the Landreichers couldn’t monitor, a tight-beam laser, for instance.

Which meant there was more going on out here than met the eye…maybe a lot more. The Cats had appeared right behind the cloaked whatever-it-was. As if they were chasing it…

As if to confirm his line of thought, the first wave of Cat fighters peeled off toward the pirate carrier, opening fire from long range. A sustained bombardment washed over the carriers forward shields and across her bow in a seemingly random firing pattern. But one of those bolts hit something.

The scout craft shimmered as it materialized, its stealth generators failing. A flurry of fire erupted from the Kilrathi fighters, Vaktoth heavy attack craft fitted with a wide array of powerful beam weapons. The damaged scout ship couldn’t stand up long under such an assault, and even the carrier wasn’t likely to be much protection under the circumstances.

The pirates had been the enemy just minutes ago, but anyone the Kilrathi wanted to get this badly was someone Kevin Tolwyn wanted to protect-at least until he could find out why.

“All Liberators, all Liberators, this is Lancelot One,” he said over the all-squadron tactical channel. At close range the jamming might distort it, but the message would get through. “New orders. Concentrate on the lead Cat squadron. Give them everything you’ve got…and protect the two pirate ships out there. Repeat, the pirates are no longer considered target. Protect them from the Cats. Let’s go!”

He advanced his throttle and felt the internal gravity variance pushing him back into his seat as the Raptor accelerated. If the Cats were chasing that pirate scoutship, then the Landreicher intervention in their little fight was a sure way of getting their attention, just what Galbraith wanted.

Of course, the odds were that very few of the outnumbered Liberators would get out of the battle alive.

Bridge, Guild Scoutship Highwayman

Near Jump Point Six, Hellhole System

0808 hours (CST)

Smoke filled the bridge from half a dozen small electrical fires. The automatic firefighting system hadn’t cut in, so the bridge crew was battling the blaze with fire extinguishers. Banfeld sat motionless in the command chair. Everything had gone wrong, and on the screen in front of him was the proof.

After dodging everything the Cats could throw at them for two days, Highwayman had reached Hellhole, but damaged and with two Kilrathi carriers close on her tail. And the first sight to greet them on arrival was Bonadventure, under attack by Landreicher fighters and obviously suffering severe damage to her engineering section. There was no sign of Guild activity near Hellhole itself, but the long-range sensors had picked up scattered ships, Guildsmen and Free Republic Navy, in running fights far removed from planetary orbit. So Delgado’s betrayal had led to a government attack…and Banfeld s beleaguered scout had jumped out of Kilrathi space right into the middle of this new trouble.

And the old trouble had followed him here. It was disaster, pure and simple.

“Cloak is down, sir,” Jonas Hart reported. “No way to get it back on-line. Port and ventral thrusters offline. Shields are coming back up, but they can’t take sustained hits. We’ve lost most of the ventral armor, and there are at least three compartments open to space. Casualties…five killed, including the Chief Engineer and his mate.” Hart paused, his head cocked to one side as he listened to another set of reports coming in. “The captain of the Bonadventure is on the laser tight-beam. He wants further instructions. He says the Landreich fighters are vectoring in on our position, but they are no longer firing at the carrier and seem to be intending to engage the Cats. He wants to know if he should open fire on them as they close.”

“Good God, no, man!” Banfeld said. “If they want to fight the Cats, for God’s sake let them! Tell him to get whatever fighters he has left out there to help the Landreichers, and to let them know we’ll cooperate!”

“Aye aye, sir,” Hart said, sounding dubious.

“And tell him to extend his shields to give us some cover before-”

Another burst of Kilrathi fire slammed through the shields and into Highwayman. From the sound of it, the fire must be coming in against the dorsal armor. That was fortunate. The scout couldn’t take any more damage to her underside. But it wouldn’t be long before they were out of armor plating everywhere.

Banfeld gripped his chair and tried to think. There wasn’t much left that he could do. It was up to the Landreichers now….