False Colors

CHAPTER 5

Operations Planning Center, FRLS Independence

Deep Space, Oecumene System

1005 hours (TST), 2670.312

When Jason Bondarevsky had commanded the Tarawa many of the most important decisions controlling the ship and its missions had been made in the Operations Planning Center, a large chamber abaft the CIC complex, buried deep in the heart of the ship’s superstructure. Where the Combat Information Center was all computer consoles and monitor screens, crewed by technical experts who monitored the flow of information from inside and outside the carrier constantly, the OPC was an island of calm. A large triangular conference table ringed with chairs filled most of the room, but aside from small computer keypads in front of each seat there were no banks of instruments, no readouts or tactical monitors or viewscreens. The bulkheads were decorated with artwork: a holographic portrait of the Independence in orbit over a blue-green planet; an old-fashioned painting of the San Jacinto fighting a Kilrathi ship at the Battle of Landreich; a holo-still of Max Kruger looking stern and wise, as if surveying the chamber with pride and benevolent interest in the proceedings. The flag of the Landreich dominated one entire wall, a white cross of Saint Andrew on a black starfield impaled by an upright sword, with the motto “Freedom Through Strength” below.

The three-D holo-projector in the center of the conference table showed the image of the Landreich squadron clustered near the jump point to Vaku, eight ships about to leap through hyperspace into the unknown. The assembled leadership of the expedition gathered around the table seemed strangely unaware of the importance of the moment, but Bondarevsky found it hard to think of anything else. In another day, Project Goliath would be fully under way, and there would be no pulling back once they were committed.

Bondarevsky had been in more than his fair share of pivotal battles, usually against overwhelming odds, but today he couldn’t help but feel that this salvage mission was going to be no less important than all those combat actions. It was as much a gambler’s throw as any engagement in space…and Bondarevsky felt oppressed knowing that there wasn’t a great deal he personally could do to contribute to the outcome of the mission until others had made the preliminary judgments as to whether the operation was even feasible.

Admiral Vincent Camparelli, ramrod straight in his chair despite his age and the hacking cough that frequently interrupted his speech, raised a blue-veined hand and called for attention.

“I want to make sure everyone knows what’s expected of them when we go through,” he said, glancing over at Admiral Richards. “The overall conduct of the salvage mission may come under the authority of the Project Goliath staff, but until they actually go aboard the derelict-if it is a derelict-to conduct their initial survey, the operation is a matter for Battle Group Independence. Coordination of our efforts will be extremely important throughout, as I hope you’ll all understand and agree.” His dry, reedy voice might have belonged to an aging professor lecturing on military tactics at the Confederation Space Academy, for all the emotion the old man betrayed. But despite his frail appearance he seemed to have all the facts at his fingertips, and Bondarevsky thought he could still make out the firm and decisive mind that had led a Landreich fleet to victory over the Kilrathi nearly thirty years ago, back in the first days of the Secession crisis.

Glancing around the table, Bondarevsky found himself wondering about the others assembled there. In previous campaigns he’d known the men serving with him. They’d been squadron-mates or members of the same flight wing who lived and worked and played cheek-by-jowl every day; later they’d been fellow ship-captains from the same battle group, men and women of proven competence whose actions and thoughts became thoroughly known over weeks or months of duty on a distant combat station. But this group was largely composed of unknowns, at least as far as Bondarevsky and the other Goliath officers were concerned. It made him edgy to know he’d be depending on total strangers not just for the success or failure of the operation, but possibly for his very survival.

They tended to split into two groups, the Goliath team and the senior officers of the battle eroup. Though Admiral Camparelli presided, it was clear that it was Captain Galbraith most of them looked to for direction, and that young CO was wrapped in an air of almost palpable superiority. From hints the man had let fall in conversation already it was plain that he considered this mission a milk run, a minor chore far beneath the dignity of the flagship of the Landreich fleet. Perhaps he was also conscious of the fact that Tarawa-no, damn it, Independence, Bondarevsky reminded himself bitterly-stood to lose that flagship status if the salvage mission was successful, and with Tolwyn destined for her command seat he might be feeling a little disappointed that his father’s political machinations had secured him the escort carrier when this new vessel was waiting in the wings.

The other three skippers of the battle group’s fighting ships sat between Galbraith and Camparelli. So far they were little more than names and faces to Bondarevsky. Forbes of the light cruiser Xenophon was a blonde giant with a faint accent that reminded Bondarevsky of one of his old comrades, Paladin. Miruts Bikina of the destroyer Durendal was his complete opposite, a wiry black soldier of fortune from the colonial world of Azania who had joined Kruger’s navy only a few years back, but quickly established an impressive combat record that had earned him rapid advancement. His reputation for competency boded well, but Bondarevsky wondered if a mercenary could ever be trusted as much as someone actually defending his home and hearth.

On the other hand, that was essentially what he and Tolwyn were, mercenaries for hire. Perhaps he’d have to adjust his way of thinking now that he wore the uniform of a captain of the FRLN.

The third captain commanded the destroyer Caliburn, a stunning red-headed woman named Pamela Collins. Bondarevsky had noticed that most of the male officers of the battle group were so busy noticing her good looks that they didn’t realize she had a string of single-ship kills on her service record that would have put most Confederation skippers to shame. He didn’t have any worries as to how Caliburn would perform, at least.

Two more around the table weren’t ship captains, but they were an integral part of the power projection abilities of the battle group. Colonel Bhaktadil Rai was commander of the Independence’s contingent of Republic Marines, a slight but sturdy man with light skin, fierce black eyebrows, and a prominent nose between dark Asiatic eyes. He was a descendent of the proud Gurkha warriors of old Terra, and took his heritage seriously. Even on duty he wore a turban instead of more usual military headgear-what he did when he had to wear full space armor was something Bondarevsky hoped to discover some day-and he carried a wicked-looking curved combat knife, a kukri, at his side. Beside him, Kevin Tolwyn looked uncomfortable wearing khakis instead of his flight suit, but like the marine he stayed quiet and let the others do most of the talking. The young commander had come a long way since Bondarevsky had first taken him under his wing right here aboard the old Tarawa.

There were also four non-combatant ships in the squadron, assigned specifically to assist in the Goliath Project. The transport City of Cashel was commanded by a dour reservist named Steiger. She had been designed to carry a full division of troops between worlds, but today was carrying nearly six thousand men and women who would serve aboard the supercarrier, together with the two hundred specialists from Kruger’s prized salvage team who were represented by Armando Diaz, who had a brevet rank of major in the Landreich’s army for the duration of the crisis. Diaz was dark, thin, and radiated enough nervous energy to run a medium-sized combat ship for a year or two, but he plainly knew his business. Whether or not he could surmount the extra obstacles of putting a Kilrathi ship into service again remained to be seen.

Diaz would be working closely with the captains of the tender Sindri and the huge factory ship Andrew Carnegie, a Mutt-and-Jeff pair whose names were Dickerson and Lake-Bondarevsky still wasn’t entirely sure which one was which. Their commands, though non-combatants, would have the pivotal part in the Goliath Project, the tender serving as a deep-space repair platform for the supercarrier while the mammoth Andrew Carnegie, designed for semi-automated minerals extraction and fabrication work on unsettled frontier worlds, had been pressed into service to manufacture whatever the Kilrathi derelict might be lacking right on the spot.

The last member of the assembly was an olive-skinned, attractive woman, Wenona Springweather, from the planet of New Plains poised on the boundary between the Landreich and the Confederation. Settled mostly by a mixture of Native American tribes, the planet had tried to stay out of the political rivalry between Kruger’s government and Terra, and Captain Springweather was typical of the frontier scouts who operated out of the free port at New Plains. Her scout ship, Vision Quest, was the only civilian vessel in the fleet. She was along to help the Goliath team locate and investigate the hulk she’d stumbled across…and, to hear her talk, to make sure that she wasn’t swindled out of her finder’s fee by the sharpies working for Max Kruger.

Springweather and the salvage specialists gravitated into orbit with Admiral Richards and Geoff Tolwyn, seemingly at odds with the voices of authority represented by the purely military members of the operation. As for Bondarevsky himself, he was torn in his loyalties. He sympathized thoroughly with the battle group officers who had to plan for God alone knew what contingencies out there in the Vaku system, but at the same time he considered the supercilious Galbraith and his immediate juniors a poor substitute for the combat veterans he’d served with in the war. The worst of it, he thought, was the fact that they reflected their maverick Commander-in-Chief, Max Kruger. Bondarevsky was used to the common bond between the officers in the Confederation, products of a uniform academy training system and a rigid code of conduct. Out here in the Landreich individual eccentricities seemed to be the norm rather than the exception, whether it was Galbraith’s ultra-fashionable uniforms, Bikina’s unsavory mercenary past, or Bhaktadil amp;rsuo;s old-fashioned adherence to the ways of his Gurkha ancestors. It emphasized the almost amateur nature of war out here on the frontier, and Bondarevsky had never regarded warfare as a fit subject for amateurs.

But these were the men and women he’d have to learn to work with, not just on the Goliath Project but afterwards as well, whether the mission succeeded or failed. The combat ships of the battle group, minus Independence, were slated to become the supercarrier’s fighting force if the derelict could be recommissioned.

Bondarevsky hoped they’d all grow to understand one another well before the time came when they had to rely on each other in a combat situation.

He forced himself to focus back on the conversation around the table. Camparelli had finished his opening comments and slumped back into his chair, letting Galbraith take over the operational briefing with the assistance of the carrier’s XO, Mary Roth, and Camparelli’s Flag Lieutenant, Commander O’Leary, who manipulated the controls of the holo-projector while Galbraith spoke.

“The deployment for the first stage of the operation is relatively simple,” the carriers skipper said languidly. According to Miss Springweather’s reports-“

“That’s Captain Springweather,” the woman corrected loudly. “Just because I don’t have one of Max Kruger’s instant commissions doesn’t mean I’m not captain of my own damned ship.”

That earned her a look from Bikina as well as Galbraith, but the only response came from the senior officer, who cleared his throat. “Yes, of course,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Captain Springweather’s survey of the system spotted the jump point closest to the derelict, roughly thirty thousand klicks away. It hooks up with the jump point here in the Oecumene system. My intention is to deploy Xenophon and Durandel first, to get an initial tactical scan of the area in case there should be any hostile activity around Vaku.” His tone made it clear that he didn’t expect any such thing. He was going through the motions, Bondarevsky thought, hoping to impress the brass with his thoroughness even though he really didn’t see the point of going in expecting trouble. That probably wouldn’t matter at Vaku, unless the Cats were preparing some sort of elaborate trap for the Landreich. But it could spell trouble later on if Galbraith carried that same attitude into a real combat situation.

Hopefully Bondarevsky would be far away if and when that came to pass. But poor old Tarawa-and any of his friends unfortunate enough to be aboard under Galbraith s command-might be in for trouble.

“Once the initial scan is completed, Durandel will relay an all-clear signal by drone through the jump point, and we will send in the rest of the battle group. Independence will go through first and immediately launch her fighters to cover our approach and conduct a close-in examination of the target. Commander Tolwyn, I will expect the fighter squadrons to do a thorough job of sweeping the region in as short a time as possible. I do not want to keep the battle group waiting around on full alert for any prolonged period. If there is a danger to be dealt with, I want to be able to move as quickly as possible to deal with it. And if there’s nothing to block our closer investigation of the Kilrathi carrier, I want to be able to close in and start the detailed survey job ASAP. Is that clear?“

“You won’t have any problem with my people, Captain,” the younger Tolwyn said, the slight emphasis his own sign of irritation at the captain’s usurpation of authority over the flight wing.

“I trust not,” Galbraith said, unruffled. “The order for the rest of the battle group will be Sindri, then City of Cashel, then the factory ship. Vision Quest and Calihurn will bring up the rear.”

“Do we really need a rear-guard in an operation like this?” Pamela Collins asked. “It isn’t as if we have any enemy activity to worry about in these parts.”

“We’ll do this by the book, Captain,” Galbraith said. “If something should happen to one of the non-combat ships I want a destroyer on hand to deal with it. And I particularly require a civilian ship to be escorted at all times while under our protection.” He darted another look at Springweather. “In any event, those are the deployment orders. I expect them to be carried out exactly as posted.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Collins said. “As you order.”

“Once the battle group has assembled and the fighter sweep is completed the initial survey can begin. Colonel Bhaktadil will have command over this phase of the operation.“ He looked across at Richards, Tolwyn, and Bondarevsky. ”In all deference to your ranks and reputations, until we’re sure there’s no threat on board that supercarrier I require the operation to be conducted strictly within the chain of command.“

Richards gave him an easy smile. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he said. “I for one am happy to stay as supercargo for the time being. Just be glad Old Max didn’t come along for the ride, though. I doubt you’d have much luck keeping him from taking charge. Or from stealing a lifeboat and crossing over to the derelict all by himself if he thought you weren’t moving fast enough to suit him.”

“Er, yes. Well…as long as the position is understood,” Calbraith said. Bondarevsky hid a smile. Evidently Galbraith wasn’t as free and easy as a lot of the Landreich colonials when it came to free expression about the Commander-in-Chief. “Colonel?”

The Gurkha Marine officer gave a curt nod. “Ten shuttles will board simultaneously at various key points on the supercarrier,” he said crisply. “Each will carry two squads in full space armor and standard infantry weapons loads. I will be using both my own men and the marines assigned to Karga, off of the City of Cashel. These will be used to immediately secure the two bridges and the flag bridge, engineering, weapons control, and the flight deck. Investigation of other sections of the ship can be conducted later, but the key areas must be secured early on to avoid problems later if there should be any Kilrathi aboard.”

“The odds are entirely against that,” Diaz spoke up for the first time. “Judging from the power readings obtained by Vision Quest, there’s no way they’re sustaining any shielding. The crew would have fried.”

“It’s a precautionary measure, Mr. Diaz,” Admiral Tolwyn said. “In case the supercarrier’s bait for a trap, for example. If the Kilrathi just wanted to draw us into an ambush, the derelict might have troops deployed aboard as soon as they saw us coming.”

“And we don’t necessarily know how accurate Vision Quest’s readings were,” Galbraith put in. “No offense, Captain Springweather,” he added hastily. “But you did conduct your investigation at long range, and there’s no knowing if you might have missed something. Improvised shielding within the hulk, for instance, to maintain survivors…or an ambush force. Or other ships operating close alongside the supercarrier, using its bulk to shield their emissions.”

Diaz looked uncertain. “I…see. Are you gentlemen seriously expecting Kilrathi in the Vaku system?”

It was Bondarevsky who answered. “Mr. Diaz, a good space officer always expects the worst. That way he’s prepared if there’s trouble.”

Galbraith smiled reassuringly. “But in all probability, Mr. Diaz, this will just be a particularly large and elaborate exercise for the battle group,” he said. “Don’t worry about the Cats. The object of all this is to keep them from interfering…assuming they’re anywhere within ten parsecs of here.”

Richards spoke up. “Look, Captain, I do have one problem with everything you’ve put together here. I’ve been reading through your mission orders, and I see that you don’t plan to let Goliath personnel go aboard until after you’ve secured the entire ship. That could take a day or two, given the ground you’ve got to cover.”

“That’s about right,” Galbraith nodded.

“It seems to me that we could send elements of the specialty teams aboard right away. The initial points the marines are assigned to grab-control, engineering, weaponry, and flight-these are also the places where we have to conduct our initial observation of conditions aboard the ship. If we can’t fix these, there’s no point in going on. And no point risking our boys in securing the rest of the ship if we’re not going to put her back in service.“

“A squad of marines will have its hands full setting up a perimeter and looking for Cats,” Galbraith said. “They shouldn’t have to babysit a survey team at the same time.”

“I’m sure the survey teams will have enough sense to sit tight inside the shuttle until somebody gives an ‘all clear’ and it’s safe to go to work,” Richards replied. “I’m not talking about carrying out a full-scale survey in the middle of a firefight, for God’s sake. But if we can get started looking at conditions aboard right away, we can make a judgment about the next stage of the project a lot more quickly, and maybe save a lot of wasted time, effort, maybe even lives.”

Galbraith rubbed his eyebrow with one elegantly-manicured hand. After a moment he nodded reluctantly. “Very well, Admiral. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“As long as you’re bringing marines across anyway, have the pick of Mr. Diaz’s men transfer to Independence before we jump,” Richards said. “A small team will go on each shuttle. I’ll go in with the group that secures the flag bridge, Admiral Tolwyn can take the main bridge or CIC, as he desires. Captain Bondarevsky will go in on one of the shuttles that takes the flight deck. I imagine Mr. Diaz would be best suited to handling engineering. We each get a crack at seeing what we’ll be up against to get this big bugger back on-line. Agreed?”

No one argued, though Diaz, perhaps still worried about a Kilrathi presence on board, failed to look particularly excited by the prospect of going in with the marines.

Bondarevsky spoke up. “I’ll want Sparks as part of my team, Admiral. She knows more about flight deck ops than full technical crews I’ve seen on some carriers.”

“Pick your team as you wish, Jason,” Richards said. “But be guided by Mr. Diaz as far as the salvage team personnel he thinks are best suited to your part of the operation.” He looked around. “Anything else?”

When there was no response Galbraith took over once more. “Very good. Colonel, make whatever changes you need to in your assault plan to include the survey teams. I emphasize again that battle group personnel have full authority at all times. Our people have the final say in how things are done. Commander Tolwyn, you’ll have to see to any changes the extra personnel will cause in the shuttle load specs, of course.”

“Yes, sir,” the younger Tolwyn responded, a don’t-tell-me-my-job gleam briefly flashing in his eyes. “It’ll be taken care of.”

Bhaktadil spoke again. “Keep in mind that if the shielding is out aboard the derelict we will have a radiation problem to deal with. Space armor can protect personnel for a short time, and the portable shield generators we’re loading aboard the shuttles will handle the problem for a while longer-but only over limited areas. Make sure the people you choose for your survey teams are used to suit work. Zero-g experience would be useful, too, if the grav systems have gone off-line…”

“I dare say we’ve more experience of this kind of work than you have, Colonel,” Diaz told him. “Though I admit we’ve never operated outside of a dry dock facility before.”

“That’s where we come in,” Dickerson-or was it Lake? — put in. “The quicker your gang gets things secured and calls us in, the sooner you’ll have all the comforts of home, courtesy of the good ship Sindri.”

The briefing session moved on to more detailed discussions of individual phases of the operation, and Bondarevsky leaned back in his chair and let the comments flow past him while he considered the mission. It seemed strange not to be in Kevin Tolwyn’s position, planning for the flight wing’s operation as the mission profile unfolded. Bondarevsky was eager to be something more than a VIP to be shielded by marines and kept out of the chain of command.

He was ready for action again.

Flight Wing Officer’s Lounge, FRLS Independence

Deep Space, Oecumene System

1924 hours (CST)

The Officers’ Lounge set aside for use by the Flight Wing had always been one of Bondarevsky’s favorite places aboard the old Tarawa. Even after he’d gone on to become the captain of the ship he’d still managed to wangle frequent invitations to join the off-duty pilots in the large recreation area, even though there were those who claimed it was bad for a CO to socialize too freely with his crew. Bondarevsky had always maintained that it was good for morale for him to relax with his men instead of retreating into the isolation of the captain’s cabin, and there was certainly an element of truth in the statement. It had done his morale no end of good, whatever impact it might have had on the rest of the ship. By nature a sociable man, Bondarevsky had never fully come to grips with the isolation imposed on a commanding officer.

Tonight Kevin Tolwyn had extended the invitation, part of a long-time ritual of theirs-toasting an upcoming mission with a few drinks the night before it was scheduled to start. The lounge was much as Bondarevsky remembered it. Evidently Armando Diaz and his men hadn’t seen any need for extensive renovations in this part of the ship when they’d brought it back into commission. There was a shabby, run-down atmosphere about the room now, mildly depressing to Bondarevsky. He had the feeling that he could walk over to the dart board on the bulkhead beside the door and turn it over to reveal the same dog-eared picture of Max Kruger that had been a favorite point of aim for dartsmen back in the Free Corps cruise.

But even so there was something right about being here with Tolwyn and Sparks, sharing a quiet drink, swapping old war stories or just pausing to stare out the wide windows that dominated one wall with a panoramic view of space.

Bondarevsky was watching a shuttle moving a few hundred meters from the monstrous factory ship Andrew Carnegie. Nearly totally automated, the factory ship had a tiny crew to oversee operations, but frequent personal inspections inside and out were the order of the day to ensure that no trouble developed that wasn’t caught and acted on early. Carnegie-Bondarevsky had heard that her nickname, “Old Carnage,” referred to a notorious accident on board ten years back that had resulted in the deaths of most of her crew after a catastrophic computer breakdown-was going to play merry hell with the rest of the battle group’s operation. Ponderous and difficult to maneuver, she’d slow them down tremendously in both normal space and jumps through hyperspace, but she was too damned valuable to abandon if they were caught in a firefight. In addition, they’d have to find a ready source of raw materials to keep her fulfilling her intended function, and the brown dwarf’s ring system had already been ruled out as being mostly ice chunks lacking almost all the minerals needed to turn out finished replacement components. Wrangling over exactly how to ensure the big factory ship’s safety had taken up a large portion of the briefing earlier in the day, and Bondarevsky still wasn’t entirely happy with the outcome. But Old Max had decreed that the carrier was to be refurbished where they found it or not at all, even though Sindri’s captain had claimed he could tow the derelict home to Landreich and save a lot of headaches by getting her into a proper space dock for her refit

But it wasn’t just concerns over how difficult it might be to get the supercarrier back to civilization that had dictated Kruger’s decision to refit her in the field. The longer they kept the project under wraps, the bigger the surprise the Landreich would hand the Kilrathi if and when they threw her into action…and the less likely the Confederation would be to get wind of the scheme and try to stop it. That was almost as important, at this stage, with Commissioner Williams still making threatening noises about Terran intervention in the event of escalating hostilities out here on the frontier.

“You’re looking particularly out of it tonight, skipper,” Sparks commented after the silence had gone on for a while. “You feeling okay?”

“He’s just beat down by all the haggling, that’s all,” Tolwyn told her. “By Goa, I swear these Landreichers have everything backwards! Their president wants to lead fleets in action, and he’s damned good at it, too…while the fleet officers sit and argue more than any bunch of worthless politicians who ever disgraced a parliament! Do you suppose Landreich s ruling council would make good fighters, Jason?”

He smiled without much humor. “Just look at Captain Galbraith. His family damn near controls the council back on Landreich. And he’s sure waving the flag properly.“

Tolwyn snorted. “Yeah, right.” He looked at Sparks. “You think there’s a spot for me in your techie crew on the new ship if I finally get fed up and go after the guy?”

She turned a sunny grin on him. “Why, surely, sir. Just as long as you remember to be careful of my planes.”

“Oh, great,” he groaned. “Somebody else who wants to take over our birds! Just what we didn’t need.”

“Hey, let’s face it, Commander, those birds have always belonged to the techies. We just loan them out to you flyboys…and we don’t let the spit-and-polish navy even get near them!”

“Don’t tell our illustrious Captain Galbraith,” Tolwyn said. “He thinks he owns the whole shooting match.”

“When you figure it was probably his father’s money backing Kruger when he started buying decommissioned ships from the Confederation, you can see where he might get the idea,” Bondarevsky pointed out. “I always knew Max Kruger was playing things entirely too fast and loose back in the old days, but it’s gotten a lot worse since then. He’s let Galbraith and the other big money boys get a stranglehold on his government, and all because he couldn’t be bothered with the petty details of playing president the way he was supposed to.”

“You think it’ll be a problem down the line, Jason?” Tolwyn asked. “I mean, some of us have burned our bridges back home, and if it falls apart out here too…”

“Keep your priorities in order, Kevin,” Bondarevsky advised. “First we’ve got the Kilrathi threat to deal with. Then we’ve got to deal with the Confederation and whatever their silly little game is. It’s only if we weather both those meteor swarms that we’ll have to worry about the long-term health of Max Kruger’s government. I figure the odds of it ever being a problem we’ll have to cope with are long enough that we don’t need to bother worrying.”

“Cheery these days, isn’t he, Sparks?” Tolwyn said.

“You don’t know the half of it, sir,” she told him.

“I call them like I see them,” he said. “Tell me something, Kevin. Do you have any idea what’s got your uncle acting so paranoid? He was always big on secret schemes, but since I met him on the Moon I’ve had the feeling he’s got something really big going on, something he won’t tell either me or Vance Richards.”

Tolwyn nodded. “I know something’s up, but I couldn’t tell you what. All I know for sure is that getting me to sign up out here with Kruger’s gang wasn’t intended to further my career. It went against everything he’s ever tried to do for me before. I invested half a lifetime in a Confederation Navy career and threw it out in five minutes because Uncle Geoff suddenly thought it was important I take this deal instead.”

“Why?”

Tolwyn shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. But I had the definite feeling he was worried about my safety…about my physical well-being. A couple of times he let slip things that suggested he thought Terra was not a very healthy place to be a Tolwyn for the next few years.”

“Bad feeling from the court-martial, maybe?” Sparks suggested.

“Maybe,” Tolwyn said. “But that was a nine-day wonder at best. Nobody’ll ever forget it, and he made a few more enemies before it was all done with, but I just don’t see it being a raging topic of controversy that would leave him worrying about our security.”

“True enough,” Bondarevsky said. “Well, look, Kevin, I’m not going to ask you to spy on your uncle or anything like that. But if you pick up anything you think I should know about, please pass it on. I respect the old man’s judgment in most things, but ever since Behemoth…“

“Yeah. Ever since Behemoth.” Tolwyn shook his head. “That was a goddamned shame. Screwed up from start to finish. To think that Hobbes was the one who betrayed him, too. One of the only two Cats I ever met that I would have trusted with my life.”

“Whatever happened to the other one?” Sparks asked. “Kirha…the one I met in Britain when we were getting ready for the Free Corps mission.”

Bondarevsky looked down at his empty glass. “You know he was bound by oath to Hunter…took the strongest possible Kilrathi vow to be the loyal servant of amp;ldsquo;Ian St. John Who Is Also Known As Hunter.’ Well, Ian bought it when we were out here. You remember, Sparks?”

She nodded sadly, and so did Tolwyn. Captain Ian St. John had been one of the old band of brothers…and the best friend a man could have on his wing in a furball.

“Kirha was shipped off to Ian’s ranch Down Under for the duration. The brass was worried that he might get wind of what we were doing with the Free Corps operation, shipping ships and men out to serve with Kruger’s boys while the Confederation was in the middle of those phony peace negotiations. I flew down there after the Battle of Earth to let Ian’s folks know what had happened first-hand. I couldn’t put that kind of thing in an internet bulletin, you know.” He paused, staring down at the drink again, wrapped up in unpleasant memories.

“And?” Sparks urged. “Did you see Kirha?”

He shook his head. “No, I was too late. The news had got there ahead of me. And Kirha did the only thing he could do under the circumstances, given the vow he’d sworn. The big orange bastard took a knife and stabbed himself through the heart. Zu’kara…ritual suicide. Without his adopted clan leader, he was alone in a strange culture, and I don’t think Kirha wanted to live without Hunter to lead him.“

“Cats,” Tolwyn said. “I can’t figure them. Barbaric, stupid buggers if you ask me.”

“You’re wrong there, Kevin,” Bondarevsky said sternly. “The Kilrathi have been civilized a lot longer than we have, and they’re anything but stupid. Or else the war would have been over with a long time back, and without all the blood and pain we’ve had to invest just to fight them to a standstill. No, they just have a different outlook on things. If more of our political leaders would stop treating them as if they were humans in furry suits and start recognizing just how different their culture is, we might be able to deal with them better. Find common ground, even. It’s only when you insist on holding somebody to your own narrow standards that you shut off all hope of ever reaching them. Hearts and minds and all that.”

“I still prefer the old approach,” Tolwyn said. “When you’ve got ‘em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.”