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crew. Navigation! Plot course to the nearest jump point. Helm, break orbit.
Proceed at full thrust. Gunnery. . . be ready to clear a path if the debris field gets
too thick . . . The intercom went dead.
Blair slapped the red switch that issued the magnum launch alert. A new
alarm shrilled, followed by the computer s public address announcement.
LAUNCH STATIONS! LAUNCH STATIONS! ALL FLIGHT WING PERSONNEL
TO LAUNCH STATIONS MAGNUM LAUNCH!
Flight Deck. TCS Victory Delius System
Blair checked his instruments for what seemed like the hundredth time,
knowing that nothing had changed yet feeling compelled to do something. Every
one of Victory s fighters was crewed and ready, even a pair that the technical staff
had down checked as unreliable. Now they were waiting, and that was an agony
worse than any combat situation.
The carrier had opened up a fair lead over the Kilrathi ships, bulling her way
through the asteroid field with weapons blazing to clear away any chunk of rock
big enough to pose a threat to the ship. The Imperial vessels were more cautious,
keeping to a tight formation and lumbering slowly after Victory as if reluctant to
commit themselves to an attack. Perhaps they had learned to respect the Terrans
in earlier clashes . . . or perhaps they simply regarded it as triumph enough to
drive the ship away from Delius Station, leaving the Terrans there × including a
small contingent of the carrier s crew still on liberty × completely at the mercy of
the Kilrathi task force.
Blair was starting to hope they might not have to beat off any genuine attack,
but the threat remained. They wouldn t be able to relax their guard until they
made the jump to Tamayo, if then.
Colonel, sensors are reporting a launch in progress from the lead Kilrathi
carrier. Rollins gave him a welcome distraction, however grim his news might
be. It s the flagship . . . Hvar kann. Looks like you ll be having a party after all.
Acknowledged, Blair said. Flight wing, from Blair. Begin launch sequence
on my mark.
At that moment his comm panel went crazy. The visual display broke up in a
kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, and the speakers in his helmet squealed and
whined. It took several seconds for the noise to fade and the screen to come back
on-line. Blair stared at the monitor, as if it might give him some clue to what had
just happened.
A glowering Kilrathi face filled the screen, a face Blair had seen many times
before.
Thrakhath.
The image jumped and jittered again, then returned. Blair studied it
thoughtfully, wondering what was causing the distortion. Ship to ship video
transmissions used computers to encode and decode messages, and to provide
automatic translations of foreign languages. For the computer to have this much
trouble reconstructing whatever message Thrakhath was broadcasting meant the
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signal content must be massive. Evidently, the Kilrathi were trying to overload
Victory s whole comm system and Jam every frequency the Terrans might be
using.
Thrakhath s image began to speak as the computers processed their
translation of the Kilrathi language. I have heard of your Terran Bible with its
predictions that there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth. These the Imperial
Race will soon fulfill. We will tear out your tongues, we will scoop out your
brains. You will learn to beg for the release of death.
Blair tried to switch to a different comm channel, but Thrakhath s hissing,
taunting image remained on the screen. You will be prime examples to the other
races in the galaxy, you clownish baboons. Your race will suffer a thousand
torments and more. And do not think that the presence of the Heart of the Tiger
among you can make a difference. Colonel Blair will be reduced to a pile of
entrails, his bones will be gnawed by our young.
Hearing himself referred to directly made Blair stiffen. It wasn t often that the
Kilrathi chose to grant a name to one of their human adversaries . . . and it
inevitably meant that the individual they chose to honor had become the prime
target of a Kilrathi challenge.
Heart of the Tiger, you shall pay for the blood of every Kilrathi noble you
have dispatched in baffle. They shall make songs of your death, of the failure and
disgrace you shall know even before your death. Already you have failed, Heart of
the Tiger, failed at Locanda Four, failed at Ariel . . . failed your lair-mate, the one
known as Devereaux, the Angel.
Blair gasped as the image of Thrakhath on his monitor blacked out, only to be
replaced by a new scene. . . .
A scene from hell.
It was a large room, red-lit, dark, with ornate fittings and decorations more
suggested than seen among the shadows. A throng of Kilrathi in garb Blair
recognized as that of the high nobility were gathered in the middle of the open
chamber, bowing low as Thrakhath and an aged Kilrathi, the Emperor himself,
entered. As the Emperor sat on the imposing throne, Blair became aware of
movement in the shadows on either side of the two figures. It was difficult to
judge exactly what was happening, but when he finally realized what he was
witnessing, he wished he had not.
There were Terrans along the wall behind the throne men and women hanging
in chains, their Confed-issue flight suits in rags. Bulky Kilrathi guards carrying
nerve-prods moved among them, striking out almost at random, eliciting cries
and moans from their victims.
Once again an enemy threat to our very homeworld has been thwarted, the
Emperor intoned solemnly. This puny contingent of their soldiers was captured
aboard a hijacked Imperial transport in orbit around Kilrah itself.
There was a scattering of calls from the assembled nobles × shock, anger,
hatred plain in their voices and bearing. The Emperor silenced them with a curt
gesture and gave Thrakhath a sign to speak.
This incursion was an act of desperation, the prince said, showing his fangs.
His arms made encompassing gestures toward the victims behind the throne.
Look at these pathetic hairless apes. They have failed their race utterly.
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A growling cheer rose from the crowd.
Do what you will with them, the Emperor said.
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