e thought, sitting
inside  my  fighter, strapped in and waiting for the launch signal? The mere
thought  of it  set his heart racing  again.  Even  though  he  was glad the
fighting  had  stopped,  he  knew  he'd  miss  it,  the adrenaline  rush  of
launching,  the  pure  joy  of flying the  most powerful fighter  craft ever
built.  If this peace really did  hold,  all of that was finished. It was  a
strange feeling of relief and regret all at once.
     "Gonna miss it," Hunter said softly, standing by Jason's side.
     Hunter nodded that they should  follow Tolwyn, who was  slowly  weaving
his way through the crowd to stand with the small knot of military personnel
who had decided to witness the event
     A polished durasteel table  two meters  wide  was the only furniture in
the  middle of the hangar.  On  the table,  in  ornate gold embossed folders
rested  the armistice agreement with copies in Standard English and  Kilrah.
To one side more than  a hundred  representatives of the  Confederation were
present, easily  outnumbered  by  the hundreds  of members of the press. The
other side of the table and hangar was empty.
     A door on the far side of the hangar opened and a lone Kilrathi emerged
without fanfare, dressed in a simple uniform  of scarlet and gold. The press
turned their  cameras  on  him, several breaking with  protocol and shouting
questions.
     Baron Jukaga turned, looked  at them, and smiled, raising  his paw in a
friendly wave. The press went wild, moving in closer.
     "I have  a  little  formality to attend to  first," he  announced,  his
standard English nearly perfect  and  free of  the  tendency  of  putting  a
hissing s on soft ending words and hard k's on most others, "then we'll have
a chance to talk later," and his disarming informality caused several of the
press to laugh.
     Behind  him came yet more Kilrathi,  these in the  more  formal garb of
high officers and they  filed silently past  the cameras and lined up behind
Jukaga.  Jason  noticed  that  there  was  only  one  Kilrathi  photographer
recording  the  scene  as  compared  to  the swarm  of  reporters  from  the
Confederation side.
     "We have  reached  agreement then?" Jukaga asked standing  by the other
side of the table opposite Rodham.
     The president  smiled, nodded,  and pointed at the formal documents set
in the middle of the table.
     Without hesitating Jukaga took up a pen, signed the documents, and then
slid them  back to Rodham,  who signed it  as well. The two shook and Jukaga
turned and looked back at the press.
     "Friends, this armistice is  but a start.  Let us truly come to realize
that the  universe is big enough for both of  us  and that a permanent peace
can be arrived at. These proceedings are now ended."
     A cheer erupted and Tolwyn, shaking his head, looked back at Jason.
     "He certainly knows his  Earth  history with  that closing line.  Let's
hope it isn't prophetic as to who the ultimate winner is."
     Jason wanted to ask him to explain  the reference but decided to let it
pass.
     The crowd  started to break apart into smaller groups many heading  for
the refreshments arrayed along a side wall. Jason followed in Tolwyn's  wake
and noticed a Kilrathi officer coming up to them.
     "You are Tolwyn?' the Kilrathi asked.
     "Yes."
     "I am Tukarg. I was in command of the carrier Gi'karga in what you call
the Third Enigma  Campaign.  I wished  to  tell  you your counterstrike  was
masterful."
     Taken off guard Tolwyn said nothing.
     "I also understand  you commanded the  opening of  the recent action at
Munro."
     Tolwyn  still  remained  silent.  From  behind Tukarg  another Kilrathi
appeared and Jason was surprised to see that it was the Baron.
     He was not as  tall as most Kilrathi and could even be called slight by
their  standards, though  that was still powerful when compared to  a human.
His  coat was  a smooth  golden  red,  and from what little  Jason  knew  of
Kilrathi blood lines,  the coloring was a  mark  of the most noble breeding.
His  eyes were dark, almost  coal black, but  as  he approached a  flash  of
reflected light made them appear to  glow for an  instant with the  color of
fire.
     "A nice quote of MacArthur," Tolwyn said as  Jukaga approached. "Did it
have some hidden meaning?"
     Jukaga laughed softly.
     "Maybe a bad  choice on my part; I didn't want to imply that it was you
surrendering to us."
     "I understand you've read a lot of our literature.
     Jukaga smiled.
     "A hobby I've found fascinating. Your Chaucer's tales are much the same
as our own  Backrka's ‘Tomes of Sivar,' about a group  of pilgrims traveling
to a holy shrine.
     Tolwyn smiled.
     "A nice choice of English works to study," Tolwyn said.
     "Ah yes, you were born near Canterbury."
     "However,  the pilgrimage to the  tomb  of Thomas Becket  had  slightly
different rituals than the blood feast of Sivar," Tolwyn replied.
     "Different people, different customs,  as they say, but nevertheless  I
do enjoy your literature."
     "You've spent time then studying me?" Tolwyn asked.
     "You were an adversary. I heard you led the first wave at Vukar Tag, of
course I would want to know more of you."
     "So you read Chaucer, is that it?"
     Jukaga laughed
     "Amongst others."
     "And who are some of the others?" Tolwyn asked quietly.
     Jukaga smiled.
     "Political, intellectual writers."
     "Such as Machiavelli, Sun Tzu," Tolwyn ventured, "or perhaps some pages
from the writings of Mao or  General Giap and  his writings on how to weaken
an opponent through means other than war; or perhaps  a little Clausewitz or
the Alpha Centurian theorist Vitivius the Younger."
     "Why those in particular? Is this a recommended reading list?"
     "No," Tolwyn said quietly, "just speculation."
     "Ah,  another  mistrustful  military  man," Jukaga  replied  his  voice
pitched  a little  louder so that the press who had  gathered at the edge of
the group could hear better.
     "Your assumption, not mine," Tolwyn replied softly.
     "Yet another prophet of doom that peace will never work," and he paused
for a second, noticing  that several reporters and  cameramen were jockeying
into position to catch the encounter.
     "Admiral, aren't  we  late for  our dinner  appointment?"  Jason  said,
coming up  behind Tolwyn, lying  like mad,  but unable to think of a  better
excuse to extract his commander.
     "Don't  forget, Geoffrey .  .  ."  and Jukaga  paused,  "May I call you
that?'
     "My friends do," Tolwyn replied coldly.
     "All right,  then  Admiral. Let me remind  you that  we  Kilrathi  have
suffered  just as  much  in this unfortunate war.  We have lost  millions as
well. I've heard you people talk about atrocities, but we have suffered them
too."
     He looked over at Jason and smiled again.
     "Though there  were some of your warriors who did fight with  honor and
tried  to  protect  our  innocent  women and  children, even  if  they  were
‘furballs as you so ineloquently put it."
     Jason felt uncomfortable  by his  attention but  looked  back  at  him,
saying nothing.
     Jukaga hesitated for a moment as if not wishing to say something.
     "Speaking of atrocities," Tukarg, standing behind Jukaga, interjected.
     "Let it drop, it's over," Jukaga replied
     Tukarg shook his head
     "I  had clan  blood on that ship," Tukarg said coldly and  he turned to
look at the press.
     We have  intelligence information that your Admiral  Tolwyn launched an
attack against  one of our ships  after he  had already received the  report
that  a  preliminary  armistice  agreement  had been  reached and  that  all
offensive action was to cease. Such an act is a war crime."
     "An  honest mistake,"  Jukaga said as if almost apologizing for Tukarg.
"And besides," he said with  a  forced laugh,  "now you've gone and revealed
that we had cracked their latest fleet code.
     "I'm  sorry this has  come  up,"  Jukaga  continued, "but perhaps there
should be an investigation to clear your name."
     "There's no need for an investigation," Tolwyn said quietly
     "Oh, then of course you are innocent."
     "No, quite the contrary," Tolwyn  replied, "I did it because it was  my
duty. Now if you'll excuse me."
     He nodded curtly and turned away.
     The press swarmed after him shouting  questions,  shouldering Jason and
Ian out of the way.
     "Nicely done," Jason said coldly, looking straight at Jukaga.
     For  a  brief instant  he felt as if he could almost sense the contempt
and then the smile returned.
     "I didn't want it to happen. I know how a warriors blood can get up. It
was unfortunate but such incidents  happen in war.  It was  best to leave it
forgotten now that it is over."
     "But of course," Jason said coldly.
     "You were the one who raided our home world, weren't you?"
     "First to  Kilrah,"  Jason  said quietly,  repeating what  was  now the
slogan of his ship.
     Again there seemed to be that flash.
     "Masterful; I studied it intently afterwards."
     "I just bet you did," Ian replied.
     "Perhaps  we'll talk again someday," Jukaga said stiffly and turning he
walked off, the smile returning as he waved to the cameras.
     "Come  on," Jason said angrily, looking over at  Hunter, "let's get out
of here, I need to find a bathroom."
     Jukaga turned back and watched Tolwyn  disappear from view,  surrounded
by a horde of  press shouting questions.  Tolwyn's actions had caught him by
surprise.  It  was  a  convenient way of  removing one of  the  finest fleet
admirals of the Confederation and to discredit the fleet as well. And yet it
struck him as  strange that Tolwyn would allow his passion to get the better
of  him. It  did not  fit  the pattern at  all of a man  he  had  studied so
intently. He found that he almost felt sorry for him. How easily he had been
destroyed,  not in  battle,  but by a ruse. The ever eager reporters  of the
Confederation, who  would now destroy a man that the best  fleet officers of
the Empire found to be unbeatable.
     Yes,  he could feel sorry for him even if he  was the enemy,  and  that
realization Jukaga found to be almost troubling.


        CHAPTER THREE

     "All engines stop."
     "All engines stop, sir. Hard dock to station secured"
     Docking a  ship the size  of an  escort carrier was always  a  bit of a
tricky  job, and with the maneuver finished Jason sat back  in his chair and
took a sip of coffee.
     He looked around at  his bridge crew who stood silent. The speeches had
already  been made earlier when  the rest of  the crew, except  for the  few
hands necessary  for  this  final run out from Earth  orbit, had transferred
off.
     There was simply nothing more to be said.
     "Secure reactor to cold shut down," he said softly.
     He paused for a moment.
     "I guess that's it."
     The crew was unable to reply.
     "Dock yard officer coming aboard,"  a petty officer announced and Jason
nodded.
     A  minute  later he heard  the footsteps  in the corridor and  tried to
force a smile. A  lone  officer came on  to  the bridge,  faced  Jason,  and
saluted.
     "Lieutenant Commander  Westerlin, commander fleet yard five, requesting
permission to come aboard, sir."
     He tried to be formal in reply but his voice still caught slightly.
     "Permission granted," and returned the salute.
     The officer pulled out a small piece of paper and unfolded it.
     "By  order  of  C-in-C  ConFleet,  to Captain  Jason  Bondarevsky,  CVE
Tarawa," the  officer began,  and Jason could see he  had  been through  the
ritual so many times that he barely needed to read the orders.
     "As of  the  this date, CVE 8 Confederation Fleet Ship Tarawa is hereby
officially stricken from active list  and placed in inactive reserve. Unless
otherwise  noted in  attached  form below, all  officers and crew are hereby
discharged from active fleet service upon completion of all proper discharge
procedures and placed on inactive reserves. Signed C-in-C ConFleet."
     The officer folded the paper and hesitated for a moment.
     "Sir,  its  a  bit  out of  form but I also  received  a note  from the
Commander of Third Fleet, Admiral Banbridge, which he asked me to read."
     Jason nodded, and the officer unfolded the piece of paper.
     "Never in the annals of the fleet has so  much  been accomplished by  a
ship such  as yours. I am proud  to  have  served with all  of you. The name
Tarawa will not be forgotten, God bless you all."
     The officer handed the paper to Jason, who smiled.
     "Sir, for what's it's worth I hate this job," the officer said quietly.
"A lot of  the other ships I don t  really  care about, but your ship, sir,"
and he hesitated. "Sir, I'm sorry I have to take over this old girl. She's a
proud ship."
     "So am I," Jason sighed "Just take good care of her."
     "We'll do our best."
     He turned and looked back at his crew.
     "Time you folks shipped off. I'll be along shortly."
     One by one they filed off the  bridge, Jason  standing  by the door and
shaking the hand of each until finally he was alone except for Westerlin.
     "I'll  leave you alone  if you  want,  sir," the officer said, as if he
were  a mortician  withdrawing from the  side of a grieving widower, and  he
silently stepped off the bridge.
     Jason walked around the bridge one last time.  It  had been his  bridge
for really only a  very short time. After  the raid  on  Kilrah the ship had
been laid up for a year.  It would in  fact have  been far cheaper to simply
scrap her and  build a new one from scratch, but public opinion was dead set
against it. During that  year he'd  been stuck  Earthside,  assigned to  the
fleet war college for advanced training, finishing up with  a brief stint at
the  Academy to run their latest holo combat simulator training program. But
the ship had sailed at last, only to serve  in one final brief action before
the armistice. Yet, it was his ship, it was in fact, since Kilrah, the  only
thing he really loved.
     He could  have stayed  longer, but then farewells should never be drawn
out. Leaving the bridge without a backward glance he went into his cabin and
hoisted the  duffel bag  off  his  bed.  The room looked  sterile now,  just
another standard  ship's  room,  painted  the  usual  light green,  with one
closet, a bed, a desk, and a  computer terminal and holo projection box. The
few pictures on his desk, his brother and  himself  taken before Joshua  had
gone off to the Marines, and died  on Khorsan, a faded two dimensional image
of his mother and father taken on the day they were married, and  a shot  of
Svetlana that  one of her  friends in  the Marines had sent along  after her
death — they were in his duffel.
     He closed the door behind him and walked down the now dimmed corridors.
He passed the flight ready  room and  had a  flash memory of  his  first day
aboard, chewing out his new pilots, and  passed on into the hangar deck. The
Rapiers, Ferrets, and Sabres lined the deck and it felt strange to  hear the
silence.  No  engines  humming,  no  shouted   commands  blaring   over  the
loudspeakers, the hissing roar of the catapult or the thunderclap of engines
kicking in  afterburners  on  a hot  launch.  It  was a  silence that was as
complete and deeply disturbing as if he were walking through a tomb.
     He turned to face the bulkhead and the roll of honor  listing all those
who had died while  serving aboard the ship. Coming to attention he  saluted
the honor roll and then noticed that the commissioning  flag which should be
to the right of the honor roll was  missing. He felt a flicker of anger over
that, wondering who had taken  it  down, and turning started for the airlock
door which was secured to the shipyard docking station. Turning the  corner,
he saw a small line  of men and women waiting for him: Doomsday, Sparks (his
head of  fighter maintenance), Kevin  Tolwyn,  and last  of  all  Ian Hunter
looking  strange  indeed  dressed  in  civilian  mufti,  having been already
retired from the fleet the day before. The group came to attention, saluted,
and Kevin  stepped forward to hand  Jason a folded flag,  the  commissioning
pennant of Tarawa.
     "Thought you'd  want  this, sir," Kevin said  with a grin. "Someday you
might want to hang it back up again."
     "Thanks, Kevin."
     To one  side he saw a group of technicians,  the  mothballing crew, who
would  finish  the shut  down  of  the ship  for cold  storage.  Though  the
government had agreed to the armistice and  with it an immediate cut back of
fifty percent of  the active fleet, at least they were not  taking the ships
out  and  simply  cutting  them up as the Kilrathi had  first suggested; the
military had managed to stop that mad idea. It had become a major fly in the
ointment  in  the  four  weeks  since  the  armistice,  with  the   Kilrathi
threatening  to  pull  out of the  peace  talks  but  so  far  the  civilian
government had not  budged, though  Jamison  was  screaming for  even deeper
cutbacks. The inactive  fleet  was  therefore,  at  least  for  the  moment,
secured,  the  ships hooked  to  orbital  bases  for  power and maintenance.
Rodham, however, had agreed to the  ship's crews being paid off and assigned
to inactive  reserves as a  cost cutting  measure,  a fact  which meant that
hundreds  of thousands of highly trained  personnel were being  pulled  from
their ships  and demobilized as quickly as ships were pulled from  the front
and sent to the  main bases either above Earth, Sirius,  or out at Carnovean
Station.
     He  turned to face back  down the corridor  and  bowed  his head for  a
moment.
     "Good-bye,  my  friends," he whispered, remembering all  those who in a
way would be forever young, and forever bound to his ship. Fighting back the
tears  he turned  without  another  word and went through the  airlock,  his
friends following in silence.

     * * * * *

     "Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, approach the court."
     Walking stiffly,  Geoff came up before the court martial  officers  and
saluted.
     Admiral  Banbridge,  as  the  presiding  officer,  stood up,  his hands
shaking as he unfolded a single sheet of paper.
     "Rear Admiral  Geoffrey  Tolwyn, it is the  decision of this court that
you have been found guilty  of  disobedience  of  fleet orders,  in that you
knowingly attacked a vessel of the Kilrathi Empire  after  being  made fully
aware  of General  Order  number  2312A,  ordering  the  suspension  of  all
hostilities.
     "It is the decision  of this court that you  hereby be stripped of your
rank and suffer a dishonorable discharge with the loss of all privileges and
honors due your rank."
     Banbridge  lowered his head and nodded. A  Marine  captain came forward
and took Tolwyn's  ceremonial  sword, which had rested on the  desk  of  the
court  martial officers since the opening of the trial. He placed the tip of
the sword on the ground and held it at an angle. Raising his foot he slammed
his heel down  on  the side of the blade, snapping it  in half. The crack of
the sword breaking echoed through the chamber and Geoff winced at the sound.
The Marine  tossed the hilt of the  sword on the  floor by Geoff's  feet and
then stepped up to Geoff.
     The Marine looked him straight in the eyes and Geoff could see that the
man hated what he was about to do.
     Grabbing hold  of the insignias of rank on Geoff's shoulders the Marine
tore  them off  with  a violent  jerking motion so  that  Geoff  swayed  and
struggled to keep at attention. The Marine again looked him in the eyes.
     "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered and Geoff nodded a reply.
     The Marine turned back to  face the  court and placed  the torn bits of
fabric and brass on the desk.
     Geoff looked squarely at Banbridge and snapped off a salute, trying not
to notice the  tears in his old mentor's  eyes.  Breaking  with tradition he
leaned over and  picked up the broken hilt and  blade  of his sword, turned,
and  marched out of the room. After he  left  a  side door opened and a lone
figure came through it, bending low and then standing up to his full height.
     "Ambassador Vak'ga," Banbridge said coldly, "the fleet wishes to extend
its  apologies  over  this incident and  as you  were informed this morning,
restitution will be  paid to the families of those  killed in the  incident.
Admiral  Tolwyn  has  been  dishonorably  discharged  from  the  service  in
punishment."
     "Does that mean that he will now commit Zu'kara?"
     "Zu'kara?"
     "How do you say it?" Vak'ga rumbled.  "Yes, ritual suicide in atonement
for an act of shame to ones hrai, I mean family."
     "That's  not  our  way, Banbridge  replied coldly.  "And  besides,  the
carrier he was attacking  had also launched a strike after the armistice and
Tolwyn could be justified in his action by acting in self-defense. Good God,
Ambassador, we've logged more than a hundred such incidents during the first
day, and hundreds more since. Shutting off thirty years of war is not easy."
     "So that is it?" Vak'ga snapped. "He is simply told to  go away with no
further punishment?  With us, for such a crime, he would not even be allowed
the glory of Zu'kara,  his throat  would be  slit and  his body  hung by its
heels like a prey animal."
     Banbridge bristled.
     "I'm sure  that  would be  the case for you," he finally  replied,  the
sarcasm in his voice evident. "As for Geoff Tolwyn, losing the fleet and his
rank is the worst punishment  imaginable. After all  it  was the only family
he'd had for the last twenty years."
     He  knew that the Ambassador  was most  likely aware that Tolwyn's wife
and boys had been killed in a raid; most of the holo news reports had played
on  that  theme as  a  motivation for his  spectacular career and  his final
downfall.
     "I lost my family too," Vak'ga snarled, "or didn't you know that?"
     Banbridge nodded but said nothing.
     The Ambassador turned as if to leave.
     "Mr. Ambassador, one question before you go."
     "Yes?"
     "The issue  of  POW  exchange. A  full  accounting  within  twenty four
standard days  was promised  on  the day the armistice was  signed.  We have
fully complied and you have not."
     "For us  it is no issue," the Ambassador replied. "Anyone  who  allowed
himself to  be captured has lost all honor, he is sa'guk, one who is already
dead to his hrai. We  do  not care.  I do  not  see why it is  of such great
concern to you."
     "Because it is,  damn  it,"  Banbridge  snapped. "We've  lived  by  the
agreement on every  point. You are  already dragging your  feet. I  demand a
full reporting of all POWs immediately."
     "Demand? We demanded the head of Tolwyn and you slap his wrist and send
him away. We demanded the suppression of your raiders based on your frontier
worlds and an  apology from the Firekka for their belligerent statements.  I
will not listen to demands from you in turn on such trivial things."
     He turned and strode from the room.
     War was a hell of a lot easier," Banbridge said darkly.

     Jason looked up from his drink as Hunter came into the Vacuum Breathers
Bar.
     The "Vacuum Breather" was one  of the favorite watering holes  just off
the main military base on the moon. It had an  old tradition that any patron
who  had breathed  vacuum,  that is experienced the hulling of his ship, and
survived, received an honorary beer mug with his name on it. The far well of
the  bar  was  lined with  hundreds of  mugs. The first beer of the day  was
always free for such an honoree when  he came in and his mug was pulled down
from the rack.
     Gallagher,  the  owner  of  the bar, was legendary for  his love of the
service. He  was  an  old  fleet lifer with over thirty years service before
retiring, thus his "boys and girls" as he called them,  were almost like his
own family and he was always ready to loan an extra twenty, or stand a  free
round.
     "Any luck?" Ian asked, pulling his mug down  from the back of the  room
and coming back  to settle  in by  Jason  and Doomsday. The barkeep came up,
took the mug, filled it and slid it back to Ian who nodded his thanks.
     Sighing, Jason shook his head. Jobs, at the moment, were scarcer then a
good  bottle  of  Firekka  Firewater.  There'd  been  a  lead  that  an  old
Victory-class transport,  a ship that was already out of  date  when  it was
mass produced in  the first years  of the war,  needed a co-pilot and flight
engineer. When he  showed up at the  office he already knew it was hopeless.
At  least a hundred others were there to apply, a  few of  them old comrades
that he hadn't seen since his days on Gettysburg. It was a great reunion but
no  job,  the slots filled by the former  captain of a frigate and her first
officer who  were  willing to take pay fifty percent below standard.  If  it
wasn't for forty/one hundred benefits — one hundred a week for forty weeks —
and free housing in former barracks and training centers, nearly everyone in
the fleet would be starving to death.
     "How about you?"
     "Same story," Ian said with a sigh as he settled down to the bar beside
him.
     "I always knew it'd come to this end," Doomsday said quietly, and Jason
groaned
     "Damn  it, man, for years all I've  heard you prophesy is that  the war
was going to kill you. You've got eight  campaign ribbons, a medal of honor,
two  silver stars, the Vegan  victory  Award  with  diamonds,  half a  dozen
fighters shot out from under you and how many kills was it?"
     "I lost count after sixty."
     "And never  a  damn scratch," Jason  said. "Besides that you cleaned us
all out in that poker game last night. You're the luckiest damn pilot in the
fleet and the most depressing."
     Doomsday sighed, mumbled softly in Maori, and motioned for another beer
for himself and for Ian who nodded a thanks.
     "And I lose all my hard won earnings buying you guys drinks."
     "Well, at least we're here to drink," Jason replied, raising his voice.
     "Yeah,  great,  brother,   beer  money  for  us  all  from  a  grateful
Confederation," someone announced from the other side of the bar.
     A chorus of  sarcastic laughter echoed in the room and then fell silent
as first one, and then the rest of the patrons of  the Vacuum Breathers Club
turned and looked at the door.
     A heavily built Kilrathi filled  the entryway and though his  frame was
imposing he somehow looked a bit lost and nervous.
     "Sire!"
     "Oh god, it's  Kirha," Ian sighed,  coming to his feet  and approaching
the Kilrathi as he leaped down the steps. He started to drop to one knee and
Ian grabbed him by the shoulders.
     "Not here," he hissed, ‘and besides, remember I  released you from your
oath of fealty."
     "But such an oath can never be truly broken, sire," Kirha said
     "Just what the hell are you doing here? It's been years since I've seen
you, I thought  you were exchanged  or something. Why aren't  you going back
home?"
     "I  was with the first batch of prisoners to be released last  week. It
was  a sad sight, my lord. Many  did not  know where  to go, what to do, not
sure if their hrai will still recognize them. I heard I could find  you here
and thought you might know what to do."
     Ian slowly grinned.
     "You saved my  butt once, my friend,  and I must say it's a pleasure to
see you again. Come on, let's have a drink.
     Kirha came up to the  bar, looked at the chairs which  had no place for
his tail to stick through, and simply leaned against the  railing,  towering
over all the others in the room.
     "Hey, we don't serve his kind in here," the bartender growled.
     "Listen, buddy, the  war's over,  or haven't you  heard, Doomsday  said
quietly.
     "I don't care, we don't serve him."
     "Say, brother, how long you been working in this bar?"
     "A week."
     "If Gallagher, the  owner of this dive,  heard you talking like that in
his joint he'd throw you out on your butt. This Kilrathi's a friend  of ours
and that buys him a drink anywhere we are."
     "I don t care, I'm not serving him."
     Kirha looked around nervously.
     "If this will cause trouble, sire, I can withdraw."
     "Hey, Hunter,  who the hell's your buddy?" a pilot wearing the insignia
of a fighter squadron leader on his lapel shouted from the other side of the
bar.
     "You  blokes heard how Paladin  and me rescued that  Firekka princess?"
Ian replied.
     Most of the men  and women in the dimly lit  room nodded  their  heads,
laughed, and  groaned. Ian's ability  at telling stories of  his heroics was
legendary in the Vacuum.
     "Well, this is the furball that saved my butt. I'd have been dead along
with Paladin and that Firekka princess if it hadn't been for him."
     The  crowd nodded their  approval and several came  up to shake Kirha's
paw, a human ritual which he still obviously found to be disconcerting.
     Ian turned back to the bartender.
     "So serve him his damn drink."
     The man looked around nervously, and mumbled to himself.
     "What was that you said  about my Cat friend?" a pilot at the  edge  of
the group snarled.
     The bartender looked at Kirha
     "Whatya have?" he said quietly.
     "Scotch, single malt, make it a triple.
     A chorus of  laughter  echoed around the room, breaking the tension and
even the bartender forced a weak grin as  he filled the glass and pushed  it
over. Ian started to slide a bill across.
     "Sorry  about the mistake, Captain. Keep it,  it's  on the house,"  the
bartender replied and turned away.
     Kirha took the drink up, and bowed to Ian.
     "To peace between the hrai of the Kilrathi and of Humans."
     He downed  the  drink in a  single gulp  and a flash of  sharp  canines
signaled his delight. The bartender shook his head
     "I guess you're all right."
     "I've waited a long time for this drink," Kirha sighed, and Ian ordered
up another round.
     "So what do you think of all of this?" Ian asked.
     "You mean the peace agreements?" Kirha asked
     "Yeah."
     "It is, how do you humans say it, warmed leavings of a male cow."
     A ripple  of  laughter echoed around the room and  even  the  bartender
smiled
     "Why?"
     "I know of  this Baron Jukaga of  the hrai of the  Ki'ra.  They are the
most ancient of the  families, their blood  even  thicker than  that of  the
Imperial line. Their hatred of the Imperial family is well known."
     "How's that?" the bartender asked, coming over, obviously curious.
     "Before we gained space, in the Seventh Dynastic War, the family of the
Emperor gained dominance over Kilrah, defeating the Ki'ra who were forced to
swear allegiance. It surely would have become an Eighth Dynastic war, except
for the arrival of the foolish Utara."
     "The  who?" the barkeep asked, leaning against the side of  the bar and
pouring Kirha another drink.
     Kirha laughed, nodded his thanks and downed the drink in a single gulp.
     "The Utara  came to Kilrah offering  friendship, trade, and peace. They
showed us how to make spacecraft, and the secret of the jump points."
     Kirha shook his head.
     "As soon as  we gained space we slaughtered them. They were  a weak and
foolish people."
     Kirha laughed and pounded the bar as if he  had just told an hysterical
joke. His audience looked at him in silence.
     "Some thanks," Ian mumbled.
     "It's considered  quite funny by us,"  Kirha said,  looking around  the
room, still chuckling though finally realizing that his audience  wasn't all
that amused.
     "I guess you don't see the humor."
     "Maybe something got lost in the translation, mate," Ian interjected.
     Kirha nodded, looking at the bar patrons.
     "I see here, yet  again a difference between us," he finally  said. "To
us, such weakness was stupidity so pathetic that it becomes funny. I take it
you don't see it that way."
     "Something like that," a voice from the back of the room said.
     "It is why I,  and those still prisoners,  roared with laughter when we
heard you agreed  to  this  thing  you call an armistice.  It was an  act of
weakness. It will cause a loss of face for you,  a loss  of respect that you
have in some  way earned by your valiant resistance against the might of the
Empire. There is an old Kilrah saying ‘steel against iron is not a testing.'
Though we hated you, and wished to overthrow you, still we  came to see that
our own courage could  be honorably tested by  matching it against your own.
That is the way of finding honor and glory.
     "Your  leaders  have thrown that away. When we  come  again, it will be
with  contempt  and  the  slaughter  will  be  brutal  beyond  your  darkest
nightmares."
     There was a stirring in the room.
     "And will you help them out, buddy?" the barkeep asked quietly.
     "I am without  hrai,  without country," Kirha said in  reply.  "I  have
sworn allegiance to Hunter; it is now impossible for me to ever go back."
     He  looked almost mournful  and  there  were even a  couple of nods  of
sympathy from the others in the room.
     "You were telling us about this Jukaga," Jason asked.
     "Ah yes, Jukaga. With the freeing from our planet  and the outward rush
to wars with races we had never dreamed existed, our own civil wars became a
thing  of the past,  for  at  last  we  had  found others to  test our steel
against. But the clan of Ki'ra  never reconciled  itself to the fact that it
was not upon the Imperial throne, seeing this as the fluke of but one battle
lost ages ago. In  Jukaga this disdain  became more  openly voiced  with the
reversals of our war  against you. That is something  I suspect your leaders
have not given full weight to."
     "How so?" Jason pressed.
     "The  fact  that it was  Jukaga who made the first overture of peace  I
find to  be surprising.  It  was not someone of the Imperial  line. It means
that he has gained enough power to actually allow the Emperor to permit  him
to be the voice of the throne.
     "It is an interesting point of balance. The Emperor must have agreed to
this peace because there was some pressure, either from your fleets, or from
the  other clans, perhaps both.  Yet if he allows  the  peace  to  continue,
without a clear cut victory, he  and his grandson the Crown Prince will fall
and Jukaga will rise to seize the throne their hrai has coveted for so long.
Jukaga must know as well  that  if he seizes  the throne, but the war is not
then immediately started, he will fall as well, for the drive  to killing is
so strong in our blood that we will quickly turn upon each other."
     "Did anyone from Intelligence ever talk to you  Cats about this?" Jason
asked.
     "Oh many times. They were  quite nice, some could  even speak Kilrah, a
wondrous and strange thing  coming from the mouth of a human. We laughed and
told them what we thought."
     "And the reports were ignored," Ian said coldly.
     "There is a game here," Kirha said, "and you humans are, how do you say
it, paki, pawns, for the power play of Jukaga. I  think  his wish is  to use
the  peace  to somehow  then  blame  the Emperor,  eliminate him,  and  then
successfully finish the war himself."
     "You sound like you don't like Jukaga."
     Kirha growled, his fur bristling.
     "He and his hrai think my coat not  red  enough,  my  blood  not  thick
enough; my own hrai is  descendent from the Ragitagha," and as he pronounced
his  clan name his teeth flashed, his mane  standing out so that he appeared
to nearly double in size and the crowd backed up  a bit, looking at him wide
eyed.
     "The Ki'ra," and  he hissed, spitting on the floor, "if they think they
can take the throne under the Baron, they must bring a great Victory. By the
blood  of my clan I promise you there will be war again and your leaders are
fools not to see it."
     "Just like Tolwyn figured it," Jason said coldly, and he heard a lot of
angry mutters of agreement.
     "Tolwyn, that  traitor,"  a voice announced from the back corner of the
room, "they should have shot the bastard"
     The room went silent, everyone turning to look at the speaker, who  sat
at a  dimly lit  table, surrounded by half a dozen men and  women who looked
around nervously. Jason could tell  instantly that  they were outsiders  and
that reaction he found to be curious. He'd been around military types for so
long a group of obvious civilians in a military bar seemed strange.
     Nearly everyone  who frequented the place now were either the few still
serving with the fleet or  ex-service, easily identified by the gold star of
the army, fleet pin, or fouled anchor pin of  a Marine on his collar.  There
was  also an  unexplainable something  else that  so easily  set the veteran
aside, a bit of a distant far away look, from having seen the far reaches of
known space, from having fought, and far too often  having seen friends die.
The six in the corner were not of the club.
     The room went quiet for a moment and Jason finally broke the ice.
     "It's a  free  Confederation, go ahead and speak up if you want to," he
announced.
     A short portly man  stood up and came over to  the bar,  followed a bit
nervously by the rest of his group.
     "Doctor Torg's the name, he said, "I didn't get yours."
     "I didn't give it, but it's Bondarevsky."
     "Oh yes,"  one of the women behind Torg gasped.  "I saw  the holo about
you. Oh, the girl you loved was just so beautiful."
     "The actress didn't look anything like her," Jason said quietly.
     "But still it was so sad," and she came up to Jason's side and actually
touched him on the shoulder and then looked back excitedly at her friends.
     Another woman in  the  group looked  at the  excited girl and shook her
head.
     "Say, Lisa, just back off a bit, OK."
     "But he's famous, Elaine."
     "I don't think he really wants the attention," Elaine replied.
     Jason nodded her a thanks and then looked back at Torg.
     "You don t like the Admiral, is that it?" Doomsday growled.
     Torg looked over at Doomsday and then turned away, ignoring him.
     "Do you know how much this war's been costing us?" Torg asked.
     "I think so," Jason said quietly.
     "Just under eight trillion a year."
     "That  wasn't  the  cost I was thinking  of," Jason replied slowly, his
voice barely a whisper.
     "The Baron  is  right.  Didn't  you  see  his  interview  on  the  holo
yesterday?"
     "We kind of missed it, Doomsday interjected, so please enlighten us."
     "Why, he said that this war was nothing but a conspiracy on the part of
the military to get power and make money. The longer the war dragged on, the
more power your admirals, generals, and military suppliers got."
     "Oh,  Baron Jukaga  said this," a pilot from the other side  of the bar
said,  "how  interesting, and  what  about  their  fleet?  I  guess  they're
innocent."
     "Why, he admitted that their fleet and military had done the same thing
too."
     "Was this holo shown in the Empire as well?" Kirha asked.
     Torg looked up at him nervously.
     "I don't know, I  guess so. He said  that a full  report would  soon be
issued by the Kilrathi-Human Friendship Committee."
     "The what?" several patrons of the bar asked in unison.
     "Why, it's just a  wonderful idea," the excited girl  announced  as she
walked to the far wall to look at the rows of silver mugs. "Doctor Torg is a
member of the committee, he's even met the Baron."
     "The  Baron is organizing a friendship committee that will provide  for
peaceful exchanges  between  our peoples," Torg said. "I  think he's  really
quite sensitive  to our culture, to a  tolerance for multicultural diversity
in the  universe, and  the rights of indigenous peoples of all races to live
in  peace.  I've even arranged for  him to  speak at my  university on Earth
about his understanding  of our literature and how to strengthen our ties of
peace."
     "Just  wonderful. I can't  wait to attend,"  Doomsday said, the sarcasm
dripping in his voice.
     "I  think  you're  being  too  narrow  minded  in  all  of this,"  Torg
announced,  looking  at Doomsday and  at  the  rest of  the patrons who were
shaking their heads.
     "Narrow minded. I hung  my hide out on the line for  over fifteen years
with the fleet and you're saying I'm narrow minded?" Doomsday snapped.
     "That's the problem  with military types like you," Torg replied with a
superior disdain. "You forget to  look at the broader issues. This war was a
lot more complicated than kill or be killed. You  military  types just don't
see the big picture, that's always been a problem throughout history. I have
my doctorate in sociology, I've made a stu