"You could abort . . ."

"No way, Colonel. I'm in it for the long haul."

"Bastard's still firing," Maniac commented. "Damn near singed my wings. I still wish I could take him down."

"Maniac, if we take out those missiles, I personally guarantee you we'll come back and toast this cat's whiskers," Blair told him. "Any other damage?"

There was none. They had cleared the destroyer's primary kill zone now, though a few stray shots might still find them even here. But the worst was over. . . .

Except, of course, for stopping those missiles.

"The stalker is loose among the meat-herd, Lord Prince. Their bombers have damaged the forward shields and knocked out our primary missile launcher."

"The Terrans are prey, not predators," Thrakhath snarled. He didn't like the way Melek was beginning to regard the enemy. Respect or admiration was an accolade to be accorded only to predators, and the Terrans certainly didn't qualify for that status no matter how hard they fought to stay clear of the Imperial claws and fangs.

"Perhaps not," Melek said, almost mildly. "But at the moment that prey is dangerous. The threat to the flagship cannot be ignored, Lord Prince. And it is not the only problem —"

"The Terran success will not last," Thrakhath told him. "They are too badly outnumbered to deal with all our ships. Particularly once the fighters are fully deployed. ''

"The attacks on the flagship may be no more than a diversion, Lord Prince. The Terrans feint and threaten, but do not press home their thrusts. Nor are they eager to engage our fighters. We have destroyed two medium interceptors and a bomber, and others are damaged. But one of their squadrons is pursuing the missile flight. If they can intercept the missiles, the whole plan will be lost. We should consider diverting additional fighters to cover the missile strike."

"No, Melek," he said at last. "No, the Red Fangs will be sufficient for that task. The other fighters will remain here, to support the fleet. And to threaten the Terran carrier, once they break off their attacks here."

"As you command, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. But Thrakhath thought he could detect an undercurrent of dispute in his retainer's tone. That would have to be dealt with, at some point, lest it grow into open rebellion.

A pity, really, if Thrakhath ultimately was forced to do away with him. Melek was too useful a subordinate to dispose of casually.

"Stay on them," Blair said through tight-clenched teeth. "Stay on them . . ."

A cluster of Kilrathi missiles glowed bright on his short-range scanner, almost within weapons range now as the Terrans continued their pursuit. Then they were gone again, cloaked, equally invisible to electronic scanning and the naked eye. It made the chase a frustrating one, never knowing just when the targets might be visible or where their essentially random course changes might put them next. But patience and a little bit of luck would still be enough to stop the Kilrathi warheads . . . provided the Terrans kept on top of the Skippers. If any of them got past the Confederation fighters, picking up their trail again later would be well-nigh impossible.

"Hobbes, you and Flash get to play tag with these boys," Blair announced on the tactical channel. "Stick with it until you clean them up. and try to let us know if any of them get past you. Save your missiles if you can . . . there might be some tougher opponents for you to go after later on." He paused. "The rest of you stay with me. We'll track down that next batch while Hobbes has his fun here. Fire at any target of opportunity, beams only . . . and don't deviate from your flight paths. Let's do it!"

Flight Captain Graldak nar Sutaghi accelerated his Strakha fighter to full power and studied the tell-tales flickering on his sensor screen. The Terrans were among the missiles now, beginning to fire as the Vrag'chath popped in and out of view to allow their computers to make course corrections in flight. It was time for Graldak's warriors to make their presence known.

He outnumbered the Terrans, with two eights of fighters in his command against eight-and-two of the Terran Thunderbolts. But it wasn't much of a margin of superiority. If only Prince Thrakhath had provided additional fighter support for the missiles! But instead he had chosen to hold back the bulk of the Imperial fighters to defend his flagship, even though a half-blind churnah could see that the Terran attack had been a mere feint to hold Imperial assets in place around the fleet while they tried to stop the missiles.

It would be fitting if Thrakhath's flagship was blown away, Graldak thought. The Prince and his half-senile grandfather had done nothing right since the war with the Terrans had first begun. There was a stirring throughout the Empire these days, the first scent of change on the wind. If only the Imperial familys iron talons could be pried loose for a time, the Clans would rise and sweep them aside. Then the Empire could end this fruitless war with the humans, come to terms with them as predators rather than continuing to view them, as Thrakhath did, as prey.

But meantime the War went on, and Graldak had duty and honor to maintain.

"Red Fang Leader to Gleaming Talon Squadron," Graldak said aloud. "Drop out of cloak and engage the Terrans. The honor of battle is yours."

Gleaming Talon's fighters were a good match for the Terran Thunderbolts, especially with the element of surprise on their side. They would tie the Terrans up for a few critical minutes, at least, and that would give the other flights of missiles time to get further away. Once they were more than a few thousand octomaks from the Terran fighters, they would be even harder to detect.

And, meanwhile, Red Fang squadron would remain clear of the fighting, until Graldak could decide how best to intervene. After all, it wasn't just missiles that could hide behind a cloak.

"We got us some company, Colonel. I count eight on an intercept course, bearing zero-one-six by three-five-eight."

The target reticule flashed on his HUD, and Blair glanced down at the targeting data display to his right even as Flint's words were registering. Targets . . . ? Where had they come from?

The answer made a cold lump in his stomach as the computer displayed a diagram of the nearest target, asymmetrical, with projecting horns that gave it a menacing, alien shape. Even before he saw the name Blair recognized the design and cursed under his breath. He should have realized what he was up against immediately.

Strakha fighters.

They were comparatively rare in the Kilrathi arsenal as yet, an advanced-technology space fighter on the cutting edge of Kilrathi science. Intelligence had nicknamed them "Stealth Cats" before they'd ever actually been encountered in combat, and they lived up to the name. They were designed for sneaking, pure and simple, with sensor-distorting materials incorporated into the hull and a shape that tended to confuse most scanning systems. Worst of all, though, they mounted a cloaking device that could actually obscure the craft from any detection whatsoever, at least for short periods of time. But unlike the Skipper missiles, they could stay hidden, without having to drop the cloak to make navigation checks.