WIPING . . . TRANSMISSION RECORDS PURGED.

The screen went blank, and the intruder powered down the console and collected the PDP and the data cartridge, tucking them into a pocket. One last quick sweep using the light intensification headset, and the job was done.

Within moments there was nothing in the compartment to suggest that the intruder had ever been present.

"Message coming in, my Lord. From the Watcher."

Khantahr Tarros nar Poghath turned in his chair to face the communications officer. "On my screen," he ordered.

His monitor lit up with a series of images, transmitted at high speed from the stealth fighter that had penetrated the Terran defenses around Torgo. Tarros watched the fast-changing views thoughtfully. It seemed that Prince Thrakhath's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Kilrathi spy in the Terran fleet had completed the mission and was transmitting the information the Prince required to the waiting fighter, and now the data was being relayed to Sar'hrai. Soon the carrier would be on its way to rejoin Thrakhath, and the next phase of the operation could begin.

The transmission ended with charts detailing a star system and the operational plans for a Confederation incursion. Tarros leaned forward in his seat. "Navigator, plot a course to the jump point. Communications Officer, when the Watcher communicates with us again instruct the Watcher to rendezvous with us there. Pilot Officer, best speed." He allowed himself to relax again.

They had done their duty. Prince Thrakhath would reward them well, once the Terrans had fallen into his trap.

The view from the rec room was impressive, Blair had to admit that much. As he walked in, his eyes were drawn to the massive shape of the Behemoth keeping pace with the carrier as they cruised slowly through the Blackmane System. Since leaving orbit around Torgo their pace had been slow — apparently the weapons platform didn't carry its full allotment of engines, either — but they had made the transit to Blackmane and were on their way to the next jump point, and Loki VI.

He found himself wishing they could make better time. Limping along at this snail's pace only gave them all time to think, too much time. There was a restlessness in the air, a feeling of mingled excitement and tension. It wasn't long before the rumor mill started churning out details about the new Confederation weapon, and for many on board the Victory the war was already as good as over.

Vaquero looked up from a table by the door as Blair stood there and watched the monster shape outside the viewport. "Want to buy a ticket, sir?"

"To what?" Blair looked down at the man's smiling face. He, at least, seemed pleased.

"Opening night party at my cantina," Lopez told him, grinning more broadly. "Once we pull the trigger on that Behemoth thing, it'll be hasta la vista a los gatos. And I figure on filing for retirement pay about two minutes after that. I've got enough to make the down payment on a nice little place . . ."

"Don't start calculating your profit margins just yet, Lieutenant," Blair said quietly. "Even that monster might not be enough to shut the Kilrathi down overnight."

He turned away, leaving Vaquero to frown over the words. Blair spotted Rollins and Cobra sitting together in a remote corner, well away from the rest of the crowd. He crossed the floor to join them.

"So . . . how's the espionage business today?" he asked flippantly. "Run any Kilrathi agents to ground yet?"

Cobra gave him an unpleasant look. "I know you don't take us seriously, Colonel."

"No, Lieutenant, you're wrong. I take you both very seriously. But you've been on this for . . . how longs it been? Over a week, now, isn't it? I'm just not sure there's anything there for you to find."

Rollins looked up at him. "Don't be so sure, Colonel," he said. "Two nights back, after we broke orbit, there was a two-minute dead space on one of my computer commo logs. And I can t account for it. I think it was sabotage."

"It could also have been a computer glitch," Blair pointed out. "You might have noticed that the systems on this ship are not exactly up to snuff." He paused. "Or, if it wasn't the computer, it might have been something to do with the admiral. He might've ordered a message sent, then had the record wiped."

"Nobody said anything about a transmission . . ."

"Nor would they, Lieutenant, if Admiral Tolwyn told them to keep quiet. You've said it yourself, Lieutenant. The brass don't tell us everything. And the admiral's always been particularly good at playing his hand close to his chest." Blair shrugged. "A little paranoia can be a good thing, but make sure you've discounted the other possibilities before you see sabotage every time the computer hiccups or the admiral decides to keep his laundry list classified."

"Yeah, maybe so," Rollins said. "But I've also been analyzing that original transmission. Some of the harmonics in the message are pretty wild, Colonel." He produced a personal data pad and called up a file on the screen. "Look at this . . . and this."

"I'm no expert in signals analysis, Lieutenant," Blair said. "To me, you've got a bunch of spikes on a graph. You want to tell me what they mean?"

"I'm not sure yet," Rollins admitted. "But I've seen these kinds of signals somewhere before . . . something outside of normal communications use. If I could just figure out where . . ." He trailed off, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Colonel I guess I still have a ways to go before I can deliver. But it isn't for want of trying, or for a lack of things to look into, either."

Blair looked again at the Behemoth, framed in the viewport. "I have to admit, if there was a spy around, he'd surely be interested in that thing. But I'd figure the admiral's staff would be the place to plant an agent."

"Hobbes is working with the staff," Cobra said quietly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

Rollins stood up, looking uncomfortable. "I've got to be on watch in a little while. I'll catch you both later." He moved away quickly. Blair sat in the chair he'd vacated.

"It never stops with you, does it, Lieutenant?" he asked. "An endless program loop."

"You'd never understand, Colonel," she said, looking weary. "You just don't have a clue."

"'Maybe that's because you've never tried to explain it," he said bluntly. "Blind hatred isn't very pretty, or persuasive, either."

"It's the way I'm wired," she said. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Some guys from the Hermes spread a lot of stories around. I used to have these . . . nightmares. People talked, you know how it is."

"Rumors don't always tell the whole story," Blair said.

"The stuff I heard was . . pretty accurate, I guess. Look, they took me when I was ten . . ."

"The Kilrathi?"

She nodded "I ended up in a slave labor camp. Escaped during a Confed attack ten years later. Most of the camp was destroyed in the fighting. Might have been the Navy's fault, might have been the cats, I don't know. But there were only a few of us who lived through it.

"It must have been —"

"You'll never have any idea of what it must have been' like, Colonel. I saw things . . ." She trailed off, shuddering. Her eyes were empty.

"So the Navy pulled you out of there . . . and you signed up?"

"The Psych guys spent a couple of years wringing me out," she said. "First it was debriefing . . . you know, regression therapy, trying to find out everything I'd seen and heard in case there was something worthwhile for Intelligence. Then they started on the therapy." She paused. "But they couldn't wipe it all out not without giving me a personality overlay. And I wouldn't let them do that. I'm Laurel Buckley, by God, and if the cats couldn't take that away I'm damned if my own kind will!"