Blair locked on his blasters and opened fire.

The Kilrathi pilot continued his maneuver even as the armor was being ripped off his stern section. The Strakha was changing course, but no longer in an evasive turn. He was lining up on a vector only slightly different from his previous heading . . . straight toward the Behemoth.

With a shock, Blair realized that the pilot's new course had his fighter aimed directly at one of the exposed shield generator housings that Tolwyn had indicated as a weak point in the weapons platform's defenses. The Kilrathi pilot had decided to make his death count. . . .

The Strakha came apart, but hurtling chunks of debris stayed on course, raining on the surface of the Behemoth. A ripple of explosions erupted from the huge vessel's hull. A moment later, two nearby Kilrathi ships let loose missile barrages to take advantage of collapsing shields on the weapons' platform. Flint and Maniac accounted for the two cats, but the damage was already done.

Blair could see lifepods and shuttles detaching from the Behemoth as the explosions spread and swelled. He pulled up sharply, steering back through a gauntlet of Kilrathi Strakha, knowing he had to put some distance between his fragile fighter and the doomed planetkiller.

The final explosion, when it came, overwhelmed his sensors and external cameras. For a moment he was flying blind, buffeted by spinning bits of metal and stray shots from enemy fighters. Kilrathi jeers and taunts were loud on the comm channel, a demonic cacophony of hate and glee.

Behemoth was gone. . . .

Elsewhere, the Kilrathi fighters were turning away. The Terran resistance had been stiff, and with the destruction of the weapons platform their mission was accomplished. As the Kilrathi began to withdraw in the direction of their capital ships, Blair ordered the flight wing to regroup near Victory. No one offered to pursue the retiring foe.

Tolwyn's face appeared on Blair's comm screen. "I'm ordering the fleet to withdraw, he said, shock and pain etched plainly on his face. "Ajax will stall the enemy fleet as long as possible. Land your fighters, Colonel." The admiral's shoulders seemed to sag. "It seems we've lost our last chance . . ."

The retreat from Loki had cost the flight wing five more pilots, and the destroyer Ajax was destroyed while attempting to hold off the enemy so the rest of the squadron could withdraw through the jump point. Still, it might have been considered a victory of sorts, extracting the Terran squadron from the trap at Loki VI . . . if it hadn't been for the loss of Behemoth.

The last hope for mankind. . . that was how the Behemoth was described. Now it was gone. And it was Christopher Blair who had failed in his duty to protect the weapon from the Kilrathi attack.

The bitter thought gnawed at Blair as he stood on the flight deck, surrounded by other senior ship's officers. The failure had been his . . . but right now, it was Admiral Geoff Tolwyn who was suffering the consequences of that failure. The orders came in two days after the squadron retreated to the Blackmane System. They were conveyed by a fast courier ship that had carried Tolwyn's report to sector HQ and then returned. Tolwyn was relieved of command over the erstwhile Behemoth Project. He was to strike his flag aboard Victory and return to Torgo immediately to face an inquiry into his handling of the entire operation.

Victory, meanwhile, was to maintain position and complete field repairs pending the arrival of a new squadron commander. No one aboard was sure what that portended

Tolwyn dressed as precisely as ever, but defeat was plain in his carriage as he stepped onto the flight deck, his staff trailing behind him. The admiral did not seem surprised to note that the turnout to see his departure was smaller and less impressive than upon his arrival. His star fell, and he with it. Tolwyn was well aware of the fact. He stopped to return Eisen's crisp salute.

"I relieve you, sir," the captain said quietly.

"I stand relieved," Tolwyn replied. "Permission to leave the ship?"

"Granted, Admiral." Eisen saluted a second time.

"A word of warning," Tolwyn said, again returning the salute. "The cats knew exactly where we were going, and when. They even knew exactly where to strike." He paused, running a sour eye over the assembled officers behind Eisen. His gaze seemed to come to rest on Blair. "I believe you may have a leaky ship, Captain."

"With all due respect, sir," Eisen responded stiffly. "I resent any such suggestion regarding my people. They've served this ship and the Confederation with honor, one and all. There are never any guarantees when it comes to battle, Admiral. And no such thing as certain victory, no matter how awesome your weapon may be."

Tolwyn's expression was bleak. "Victory is certain enough now, Captain, for the Kilrathi. I hope the honor of your crew is enough, in the fighting that lies ahead. It will only get worse from here."

He turned away and stalked toward the shuttle without another word. Climbing the ramp, he turned back to look at the flight deck one last time, and again Blair felt that the admiral's gaze singled him from the rest. Then Tolwyn boarded the craft, and the door swung shut behind him. The assembled officers and men withdrew as the shuttle powered up.

The hangar area was empty by the time the shuttle rolled onto the open deck beyond the force field curtain, rising slowly away from the carrier and into the black void.

"Captain, we've got a ship coming through the Torgo jump point. Looks like a big one . . ."

"On the main monitor," Eisen ordered, leaning forward in his chair. The viewscreen showed a computer-enhanced view of open space, with no outward sign of the jump point or the disturbance the sensors picked up indicating a ship in transit.

Four days had passed since Tolwyn's departure, and aboard Victory and the other ships in the ill-fated Behemoth Squadron, the passage of time was starting to weigh heavily on crew morale. Being driven back with the loss of the weapons platform — not to mention Ajax — was bad enough. But to wait here, useless, without a word of the war from other quarters . . . that was even worse.

A ship took form on the viewscreen, slightly larger than Victory but similar in configuration. It was one of the latest models of escort carrier, but its sleek, modern lines were marred by battle damage.

"Jesus," someone muttered. "Looks like half the flight deck got cooked."

"Transponder code's on line, Captain," Rollins said a moment later. "She's the Eagle. Captain Chalfonte."

"Confirming," the sensor officer added a moment later.

"Message coming in, Rollins reported. "They're sending across a shuttle. No details, sir. Just . . . sending a shuttle. We're to stand by and await further communication."

Eisen nodded. "Very well. Alert Flight Control we have an incoming shuttle. Mr. Gessler, you have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room if there's anything further."

"Victory, Victory, this is shuttle Armstrong. Request landing clearance and approach vector.

"Shuttle Armstrong, cleared to land," Blair replied. He was standing a turn as OOD in Flight Control, one more way to keep himself busy so that he wouldn't brood over recent events. He signaled to one of the technicians to activate the carriers approach beacon.