For a couple of heartbeats, Antonov was as motionless as he was silent. Then he threw back his head and bellowed with gargantuan laughter.
"Well," he managed when he had caught his breath, "I hope you know what you're doing. Kthaara Komazhovich!"
He turned away from the now speechless fleet chaplain and gave his attention to the battle. Yes, Hinam would go along, if only out of self-preservation. That, and the occasional, judicious mention of his own lineage, should get them past this debacle, in spite of the hideous losses his fleet still must take. Thank Holy Terra they hadn't ventured too far from the Parsifal warp point. The fighters from the cloaked carriers would only have the opportunity for one more strike before his survivors were through the warp point to the safety of Parsifal.
The lighter, faster Terran units, including Berenson's command, were already closing in on the Parsifal warp point, surging ahead of the lumbering battle-line when the battle had turned into a pursuit, and the cloaked fleet carriers, having dodged the retreating Thebans with almost ludicrous ease, moved to join them. The only living Thebans in QR-107 were the scattered light units that hadn't made it through the warp point with the main body, and which were now being hunted down.
Kthaara - just arrived by cutter aboard Antonov's new flagship - entered TFNS Gosainthan's flag bridge to see Rear Admiral Berenson's face, contorted with suppressed fury, filling the main com screen.
"Your orders have been carried out, Admiral," Beren-son was saying through tightly compressed lips. "Three Shark-class destroyers have been detached, and have now transited the warp point. No courier drones have been received, as yet. Wait." He turned aside, listened to someone off-screen, and spoke briefly. Then he turned back, and the fury in his race had congealed into hate. "Correction, Admiral. A courier drone - one - has returned from Parsifal. I have ordered its data downloaded to the flagship." Even as he spoke, the information appeared on a screen. "You will note," Berenson went on in a tightly controlled voice, "that it concludes with a Code Omega signal for all three ships."
Antonov, face expressionless, studied the data. "Yes," he finally acknowledged in a quiet voice. "I also note that they were able to record for the drone their sensor readouts on the Theban defenses." Kthaara saw it, too; the shocking total of orbital fortresses in whose teeth the three destroyers had emerged into Einsteinian space. An-tonov continued just as quietly. "You said it yourself, Admiral Berenson, at the last staff conference: to employ the SBMHAWKs with maximum effectiveness, we need to know exactly what is waiting at the other end of the warp line. We now have that information. And, as / said on the same occasion, it is the objective that matters." As the message crossed the few light-seconds that still separated them, he cut the connection. Then he turned to face Kthaara.
"You look like shit," was his greeting. For once, the Orion hadn't taken time to groom himself.
"So do you." Nothing ever really wore Antonov down; he was like planetary bedrock. But he was showing a certain undeniable haggardness.
"I heard what you did out there." Was it possible the Human smiled, a trifle?
"I saw what you just did here." Kthaara spoke seriously, but he, too, showed the beginning of his own race's smile. "You are more like my people than even Baaara-aansaahn thinks. And that is why." He seemed to reach a decision. "You know of the oath of vilkshatha, do you not?"
Antonov blinked at the seeming irrelevancy. "Of course. It's the `blood binding' that makes two Orion comrades-in-arms members of each other's family."
"Correct: two farshatok of the Zheeerlikou'valkhan-naieee. To my knowledge, the ceremony has never involved a member of any other race. But as Humans say, there is a first time for everything. Ivaaan'zarthan!'
For a couple of heartbeats, Antonov was as motionless as he was silent. Then he threw back his head and bellowed with gargantuan laughter.
"Well," he managed when he had caught his breath, "I hope you know what you're doing. Kthaara Komazhovich!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN "I need those ships!"
The Marine honor guard clicked to attention in the echoing spaces of the superdreadnought Gosainthan's boat bay, and Antonov stepped forward to the VIP shuttle's ramp. "Welcome to Redwing, Minister."
Howard Anderson didn't acknowledge the greeting. He merely stared, then pointed with his cane. "And just what the hell is that?"
"I believe it's my face." Antonov was all imperturbability. Anderson was not amused.
"You know what I mean!"
"Oh, that." Antonov rubbed his jaw. At least the stubble phase was past. It was getting almost fluffy. "Well, I've always wondered what I'd look like with a beard. Somehow, it just came up in conversation with Commander Kthaara'zarthan." He gestured in the direction of the big Orion, who was looking insufferably complacent. "He urged me to try it, just to see how it would turn out. I think it's coming along rather well, don't you?"
"You look," Anderson replied, eyeing the burgeoning facial hair with scant favor, "like something out of an early twentieth-century political cartoon about Bolsheviks!" Then he glanced at Kthaara again. There was, he decided, no other way to describe it: the Orion looked like he'd swallowed a canary built to scale.
"Well," Anderson sighed, setting down his empty glass with a click. "Congratulations, Ivan. I don't need to tell you what you've accomplished here." Antonov, silhouetted against his stateroom's view port, gave an expressive Slavic shrug.
"We've been lucky. And part of our luck has been the new hardware you've sent us - especially the new ECM. Trying to guess what Father Christmas will pull out of his bag next has become the Fleet's favorite pastime."
"Ho, ho, ho! Well, as it happens, I do have a little something to satisfy your curiosity. I'm sure you've read the preliminary reports on how the Thebans manage to produce those lasers of theirs?" Antonov nodded. `And may I assume you're not particularly wild about the thought of exploding nukes rolling around the insides of your own ships?"
"You may, indeed." There was very little levity in Anto-nov's rumbling voice. "But if there's no other way to match their beams - " He broke off with another expressive shrug.
"Ah, but there is another way!" Anderson looked briefly very like Kthaara'zarthan as he smiled. "What would you say to a laser with about seventy-five percent of the Thebans' range, no bombs, and damned near two-thirds again as many projectors per tonne?"
"Bozhemoi!" Antonov said very softly and sincerely. "There truly is such a weapon?" Anderson nodded smugly, and the admiral grinned. "Then Father Christmas nas outdone himself, Howard!"
"No, this time it's Mother Christmas," Anderson corrected. "In the form of Rear Admiral Timoshenko. She calls them `hetlasers,' and I saw a full-scale field test just before I personally rammed her promotion through the board. You should have heard old Gomulka howling about promoting her out of the zone!" His eyes gleamed with fond remembrance.
"They don't pack quite as much punch per projector, but the numbers more than make up for it across their range, and I've had BuShips modify the plans for the new superdreadnoughts and battleships. I in afraid it'll put our building schedules back a couple of months, but I was pretty sure you'd think it was time well spent."
"Indeed,' Antonov nodded. "The only real tactical advantage the Thebans have left is in energy-range combat. With that gone, and with an initial SBMHAWK bombardment, there's no way they'll be able to keep us out of Parsifal. And we haven't used the extended range capability of the standard SBMs yet, either; as far as they know, their missiles' range will match ours, now that they've developed capital missiles of their own."
He paused and frowned slightly. "But, Howard, under the schedule you've just outlined. we'll have enough SBMHAWKs long before we have enough new capital ships. And the longer we wait, the more time they'll have to strengthen their defenses. Why not refit my existing heavy ships with hetlasers now?"
"That's been thought of, of course. But withdrawing your battlewagons to Galloway's World for refitting - even in shifts - will mean going on the defensive for now in QR-107."
Antonov looked at him sharply. "Why, of course, Howard - by definition. The whole purpose is to enable us to break into Parsifal without crippling losses, so naturally we won't be attacking until the work is completed. Besides, we've already taken up a mobile defensive posture that doesn't involve capital ships. Rear Admiral Berenson is in command there now, with the cloaked Wolfhounds as well as his own light carriers, disposed to sting the Thebans to death if they try to counterattack from Parsifal. Surely," he went on, looking unwontedly concerned, "you understand -