ng that another of the missiles had regained lock as well.
     Damn!
     The missile was above  him, streaking down. He blew his remaining chaff
and the missile streaked straight through and closed. He was boxed in.
     The warble climbed in tone  and then plateaued on a high spine-tingling
pitch, the warning of an unavoidable impact.
     He yanked his stick back hard, popping up off the moon's surface,  then
reached  between his  legs,  grabbing hold of the ejector D ring and pulled,
even as the explosion engulfed him.

     "I think we know why we are here," Baron  Jukaga said, his voice quiet,
low pitched, his mane lying nearly  flat so as to show neither dominance nor
submission.
     "It is the fault  of  the hrai of Vak," Qar'ka Baron  of  the Qarg clan
hissed, springing to his feet and pointing accusingly across the table.
     "Low born scum," Vak snarled in reply,  reaching for the claw dagger at
his belt.
     "Silence!"  Jukaga roared.  "Damn all of  you, I want  silence! and his
golden red mane bristled up.
     The two stopped and turned, fixing the Baron with hate-filled eyes.
     "Jukaga, either one of us could cut your guts out and spill them on the
floor  for  the rats  to eat," Vak said  coldly.  "You of the Ki'ra hrai are
weaklings compared to either  the Qarg  the ъagitagha, or any  of the  other
families."
     "And  if you did," Jukaga replied smoothly, "then  you truly would have
civil war and the humans would finish up with what was left."
     "Sit down," Baron Ka'ta  of the Kurutak clan  hissed,  "Baron Jukaga is
right. Let us listen to him first."
     Jukaga nodded his thanks to Ka'ta. At least he knew  that the Ka'ta out
of all the  eight  families of the Empire  was  solidly  behind  him. It was
almost amusing. The Kurutak,  along  with the Sihkag, had always been viewed
as  the lowest of the eight, their blood never considered  as  thick. It was
almost a guarantee that when approached by  his own clan, the ancient family
of Ki'ra, that the Kurutak  would grovel over  the honor of being treated as
equals. It was a mistake the Kiranka, the clan or hrai of the Emperor, never
realized  in  their  treatment of  those  residing in  the  royal palace. In
public,  of  course, the positions of dominance and  submission were closely
observed during audiences and open ritual, but  in private, it was something
else, especially when all the other families viewed the Emperor's line as no
better than their own.
     "This petty feud between  the  clan of Vak and that  of  the Qarg is to
stop here and now," Jukaga announced. "It is a disgrace that royal blood has
been spilled like this in feuds within the  confines of the Imperial Palace.
Five of the Qarg have  died in duels and five of the ъagitagha. It is enough
and it is finished."
     Vak  started  to open his  mouth and Jukaga  extended  his  paw, talons
retracted in a sign of peace.
     "It is enough," he said quietly.
     "You are not  the Emperor," Vak  replied, "you  have  not the  power to
order me or Qar'ka to stop," and he looked across the table at Qar'ka,  whom
only a moment ago he would have gladly knifed, for support.
     Qar'ka nodded his head in agreement.
     The Baron inwardly  sighed. The fools, could they not  see the weakness
revealed in that simple statement? It  was  something he had learned in  his
years  of  study and  it  had come to him with a  crystal clarity. The  wars
against other races, the ritual  of Sivar, were designed above all else as a
civilizing  factor to the race  of the Kilrathi, to  quite  simply keep them
from killing each other. Aggressive combat, the instinct to hunt and to kill
was far too close  to the  surface. Within the hrai,  the clan and  families
were controlled by  the  rigid system of  caste. But the clan  instinct only
extended as far  as the clan. Though all might espouse the concept that they
were Kilrathi  it was only in the face of a prey outside of  themselves. War
and  Sivar were  essential  for the survival  of the  race, to keep it  from
killing itself off and  nothing more. It was  something  he did not discuss,
for to  even question the divinity  of Sivar as  nothing more than  a social
tool would be his ruin.
     All the wars had so well served that purpose, the humans, the Hari, the
Gorth,  Sorn,  Ka, and  Utara.  Thank  Sivar for  the  Utara  who  in  their
foolishness  had  come  to  Kilrah in peace,  gave them  space  travel  as a
friendly gesture, and died as a result. If it had not been so, we would have
destroyed  ourselves when  the secret  of atomics came into  our hands,  the
Baron  thought, even as  he surveyed  the  other clan  leaders  in the room.
Aggressive races rarely survived the move into technology and made it to the
point where space offered them an outlet.
     He  looked around  the table.  Qar'ka was a fool, Vak not much  better;
they would not see such things. All they knew was that there was no  war for
the moment and  the  pressure  within  their  own hrai was  building,  petty
quarreling,  long forgotten feuds building to  the flashing of claw daggers.
And yet, when Vak had turned to Qar'ka and offered him Jukaga as an opponent
that they could unite against, Qar'ka was ready to agree.
     "The feuding  in  the palace  must stop,"  Jukaga said coldly. his mane
still flushed outward.
     "And  I say  you are  not the  Emperor to so  order me," Vak snapped in
reply.
     Jukaga smiled.
     "Is he really our Emperor?"
     There was a moment of stunned silence.
     "Are you mad?" Qar'ka asked
     "He and  that fool grandson have led us  into  one too many disasters,"
Jukaga replied coldly.
     "How many  of us have lost our  sons, the best  of  our  hrai,  to  the
Terrans?  How  many  of  us  have  listened  to  our first  chosen ones  and
concubines crying at night, their  faces buried in their  pillows  to muffle
the sobs, crying for those lost in this war?"
     The  other  hrai  leaders lowered  their heads  and even  Vak, who only
moments before wanted to knife him, nodded in agreement.
     "Vak,  you lost your  first born of your first litter  at Vukar  Tag, I
know, I saw his gallantry,  his heroic death when  he tried to ram the enemy
carrier. He died kabaka, his soul winging to Sivar for his courage."
     Vak looked up at Jukaga, his eyes cold  with anger at the wasted  death
of his eldest son. Jukaga  almost felt guilty for so easily manipulating him
thus.
     "He would be alive today,  sitting by your side, sharing your  feasting
cup but for the Emperor. It  was the Emperor that  ordered  the splitting of
the fleet  and Thrakhath agreed.  If all our  carriers  were  there for that
fight  we  would  have  smashed  the  Confederation  and pressed the war  to
victory. I was blamed and you now know  the  lie of that.  I  languished  in
exile, expecting at any moment that the Emperor's poisoner would come."
     He looked around the room and stood up.
     "We  must stay  united,  we  must control our hrai and stop  this petty
feuding which threatens to turn the  palace into a slaughter pit. Don't  you
think  the  Emperor is  quietly  encouraging us  thus to  fight against each
other, to thus keep us from standing united against him?"
     He could see more than one nod of agreement to his statement and smiled
     "Then  start the war now!" Qar'ka snarled.  "End this ridiculous farce.
We have lulled the humans to sleep, now let  us rip their throats out and be
done with it."
     Qar'ka hesitated for a moment as if not willing to speak.
     "We must finish it before the Mantu return," he said quietly, "and take
us in the back while we still fight the Confederation."
     The others looked over nervously at Qar'ka and then back to Jukaga
     Jukaga  nodded  and said nothing.  Just  after  the  defeat at Vukar, a
report had  come in from a deep space remote probe, far  beyond the  edge of
Hari space, a probe so far removed that it had taken a year even to bring it
in. There  was an  indication  that the Mantu,  who  had once before invaded
Kilrathi  space,  had  completed their war  against an  unknown neighbor and
might very  well return. Seventy years past there had been a brief encounter
with  them, and though the fight had been a draw,  it was suspected that the
Mantu might in fact be far superior in  their weapons  technology. They  had
disappeared, drawing back to fight other  foes, but it was always  suspected
that there would come a  day when the Mantu might turn  their full attention
on the Empire, a concern  that  deeply troubled Jukaga  as  he watched their
resources being spilled against the humans.
     Jukaga turned away and pointed at a long list of figures displayed by a
holo projector.
     "This war against  the Confederation has lasted over  thirty years, the
borders barely shifting after our first gains. War is not just  fighting, it
is  economics, and  resources,  and  production and morale and  perhaps most
importantly the learning of the  way  our  enemy thinks. I know some  of you
might scoff at such concerns but that last factor  has been my chief concern
and responsibility."
     "You and the  nobles of your  hrai have remained safe at home,  playing
with numbers and reading while we spill our blood," Vak laughed coldly.
     "Without the weapons my hrai designed and the intelligence my spies and
remote devices have gained,  you  would have  been  frozen meat  floating in
space," Jukaga replied.
     "He  speaks  the  truth," Talmak of the  Sutaghi interjected before Vak
could  reply. "Now  let him  finish. If Thrakhath had  listened to  Jukaga's
concerns before Vukar the battle would have turned out far differently."
     "The war had become  a balanced match without end in  sight until now,"
Jukaga continued. "We almost had the edge  until Vukar and their raid to our
base on  our moon. If it had  not been for Thrakhath  and the Emperor, as  I
already said, we might very well have taken Earth.
     "Earth,  that has always been the  key,  and  Thrakhath  forgot that. A
human warrior once wrote that in war one must find the focal point that will
cause the collapse of his enemy and then throw all resources against it
     "This time I  want no mistakes. Give this armistice just a  little more
time until the enemy is asleep and our secret  fleet  is completed. Let  the
fools get used to peace. Let them believe in this friendship. Let our secret
fleet continue  to be built  even as we  make a show of  decommissioning our
current ships. Then we will strike and crush them."
     "But the  Sivar," Vak replied. "Where is the Sivar to be this year? Our
people demand that."
     "You  have the prisoners that we have  kept  hidden, do  it  to  them,"
Jukaga replied coldly.
     "Prisoners,  there is no honor in that. I still say that in eight eight
of days,  when Sivar comes,  then we should launch  our strike and  turn the
rivers of Earth red with the blood of the slaughter."
     "And I tell you that  it must be yet five eighty of days. Look  at  the
charts, can't you see the truth in them?" and he pointed to the wall."
     "War is not simple numbers, it is blood," Vak snorted.
     "Four more carriers at Vukar is a simple number, Vak and that number is
the  difference between  your first born still  floating in space,  his body
unclaimed, versus his living and breathing this day."
     Vak snarled and Jukaga was not sure for a moment if the anger was aimed
at him, or at the humiliation over the useless death of a son.
     "Listen to  me,  my takhars," and he deliberately chose  the word which
meant  brothers of equal rank. He  looked around  the room and saw that even
Vak was at  last willing to  listen, unable to argue with the cold  facts of
numbers.
     "Let the plan unfold. When the time is ripe, over a dozen carriers will
leap forward, slashing through their near defenseless border  region. Before
they can even hope to mobilize,  we will jump straight to Earth, and there I
promise you  a  slaughter  like no other. In our plan we  already  have  our
agents at work, weakening their  will to fight, ready as well  to kill their
leaders of war  when the time  is  right. When  we cut the heart out of  the
Terran Confederation, then in the years to  come we  can go  at  our leisure
from planet to planet, saving some for  Sivar, others destroying if they are
a threat. Thus  we  will win, and thus we will be ready as  well if  our old
enemy the Mantu should again return."
     He settled  back in his chair and waited.  Vak looked around  the room,
saw the nods of agreement and finally lowered his head.
     "The feud stops, you have my support," he said quietly.
     Jukaga did not allow himself to show his teeth in a gesture of triumph.
     "Then  I  have  the promise of  all of you to control your hrai in  the
palace."
     "It will be difficult, but it will be  done," Qar'ka finally said. "But
what of your other words about the Emperor?"
     Jukaga nodded.
     "In the days to  come  just consider this. He is old, he will  not live
forever. When he goes to his fathers, Thrakhath will take the golden throne.
Given the leadership both have  shown,  do we truly want them to  lead us to
our final victory, or even more importantly against the threat of the  Mantu
if they should return?"
     "Are you suggesting the breaking of our oath-sworn word?" Vak asked.
     Jukaga slowly shook his head.
     "Just that I want  you to consider  my  question,  nothing more, Jukaga
replied. "Other than that I suggest nothing."
     Vak smiled,  and for an instant Jukaga was not sure if it was a sign of
aggression at himself or towards the Emperor and without another word he got
up and strode from the room, the other clan leaders following.
     Jukaga sighed with relief as the door closed behind them. How the feuds
had truly started was all too evident.  The Emperor had manipulated the hrai
of Vak into feeling slighted at the court rituals by the other clans. He had
not intervened when blood started to spill as a result.
     It was masterful on the Emperor's part,  keeping the clans from uniting
and  turning their aggressive energy  against him. Jukaga closed his eyes to
clear his thoughts.
     The  Emperor  by  now  must  see  the threat forming. The Emperor  must
somehow sense that he was actually contemplating the unthinkable, the actual
elimination  of the Imperial line. If the war was on,  such an  act would be
absolutely intolerable,  in peace it might just  be  successful. The Emperor
therefore needed peace to finish the building of the fleet,  but at the same
time needed war to secure his throne.
     Jukaga reached over to a side table  and poured  himself a cup  of wine
and quietly lapped  it up. And yet there was  far more.  If he  had  learned
anything from his study of the  humans, it  was that there was more than one
way to win a war.  Direct and brutal combat was the only thing the  Kilrathi
knew and  understood. Yet  there were so  many  other  ways.  It was already
evident  that the humans  were weakening  themselves  in  a foolish  bid for
peace. A  year  from  now,  if  all could be  kept  quiet they would cripple
themselves beyond all hope of recall.
     If he could eliminate  the  Emperor and the Prince, and then personally
lead  the new fleet into Terran space they  would  most likely capitulate in
despair. Thus the  fleet would be preserved. For  if the Mantu were  coming,
the  fleet,  and  far more  beyond  it,  would  be needed  to stop  them;  a
subjugated  race of  humans,  and the vast resources they  controlled, would
help  in  that survival. The Emperor was  too much a  Kilrathi to see  that.
Brutal all-out war  was  the only path  the Kilrathi had ever understood. It
had,  for so long, been the fundamental key to their success. Now, it  might
very  well  be  the  path  to  their  destruction,  fighting  themselves  to
exhaustion only to  then be conquered by others. He even half suspected that
this  was part of  the  Mantu plan, for surely they must know what was going
on.
     The Emperor would have to go, it was that simple, and he  found that he
could indeed  contemplate something  that the humans so  often  practiced in
their political  struggles but which was unknown to the Kilrathi,  political
assassination of a superior without direct confrontation and challenge.
     As he contemplated he smiled  remembering his favorite readings  of the
human English author  and  his play MacBeth. It was  that reading which  had
first planted the thought
     Tolwyn. The English race of humans and their cousins the Americans were
an interesting study. So violent but also so imbued with a strange idealism.
Tolwyn fascinated him, a cultured man, and yet a complete warrior.
     He knew that there was something hidden behind the downfall of Tolwyn's
career,  and his reported move to the Landreich reinforced  that. Tolwyn was
too honorable to break  the  old English code  of warfare  with its  bizarre
notion of fair  play  and rules. He was following orders  from someone above
him, to be removed so he could go to the Landreich. But for what?
     Jukaga called up a holo  map of the Landreich sector and its jump point
pathways into the Empire.
     The realization finally  came. Tolwyn was  being sent out as a spy,  to
try  to find the fleet, and if discovered, his link to the government  could
be denied
     "Masterful,"  Jukaga  said  softly.  The  information  matched into the
report  he  had  obtained  from  one  of his  operatives  inside Thrakhath's
military intelligence.  Thrakhath must  have surmised this concern as  well,
and thus sent out a precious Stealth to investigate.
     Tolwyn had to be blocked. If  the humans found out the truth, the peace
would indeed be shattered, the timing of his  own plans destroyed. Though he
hated  to do it, he would have to send a  message to Thrakhath outlining his
concerns for security and to recommend that it be doubled.
     Tolwyn was a fascinating challenge,  a worthy foe. Though he would  not
openly admit it even to himself, he was finding in his heart that the humans
were a race he  had almost come to like, and more importantly, a race he was
even willing to spare in his own quest for power.

     "Well look what the birds dragged in," Jason laughed, trying to conceal
the fact that he had been sweating out the  last twenty  hours, increasingly
convinced that his old friend had bought a permanent piece of space.
     K'Kai, ignoring  Jason's  teasing remark,  led Ian up to  the bar.  Ian
looked around the room with a grin, though Jason could see that the  rescued
pilot had most definitely had the wits scared out of him.
     "Yeah, I know, the drinks are an  on me,  "Ian announced, and  a  cheer
went up  from the pilots who swarmed up to the  bar. Ian looked around a bit
glumly, realizing that the old fleet tradition could be rather expensive.
     "I'll have this thing Ian talks  so much about, a single  malt scotch,"
K'Kai announced
     The bartender looked at Ian.
     "For that kind of sippin' liquor it's ten dollars for a shot."
     "Give it to her," Ian sighed, "the bird was the one that rescued me.
     The bartender seemed to relax a bit, especially when Jason reached into
his pocket and fished out a wad  of bills, hard Confederation  currency, and
tossed them on the counter.
     "I don't  think you've got much change on you at the moment, Jason said
looking over at Ian. "You can pay me back later."
     Ian  nodded his thanks and  called  for a Scotch as well, downing it in
one gulp. He looked over at Jason and smiled weakly.
     "I was scared out of