William Forstchen - False Colors

He glanced around the flight deck, taking note of the others who were waiting to hear Kruger speak. Donald Scott Graham, with Prince Murragh beside him, living proof that man and kil could work together for the common good. Bhaktadil with his marines, his turban and his oversized kukri knife strange against the blue and gray of his full-dress uniform. Deniken, promoted to full Commander for his expertise in handling the carrier’s gunnery in the fight with the dreadnought, stood between the irrepressible Lieutenant Clancy and the darkly handsome Communications Officer, Vivaldi, with Kittani close by looking more like an assassin than an Executive Officer. And so many others, who had started out as strangers but become shipmates united by shared danger and the brotherhood of a successful fight against seemingly hopeless odds.

And before them all, Admiral Geoff Tolwyn. The man looked ten years younger than he had when they had met at Moonbase Tycho. Somewhere in the midst of that desperate fight at Baka Kar the tough old admiral had found himself again. Two nights earlier, he and Bondarevsky had gone out drinking together in a Newburg nightclub, and Tolwyn had revealed that he was resigning his commission with the Landreich to return to Earth to accept a posting as commander of the Strategic Readiness Agency.

“You see, my coming out here wasn’t just a whim,” he announced, “there was something else afoot. Call this a bit of a fact finding mission, an upfront look. With the SRA I now have the data I need to block what others are planning to do.”

So Landreich would be losing Tolwyn’s services. He had tried to talk Bondarevsky into joining him on his crusade, but Mjollnir’s Wing Commander had declined the offer. Bondarevsky had found a home here, a group of people he could work with, a cause worth fighting for, a ship he was starting to think of as his new home. He gave Alexandra Travis a sidelong glance. Perhaps even a woman he could love…

He wondered what Vance Richards would say, if he had lived to see Bondarevsky become a convert to the Landreich. Perhaps in some Valhalla the old admiral was looking down at Mjollnir today, proud of what he’d helped to set in motion. Proud of what he’d died supporting.

Kruger raised both hands, signaling for silence, and the cheering died away gradually. A throat mike and amplifier projected his words so every man, woman, and kil on the flight deck could hear him plainly. No doubt most of the rest of the crew was watching him on video monitors throughout the ship.

“When I decided to try to find and refit this heap of spare parts, people said I was crazy,” Kruger began. “And maybe I was, at that. But you people set out to work miracles, and miracles happened! The first miracle was when you got this old girl up and running again. The second miracle was when you took on the Vorghath .” He paused. “The press on Landreich is calling Mjollnir ‘the ship that refused to die,’ and I for one think that’s as fine a title as any fighting ship can bear. Maybe it’s true what spacers say, that each ship has a life of its own. Something kept the self-destruct system from blowing this proud warrior up after the battle of Vaku over a year ago. Something preserved her from harm until you arrived to put her in order once again. And something helped you hold together despite everything the enemy could throw at you!”

Kruger still had the touch, Bondarevsky thought. Rough-hewn, gruff, impatient, he could still hold a crowd of spacers in his hand, and lead them on a jump to hell and back at his slightest word. Murragh, the Kilrathi prince, had the same natural, easy authority, but Max Kruger was still the best there was.

The fleet had arrived to find the news of their victory had preceded them, thanks to hypercasts sent out as they waited in the Hellhole system for a week to see if Ragark was going to try to reopen the conflict. By the time they’d made orbit the Council of Delegates had met to withdraw their censure of the President and strike down the short-lived government formed by Councilman Galbraith after the no-confidence vote that had stripped Kruger of his office. Daniel Webster Galbraith had made a public apology to Kruger and personally turned over the gavel so that the President could once again formally convene the Council.

Up on top of the shuttle’s ramp, Kruger was still speaking. “Now there’s a new threat to this ship that refuses to die, but I have no doubt that you’ll weather it the same as you’ve done all the others.” He produced a paper from his pocket. “I received this yesterday, faxed from the Terran Confederation Embassy Compound. It was sent by the Confederation Peace Commissioner, Williams…an ultimatum, if you please. The Landreich government is advised that it has ‘flagrantly and deliberately violated the terms of the Treaty of Ko-Bar Yagar.’ We are directed to immediately arrest and turn over to the Commissioner President Maximilian Kruger. So it looks like I’m on the wanted list again!”

There was laughter, but Bondarevsky didn’t share in it. He’d found it hard to believe Admiral Tolwyn’s tales of conspiracies and the like, but here was evidence that some within the Confederation-not satisfied with forcing the Landreich into a desperate showdown they had only barely managed to win-now intended to hold innocent Kruger responsible for their own wrong policies.

Kruger held up the paper again, waving it. “More than that, though, the confees have demanded that we retire this brave old lady for service, along with the rest of our carriers, and turn over peace-keeping duties to squadrons of ConFleet who will police our borders for us to provide a buffer between our ‘irresponsible exercise of military adventurism’ and the forces of the Kilrathi Empire. What do you think of that?”

Catcalls and hoots answered, and Kruger grinned broadly. “That’s about what my reaction was, friends. Out here on the frontier we learned a long time ago that the confees never have and never will follow through on any pledge to protect our borders. We’ve had to do it ourselves… you have had to do it, taking this carrier into battle and defeating our enemies with your bravery, your skill, and your ship that refused to die!” He paused again, surveying the crew. “So I say to you, as I have already said to the confees: this carrier, and all the carriers of the Free Republic Navy, shall remain on duty to guard our borders for as long as they need to be guarded. All of our borders, and against whoever might threaten them. The Landreich is a sovereign nation, and we protect our own!”

With that he turned and entered the shuttle, and the ramp closed behind him to a wave of cheers louder and more sustained than before.

Bondarevsky didn’t cheer. He knew all too well what this open break with the Terran Confederation could mean. If the Peace Commission was determined to make an issue out of the matter, it could mean a new war, a war of human against human, with Ragark still waiting beyond the frontier to take advantage of any opening.

But much as he hated the prospect, much as he hoped sanity might prevail so that such a conflict could be averted, Jason Bondarevsky was ready to serve his new people as doggedly as he had ever served the old.

The Landreich’s enemies might remain poised to strike the Republic down, but they would find Mjollnir , and the Black Cats, and Jason Bondarevsky, all waiting to defend her.

Until the crisis was over, Cincinnatus would not return to the plow.

Jason turned to walk away.

“Jason?”

“Hell of a thanks,” Jason growled, shaking his head.

Geoff smiled.

“I take it you’re staying here.”