nish  the shut  down  of  the ship  for cold  storage.  Though  the
government had agreed to the armistice and  with it an immediate cut back of
fifty percent of  the active fleet, at least they were not  taking the ships
out  and  simply  cutting  them up as the Kilrathi had  first suggested; the
military had managed to stop that mad idea. It had become a major fly in the
ointment  in  the  four  weeks  since  the  armistice,  with  the   Kilrathi
threatening  to  pull  out of the  peace  talks  but  so  far  the  civilian
government had not  budged, though  Jamison  was  screaming for  even deeper
cutbacks. The inactive  fleet  was  therefore,  at  least  for  the  moment,
secured,  the  ships hooked  to  orbital  bases  for  power and maintenance.
ъodham, however, had agreed to the  ship's crews being paid off and assigned
to inactive  reserves as a  cost cutting  measure,  a fact  which meant that
hundreds  of thousands of highly trained  personnel were being  pulled  from
their ships  and demobilized as quickly as ships were pulled from  the front
and sent to the  main bases either above Earth, Sirius,  or out at Carnovean
Station.
     He  turned to face back  down the corridor  and  bowed  his head for  a
moment.
     "Good-bye,  my  friends," he whispered, remembering all  those who in a
way would be forever young, and forever bound to his ship. Fighting back the
tears  he turned  without  another  word and went through the  airlock,  his
friends following in silence.

     * * * * *

     "ъear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, approach the court."
     Walking stiffly,  Geoff came up before the court martial  officers  and
saluted.
     Admiral  Banbridge,  as  the  presiding  officer,  stood up,  his hands
shaking as he unfolded a single sheet of paper.
     "ъear Admiral  Geoffrey  Tolwyn, it is the  decision of this court that
you have been found guilty  of  disobedience  of  fleet orders,  in that you
knowingly attacked a vessel of the Kilrathi Empire  after  being  made fully
aware  of General  Order  number  2312A,  ordering  the  suspension  of  all
hostilities.
     "It is the decision  of this court that you  hereby be stripped of your
rank and suffer a dishonorable discharge with the loss of all privileges and
honors due your rank."
     Banbridge  lowered his head and nodded. A  Marine  captain came forward
and took Tolwyn's  ceremonial  sword, which had rested on the  desk  of  the
court  martial officers since the opening of the trial. He placed the tip of
the sword on the ground and held it at an angle. ъaising his foot he slammed
his heel down  on  the side of the blade, snapping it  in half. The crack of
the sword breaking echoed through the chamber and Geoff winced at the sound.
The Marine  tossed the hilt of the  sword on the  floor by Geoff's  feet and
then stepped up to Geoff.
     The Marine looked him straight in the eyes and Geoff could see that the
man hated what he was about to do.
     Grabbing hold  of the insignias of rank on Geoff's shoulders the Marine
tore  them off  with  a violent  jerking motion so  that  Geoff  swayed  and
struggled to keep at attention. The Marine again looked him in the eyes.
     "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered and Geoff nodded a reply.
     The Marine turned back to  face the  court and placed  the torn bits of
fabric and brass on the desk.
     Geoff looked squarely at Banbridge and snapped off a salute, trying not
to notice the  tears in his old mentor's  eyes.  Breaking  with tradition he
leaned over and  picked up the broken hilt and  blade  of his sword, turned,
and  marched out of the room. After he  left  a  side door opened and a lone
figure came through it, bending low and then standing up to his full height.
     "Ambassador Vak'ga," Banbridge said coldly, "the fleet wishes to extend
its  apologies  over  this incident and  as you  were informed this morning,
restitution will be  paid to the families of those  killed in the  incident.
Admiral  Tolwyn  has  been  dishonorably  discharged  from  the  service  in
punishment."
     "Does that mean that he will now commit Zu'kara?"
     "Zu'kara?"
     "How do you say it?" Vak'ga rumbled.  "Yes, ritual suicide in atonement
for an act of shame to ones hrai, I mean family."
     "That's  not  our  way, Banbridge  replied coldly.  "And  besides,  the
carrier he was attacking  had also launched a strike after the armistice and
Tolwyn could be justified in his action by acting in self-defense. Good God,
Ambassador, we've logged more than a hundred such incidents during the first
day, and hundreds more since. Shutting off thirty years of war is not easy."
     "So that is it?" Vak'ga snapped. "He is simply told to  go away with no
further punishment?  With us, for such a crime, he would not even be allowed
the glory of Zu'kara,  his throat  would be  slit and  his body  hung by its
heels like a prey animal."
     Banbridge bristled.
     "I'm sure  that  would be  the case for you," he finally  replied,  the
sarcasm in his voice evident. "As for Geoff Tolwyn, losing the fleet and his
rank is the worst punishment  imaginable. After all  it  was the only family
he'd had for the last twenty years."
     He  knew that the Ambassador  was most  likely aware that Tolwyn's wife
and boys had been killed in a raid; most of the holo news reports had played
on  that  theme as  a  motivation for his  spectacular career and  his final
downfall.
     "I lost my family too," Vak'ga snarled, "or didn't you know that?"
     Banbridge nodded but said nothing.
     The Ambassador turned as if to leave.
     "Mr. Ambassador, one question before you go."
     "Yes?"
     "The issue  of  POW  exchange. A  full  accounting  within  twenty four
standard days  was promised  on  the day the armistice was  signed.  We have
fully complied and you have not."
     "For us  it is no issue," the Ambassador replied. "Anyone  who  allowed
himself to  be captured has lost all honor, he is sa'guk, one who is already
dead to his hrai. We  do  not care.  I do  not  see why it is  of such great
concern to you."
     "Because it is,  damn  it,"  Banbridge  snapped. "We've  lived  by  the
agreement on every  point. You are  already dragging your  feet. I  demand a
full reporting of all POWs immediately."
     "Demand? We demanded the head of Tolwyn and you slap his wrist and send
him away. We demanded the suppression of your raiders based on your frontier
worlds and an  apology from the Firekka for their belligerent statements.  I
will not listen to demands from you in turn on such trivial things."
     He turned and strode from the room.
     War was a hell of a lot easier," Banbridge said darkly.

     Jason looked up from his drink as Hunter came into the Vacuum Breathers
Bar.
     The "Vacuum Breather" was one  of the favorite watering holes  just off
the main military base on the moon. It had an  old tradition that any patron
who  had breathed  vacuum,  that is experienced the hulling of his ship, and
survived, received an honorary beer mug with his name on it. The far well of
the  bar  was  lined with  hundreds of  mugs. The first beer of the day  was
always free for such an honoree when  he came in and his mug was pulled down
from the rack.
     Gallagher,  the  owner  of  the bar, was legendary for  his love of the
service. He  was  an  old  fleet lifer with over thirty years service before
retiring, thus his "boys and girls" as he called them,  were almost like his
own family and he was always ready to loan an extra twenty, or stand a  free
round.
     "Any luck?" Ian asked, pulling his mug down  from the back of the  room
and coming back  to settle  in by  Jason  and Doomsday. The barkeep came up,
took the mug, filled it and slid it back to Ian who nodded his thanks.
     Sighing, Jason shook his head. Jobs, at the moment, were scarcer then a
good  bottle  of  Firekka  Firewater.  There'd  been  a  lead  that  an  old
Victory-class transport,  a ship that was already out of  date  when  it was
mass produced in  the first years  of the war,  needed a co-pilot and flight
engineer. When he  showed up at the  office he already knew it was hopeless.
At  least a hundred others were there to apply, a  few of  them old comrades
that he hadn't seen since his days on Gettysburg. It was a great reunion but
no  job,  the slots filled by the former  captain of a frigate and her first
officer who  were  willing to take pay fifty percent below standard.  If  it
wasn't for forty/one hundred benefits Ч one hundred a week for forty weeks Ч
and free housing in former barracks and training centers, nearly everyone in
the fleet would be starving to death.
     "How about you?"
     "Same story," Ian said with a sigh as he settled down to the bar beside
him.
     "I always knew it'd come to this end," Doomsday said quietly, and Jason
groaned
     "Damn  it, man, for years all I've  heard you prophesy is that  the war
was going to kill you. You've got eight  campaign ribbons, a medal of honor,
two  silver stars, the Vegan  victory  Award  with  diamonds,  half a  dozen
fighters shot out from under you and how many kills was it?"
     "I lost count after sixty."
     "And never  a  damn scratch," Jason  said. "Besides that you cleaned us
all out in that poker game last night. You're the luckiest damn pilot in the
fleet and the most depressing."
     Doomsday sighed, mumbled softly in Maori, and motioned for another beer
for himself and for Ian who nodded a thanks.
     "And I lose all my hard won earnings buying you guys drinks."
     "Well, at least we're here to drink," Jason replied, raising his voice.
     "Yeah,  great,  brother,   beer  money  for  us  all  from  a  grateful
Confederation," someone announced from the other side of the bar.
     A chorus of  sarcastic laughter echoed in the room and then fell silent
as first one, and then the rest of the patrons of  the Vacuum Breathers Club
turned and looked at the door.
     A heavily built Kilrathi filled  the entryway and though his  frame was
imposing he somehow looked a bit lost and nervous.
     "Sire!"
     "Oh god, it's  Kirha," Ian sighed,  coming to his feet  and approaching
the Kilrathi as he leaped down the steps. He started to drop to one knee and
Ian grabbed him by the shoulders.
     "Not here," he hissed, Сand besides, remember I  released you from your
oath of fealty."
     "But such an oath can never be truly broken, sire," Kirha said
     "Just what the hell are you doing here? It's been years since I've seen
you, I thought  you were exchanged  or something. Why aren't  you going back
home?"
     "I  was with the first batch of prisoners to be released last  week. It
was  a sad sight, my lord. Many  did not  know where  to go, what to do, not
sure if their hrai will still recognize them. I heard I could find  you here
and thought you might know what to do."
     Ian slowly grinned.
     "You saved my  butt once, my friend,  and I must say it's a pleasure to
see you again. Come on, let's have a drink.
     Kirha came up to the  bar, looked at the chairs which  had no place for
his tail to stick through, and simply leaned against the  railing,  towering
over all the others in the room.
     "Hey, we don't serve his kind in here," the bartender growled.
     "Listen, buddy, the  war's over,  or haven't you  heard, Doomsday  said
quietly.
     "I don't care, we don't serve him."
     "Say, brother, how long you been working in this bar?"
     "A week."
     "If Gallagher, the  owner of this dive,  heard you talking like that in
his joint he'd throw you out on your butt. This Kilrathi's a friend  of ours
and that buys him a drink anywhere we are."
     "I don t care, I'm not serving him."
     Kirha looked around nervously.
     "If this will cause trouble, sire, I can withdraw."
     "Hey, Hunter,  who the hell's your buddy?" a pilot wearing the insignia
of a fighter squadron leader on his lapel shouted from the other side of the
bar.
     "You  blokes heard how Paladin  and me rescued that  Firekka princess?"
Ian replied.
     Most of the men  and women in the dimly lit  room nodded  their  heads,
laughed, and  groaned. Ian's ability  at telling stories of  his heroics was
legendary in the Vacuum.
     "Well, this is the furball that saved my butt. I'd have been dead along
with Paladin and that Firekka princess if it hadn't been for him."
     The  crowd nodded their  approval and several came  up to shake Kirha's
paw, a human ritual which he still obviously found to be disconcerting.
     Ian turned back to the bartender.
     "So serve him his damn drink."
     The man looked around nervously, and mumbled to himself.
     "What was that you said  about my Cat friend?" a pilot at the  edge  of
the group snarled.
     The bartender looked at Kirha
     "Whatya have?" he said quietly.
     "Scotch, single malt, make it a triple.
     A chorus of  laughter  echoed around the room, breaking the tension and
even the bartender forced a weak grin as  he filled the glass and pushed  it
over. Ian started to slide a bill across.
     "Sorry  about the mistake, Captain. Keep it,  it's  on the house,"  the
bartender replied and turned away.
     Kirha took the drink up, and bowed to Ian.
     "To peace between the hrai of the Kilrathi and of Humans."
     He downed  the  drink in a  single gulp  and a flash of  sharp  canines
signaled his delight. The bartender shook his head
     "I guess you're all right."
     "I've waited a long time for this drink," Kirha sighed, and Ian ordered
up another round.
     "So what do you think of all of this?" Ian asked.
     "You mean the peace agreements?" Kirha asked
     "Yeah."
     "It is, how do you humans say it, warmed leavings of a male cow."
     A ripple  of  laughter echoed around the room and  even  the  bartender
smiled
     "Why?"
     "I know of  this Baron Jukaga of  the hrai of the  Ki'ra.  They are the
most ancient of the  families, their blood  even  thicker than  that of  the
Imperial line. Their hatred of the Imperial family is well known."
     "How's that?" the bartender asked, coming over, obviously curious.
     "Before we gained space, in the Seventh Dynastic War, the family of the
Emperor gained dominance over Kilrah, defeating the Ki'ra who were forced to
swear allegiance. It surely would have become an Eighth Dynastic war, except
for the arrival of the foolish Utara."
     "The  who?" the barkeep asked, leaning against the side of  the bar and
pouring Kirha another drink.
     Kirha laughed, nodded his thanks and downed the drink in a single gulp.
     "The Utara  came to Kilrah offering  friendship, trade, and peace. They
showed us how to make spacecraft, and the secret of the jump points."
     Kirha shook his head.
     "As soon as  we gained space we slaughtered them. They were  a weak and
foolish people."
     Kirha laughed and pounded the bar as if he  had just told an hysterical
joke. His audience looked at him in silence.
     "Some thanks," Ian mumbled.
     "It's considered  quite funny by us,"  Kirha said,  looking around  the
room, still chuckling though finally realizing that his audience  wasn't all
that amused.
     "I guess you don't see the humor."
     "Maybe something got lost in the translation, mate," Ian interjected.
     Kirha nodded, looking at the bar patrons.
     "I see here, yet  again a difference between us," he finally  said. "To
us, such weakness was stupidity so pathetic that it becomes funny. I take it
you don't see it that way."
     "Something like that," a voice from the back of the room said.
     "It is why I,  and those still prisoners,  roared with laughter when we
heard you agreed  to  this  thing  you call an armistice.  It was an  act of
weakness. It will cause a loss of face for you,  a loss  of respect that you
have in some  way earned by your valiant resistance against the might of the
Empire. There is an old Kilrah saying Сsteel against iron is not a testing.'
Though we hated you, and wished to overthrow you, still we  came to see that
our own courage could  be honorably tested by  matching it against your own.
That is the way of finding honor and glory.
     "Your  leaders  have thrown that away. When we  come  again, it will be
with  contempt  and  the  slaughter  will  be  brutal  beyond  your  darkest
nightmares."
     There was a stirring in the room.
     "And will you help them out, buddy?" the barkeep asked quietly.
     "I am without  hrai,  without country," Kirha said in  reply.  "I  have
sworn allegiance to Hunter; it is now impossible for me to ever go back."
     He  looked almost mournful  and  there  were even a  couple of nods  of
sympathy from the others in the room.
     "You were telling us about this Jukaga," Jason asked.
     "Ah yes, Jukaga. With the freeing from our planet  and the outward rush
to wars with races we had never dreamed existed, our own civil wars became a
thing  of the past,  for  at  last  we  had  found others to  test our steel
against. But the clan of Ki'ra  never reconciled  itself to the fact that it
was not upon the Imperial throne, seeing this as the fluke of but one battle
lost ages ago. In  Jukaga this disdain  became more  openly voiced  with the
reversals of our war  against you. That is something  I suspect your leaders
have not given full weight to."
     "How so?" Jason pressed.
     "The  fact  that it was  Jukaga who made the first overture of peace  I
find to  be surprising.  It  was not someone of the Imperial  line. It means
that he has gained enough power to actually allow the Emperor to permit  him
to be the voice of the throne.
     "It is an interesting point of balance. The Emperor must have agreed to
this peace because there was some pressure, either from your fleets, or from
the  other clans, perhaps both.  Yet if he allows  the  peace  to  continue,
without a clear cut victory, he  and his grandson the Crown Prince will fall
and Jukaga will rise to seize the throne their hrai has coveted for so long.
Jukaga must know as well  that  if he seizes  the throne, but the war is not
then immediately started, he will fall as well, for the drive  to killing is
so strong in our blood that we will quickly turn upon each other."
     "Did anyone from Intelligence ever talk to you  Cats about this?" Jason
asked.
     "Oh many times. They were  quite nice, some could  even speak Kilrah, a
wondrous and strange thing  coming from the mouth of a human. We laughed and
told them what we thought."
     "And the reports were ignored," Ian said coldly.
     "There is a game here," Kirha said, "and you humans are, how do you say
it, paki, pawns, for the power play of Jukaga. I  think  his wish is  to use
the  peace  to somehow  then  blame  the Emperor,  eliminate him,  and  then
successfully finish the war himself."
     "You sound like you don't like Jukaga."
     Kirha growled, his fur bristling.
     "He and his hrai think my coat not  red  enough,  my  blood  not  thick
enough; my own hrai is  descendent from the ъagitagha," and as he pronounced
his  clan name his teeth flashed, his mane  standing out so that he appeared
to nearly double in size and the crowd backed up  a bit, looking at him wide
eyed.
     "The Ki'ra," and  he hissed, spitting on the floor, "if they think they
can take the throne under the Baron, they must bring a great Victory. By the
blood  of my clan I promise you there will be war again and your leaders are
fools not to see it."
     "Just like Tolwyn figured it," Jason said coldly, and he heard a lot of
angry mutters of agreement.
     "Tolwyn, that  traitor,"  a voice announced from the back corner of