Wing Commander #07 False Color by William Forstchen (novels for students TXT) 📗

"That's negative, Admiral," she replied, swinging the fighter around on a course parallel to the shuttle. "I'm

closing the range now IFF's still not responding, and I'm getting nothing but static from my automatic hails. I'm not even sure he's spotted me."

"Electronics could've been fried," Bondarevsky said. "If he's been operating out here around the brown dwarf very long, a shuttle's shields might not have protected all the electronics too well."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Babcock trained one of the sensor pod's video cameras on the shuttle's cockpit and started boosting the magnification. There were figures visible inside, the images becoming clearer as she continued to adjust the zoom and cut in a computer-enhancement program. "I see a man at the helm," she said. "Two men . . . no, second one's a woman. Humans. Looks like we found survivors!" As she spoke, one of the figures aboard the shuttle looked her way and plainly spotted her Hornet for the first time. After a moment a spotlight lit up over the cockpit, pointing toward Babcock's plane and flicking on and off in the standard semaphore code of the Terran Confederation. Her computer read the signal and provided a running translation.

TCS - JUNEAU - SHUTTLE - SURVIVORS - OF ENGAGEMENT - NINE - MONTHS - AGO - WHO - ARE - YOU - INTERROGATIVE

She responded with the same primitive signaling method, identifying her ship and the Landreich navy. THANK - GOD - NEED - ASSISTANCE - CAN - YOU - LEAD - ME - TO - YOUR - SHIP INTERROGATIVE

Babcock didn't answer right away. Instead she bucked the question up to Admiral Richards. If he wanted to kibitz while she was flying, she thought with a grim smile, the least he could do was take care of the tough decisions for her.

"N ot Independence," came the admiral's reply. "He's already on course for Karga. Tell him we'll meet him there."

"Paranoia?" Bondarevsky asked.

"Most paranoids have real enemies, son," Richards said. "This guy could be legit . . . or he could be a human captive with a Kilrathi laser pistol pointed at the back of his head. And if that shuttle turns out to be carrying something dangerous, like enough explosive to do some real damage . . . well, this old girl's already seen enough trouble that a little more won't make much difference."

She passed on the instructions to the pilot of the shuttle, who made a brief acknowledgment but sent no further messages. Shuttle and fighter continued on course, with Drifter's Hornet following at a discreet distance.

Darlene Babcock heaved a sigh of relief as Karga came in sight. It looked like she wasn't going to have to face the Cats today after all.

Starboard Flight Deck, ex-KIS Karga Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System" 1040 hours (CST)

The Confederation shuttle came in through the stern end of the flight deck, where there was less damage, but the craft still maneuvered carefully. Watching the boat settling to the deck using magnetic clamps to hold her down in zero-gravity, Bondarevsky felt a sense of relief. Despite the admiral's continued fears of a possible Cat trick, it looked as if they'd been lucky indeed. It was rare for anyone to survive the loss of a capital ship in combat, but apparently some had managed it here at Vaku.

Still, they didn't take any chances. Bhaktadil had his marines deployed watching the shuttle, and most of the survey team was still strapped in and ready to fly at the first sign of trouble. Bondarevsky, accompanied by Harper, had persuaded the colonel to let him help greet the new arrivals. As the most recent ex-Confederation senior officer available, he might be able to elicit more information from them than the colonials could.

They waited for the shuttle to open up, and Bondarevsky passed the time studying the battered craft's hull. It had clearly taken quite a beating at some point. The plating along the port side was pitted and scarred, and several external weapons and sensor mountings were missing. There was no sign of a commlink antenna, either, which probably accounted for their inability to communicate. That bird was lucky to still be flying

Then the port side hatch began to open, and the tension among the watching marines became thick enough for Bondarevsky to feel. A pair of humans were standing at the top of the ramp, clad in Confederation-issue suits. Behind them, a bulkier figure moved, then another one.

"Cats!" one of the marines shouted, raising his rifle to the ready.

"Don't shoot!" someone called. "Don't shoot . . . they're friends!"

One of the humans, the man, climbed down the ramp.

He was wearing magnetic boots, and moved awkwardly, but it was plain he was trying to hurry before the situation got any worse. "I'm Commander Graham," he said. "Chief Engineer of TCS Juneau. The former TCS Juneau."

"Do all your friends have fur, Commander?" Bhaktadil asked.

"They're castaways just like us," Graham responded. "From two Imperial ships we engaged nine months back. One of them this carrier here. This is Jhavvid Dahl, Assistant Communications Officer of the Karga. And Mirrach lan Vrenes, Supply Officer from the escort Frawqirg. And my Engineering CPO, Ellen Quinlan."

"Don't get me wrong, Commander, we're glad to see you," Bondarevsky said. "But you have to admit the company you're keeping doesn't recommend itself to just anyone."

Graham shrugged. "When both groups made it down, we had a choice between fighting to the death or cooperating and staying alive. We decided we could always kill each other later, and we've been working together down there ever since. We struck an agreement that whichever side got here first, the others would surrender to with the understanding they'd be repatriated." He paused. "Believe me, friend, neither group would be here today if we hadn't teamed up. It's been rugged."

"Well, it's over now. I'm Jason Bondarevsky." He stepped forward, extending his hand.

"First to Kilrah!" Graham said, gripping it firmly through their suit gloves.

"It wasn't much of a movie," Bondarevsky said dourly. He still