Fleet Action (wc-3) William Forstchen (fox in socks read aloud .txt) 📖

Kirha simply looked at him, shook his head, and continued on. Jason looked over at the booth as he passed and saw the other members staring at him.

"You'd think they'd take those service pins off and get back to a real life," an attractive young girl whispered, making sure her voice was loud enough so that Jason could hear. He was tempted to say something but realized it was futile and continued on.

A tall, slender woman with long blonde hair approached the group.

"Captain Hunter."

"Why, yes, that's me," Ian said with a grin. "Do we know each other?"

"No," she said with a mischievous grin lighting her features. "I'm here to meet your friend and escort him to your home in Australia. Everything's been arranged, we have him registered and security cleared."

"How about if we switch things around," Ian replied smoothly. "Kirha can go take care of my business and you can escort me home."

"Not likely, sir," she said with a laugh. "Better luck next time."

Ian shook his head and sighed, looking over at Kirha who was evidently distressed that his friend was leaving him.

"I know I cannot ask you where you are going and why," Kirha said softly, "but I suspect it is dangerous. May Sivar watch over you and guide you through the flowing of blood till we meet again.

Kirha went to his knees and Ian looked around embarrassed as he pulled him back up to his feet and then shyly hugged him

"Take care, buddy. I'll see you soon. While you're there, try to learn some horseback riding, you'd like it."

"As you command, my lord," Kirha said huskily.

The blonde took Kirha by the arm, looking a bit nervous, and she led him down a side corridor. Ian watched them leave looking somewhat wistful.

"Come on," Doomsday said, "you're not getting sentimental over a Cat, are you?"

"Well actually it's the blonde," Ian replied, but Jason could tell that Ian was actually fond of Kirha and hated to see him go.

"Damn, the sight of a Cat riding a horse," Doomsday said. "I'd pay good money to see it."

Walking to the far end of the terminal, where private craft were docked, they turned down a side corridor and reached their gate. A light Zephyr trans-atmospheric transport was parked outside.

"Hey, it's Round Top!" Doomsday cried, and he raced up to the pilot and grabbed hold of his hand.

"Did you run emotional therapy for that guy?" Ian asked, watching a second display of joyful greeting on Doomsdays part in as many days.

"I guess he got kind of attached to our pups."

"Like hell I'm a pup, sir," Round Top announced, coming up to shake Jason's hand

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

Jason turned and saw a slender gray-haired man, wearing a simple pair of flight coveralls, approaching them. He looked vaguely familiar and then he realized that it was Tolwyn's old steward from the Concordia.

"Johnston, isn't it?" Jason asked, and the man nodded.

"I think you're the last for this load," Johnston announced. "Why don't we get aboard?"

Jason picked his bag back up.

"And might I add, gentlemen, that it'd be best, for now, to drop your old noms de guerre."

The group followed Johnston out the door and scrambled aboard the Zephyr. Johnston secured the rear hatch and went up to the forward controls. Putting on a headset he called in to the tower for clearance, powered up the engines, and turned the ship to head for the runway. The Zephyr gained the launch track, did a short fifty-yard roll and then nosed up, soaring up on a sixty-degree climb.

Ian looked around the cabin and checked over the half dozen other passengers crammed into the small plane and realized that several of them looked familiar.

"Vanderman from Tiger's Claw, isn't it?" Ian asked, and the old pilot sitting across from him on the other side of the aisle nodded and shook his hand.

"Hell, I thought you bought it when the Claw got it, Vanderman asked.

"I got transferred off on a two week furlough the day before she got hit," Ian replied, a flicker of sadness crossing his features at the mention of his old ship.

"Luck of the draw I guess," Ian mused, "if it hadn't been for the furlough I'd have died with the rest of my friends.

"But what about you," he asked, forcing a smile, "I saw you go down over Draga just before we pulled out."

"I ejected and made it down to the surface, mostly in one piece. Stranded for a couple of years," Vanderman said, "kind of wild and woolly down there, with the carnivores and such."

"I've heard of them," Ian interjected. "It was a famous hunting reserve of the Cats and used for the old rites of coming of age."

"Well, it sure as hell aged me," Vanderman replied, "dodging the local denizens and Kilrathi patrols until a raiding unit dropped in for a visit and I got picked up. I tell you it was an experience."

With that he unbuttoned his shirt collar and pulled out a chain. Dangling from the end of it was a gleaming serrated tooth several inches long.

"I heard the Cats take the tooth of a nalga as a trophy. I got one with a bow that I made and hung on to it, figured if I finally got captured it might make me look a bit better in their eyes. Actually I'm kind of attached to it now."

"It doesn't look like much of a tooth," Ian retorted. "Why it ain't much bigger than my little finger. Now on Farnsworth's World there, you'll get big teeth. I remember . . ."

"The owner of this little gem's got claws bigger than your arm," Vanderman interrupted, "and you got your choice out of which of four heads to pull the tooth from.

Ian, knowing he'd get outclassed in a tale swap, fell silent.

The Zephyr quickly boosted up on a high trajectory jump, so that the breadth of England, from the Irish to the North Sea was clearly in view.

The shuttle reached apogee over Scotland and then started its