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The Stars at War
Table of Contents
CRUSADE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IN DEATH GROUND
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
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CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
PAUSE IN THE STORM
The Stars at War
David Weber & Steve White
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Crusade copyright © 1992 by David Weber & Steve White; In Death Ground copyright © 1997 by
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David Weber & Steve White
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-8841-5
Cover art by David Mattingly
First Megabook printing, August 2004
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Typeset by Bell Road Press, Sherwood, OR
Printed in the United States of America
CHAPTER ONE
Exiles' Return
"Is the zeget to your liking?"
Twenty-Sixth Least Claw of the Khan Khardanish'zarthan, Lord Talphon, combed his claws suavely
through his luxuriant whiskers, and his slit-pupilled eyes glinted across the table at his liaison officer.
"Yes, thank you, Captain. And it's quite well cooked, too."
Khardanish noted Lieutenant Johansen's teeth-hidden smile with approval, for Humans often forgot that
bared teeth were a challenge among his people. He knew Johansen had studied the
Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee carefully in preparation for this assignment, yet it was still gratifying to see
such awareness of proper behavior. Not that he was quite prepared to stop teasing his guest just yet.
"I am glad," he said, "and I apologize for how long the cooks took to grasp that you would truly prefer it
cooked."
"Not necessary, Captain. I console myself with the thought that a TFN chef would find it just as hard to
believe you would truly prefer it raw."
Khardanish allowed himself the snarling purr of a chuckle. It was remarkable how well he and Johansen
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had learned to read one another's nuances, particularly since neither had the proper vocal apparatus to
speak the other's language. Khardanish suspected he had drawn the Lorelei Patrol at least partly because
he understood Terran Standard English. There was much talk of new translating software, but the current
generation remained crude and imprecise . . . and used too much memory for a lowly destroyer, anyway.
The least claw had been less than enthusiastic when he heard about his new post. It was flattering for a
least claw to serve, in effect, as a small claw with his own squadron, but the Tenth Destroyer Squadron's
four old ships hardly constituted the Navy's cutting edge, nor did the Lorelei System qualify as a critical
sector. It was one of the very few systems the Khanate had succeeded in wresting from the Federation in
the First Interstellar War of two Orion centuries before, but the thoroughly useless star was hopelessly
indefensible (as the Terrans had proved in ISW-2), which, he suspected, was probably why the
Federation had permitted his people to keep it. Lorelei had no habitable planets, and only one of its six
warp points led to Orion territory; four led to Terran space, and the sixth led only to death, for no survey
ship had ever returned from its far terminus. His Znamae and her sisters were here purely to "show the
flag," as the Terrans put it.
Yet Khardanish had come to realize his duty held an importance too few of his fellows could appreciate.
Most agreed that when the Federation and Khanate allied against the Rigelians in the Third Interstellar
War, the Treaty of Valkha's assignment of liaison officers to all border patrols had made sense as a
means of defusing potential incidents. Far fewer would admit that the contact those liaison assignments
engendered remained equally desirable as a means of nurturing the still slow-growing mutual respect of
the star nations' warriors.
Khardanish himself was surprised by how genuinely fond of the lieutenant he had become. He would
never find Humans attractive. Their faces were flat; their ears were small, round, and set far too low; they
lacked any hint of a decent pelt; and the absence of the whiskers which were an Orion's pride made it
difficult to take them seriously. Even their males had only a soft, cub-like fuzz, but it was even worse in
the lieutenant's case. She was a female, and the long hair which framed her face only emphasized its total,
disgusting bareness. And if the Human custom of wearing body-shrouding clothing at all times was less
aesthetically objectionable—at least it hid their naked skins!—it still seemed . . . odd.
But Samantha Johansen had many qualities he admired. She was observant, intelligent, and keenly
sensitive to the inevitable differences between their cultures, and her military credentials were impressive.
The lieutenant was only fifty-three—twenty-eight, by her people's reckoning—but she had seen the
zeget. Her mess tunic bore the ribbon of the Federation's Military Cross, the Valkhaanair's equivalent,
which must have been hard to come by in the fifty Terran years of peace since ISW-3. Perhaps, he
speculated idly, she had been chosen for this duty by her superiors just as carefully as he was coming to
believe First Fang Lokarnah had chosen him?
"Ah, Saahmaantha!" he said now. "At times, you are too much like one of my own for comfort."
"I take that as a compliment, Captain," Johansen said, chewing another slice of zeget appreciatively. In
fact, she found it overly gamy, but it was a warrior's dish. The bear-like zeget was four furry meters of
raw fury, the most feared predator of the original Orion homeworld, and Least Claw Khardanish had
done her great honor by ordering it served.
"Do you?" Khardanish poured more wine. The Terran vintage was overly dry for his palate, but it had
been Johansen's gift, and he drank it with the pleasure she deserved of him. He tilted his glass, admiring
the play of light in the ruby liquid. "Then I will tell you something, Lieutenant. Do you know what we
Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee call our two wars with you?"
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"Yes, Captain," Johansen said softly. " 'The Wars of Shame.' "
"Precisely." He sipped delicately. "I find that apt even though we are now allies. We had twice the
systems, ten times the population, and a navy, and you had—what? A few dozen lightly-armed survey
vessels? Should not any warrior feel shame for losing to an enemy so much weaker than he?"
Johansen met his eyes calmly, and the least claw approved. Even among his own people, many would
have sought to hide their discomfort with some polite nothing; this Human merely waited.
"But you were not weaker where it mattered most, Saahmaantha," he said seriously. "For your people,
war was a matter for planning and discipline; for mine, it was a chance to win honor by individual
bravery. Your First Fang Aandersaahn lured us into traps, ambushed us, and massed his fire to burn us
down as we charged against him, and to the Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee those were coward's tactics.
My grandsire, the first Lord Talphon, fought in both Wars of Shame. He was an intelligent officer, one of
Varnik'sheerino's protégés, but even he thought your people's way of war fit only for chofaki. "
Johansen still said nothing, though her eyes flickered. Literally, the term meant "dirt-eaters"; figuratively, it
implied beings so lost to courage and honor they could not even recognize them as concepts.
"Yet I have read his journal many times, Saahmaantha, and he learned better." Khardanish watched his
guest relax. "He was not at Aklumar, but his ship was the sole survivor of the First Battle of Ophiuchi
Junction, and he fought in every major engagement of the Junction Campaign. By the end, he had learned
what your Federation Navy taught us so well; that the duty of a warrior must be to win , not to count
coup. So if you are like one of us, perhaps that is in part because my people have grown more like
yours. "
"And is that a good thing, Captain?" Johansen asked.
"Yes, Saahmaantha." He refilled her empty glass and raised his own to her in the Terran manner. "We
owe you much for teaching us there is no cowardice in forethought. Some might argue that point even
now—they remember only the shame of defeat and prefer still to think of Humans as chofaki —but my
grandsire died defending Tanama against the Rigelian First Fleet with a single Alliance task group, and his
Terran units died with him. None fled, and the names of their commanders are inscribed among my clan's
fathers and mothers in honor." He regarded Johansen levelly. "I believe he would approve of you."
"Your words do me honor, litter master," Johansen said quietly.
"True honor is in the heart which understands them, cubling," Khardanish returned the formality, then
twitched his tufted ears in humor. "But listen to us! We grow too grave, Lieutenant."
"Perhaps." Samantha sipped her own wine, leaning back from the low table on the cushions which
served Orions in lieu of chairs, then grinned wryly. "But if we're growing more like one another, we've
paid enough along the way, sir. This very system's history is proof of that.
Khardanish nodded. A hundred and fifty Orion years before, a Terran fleet in Lorelei had cut off and
trapped a third of the Khanate's battle-line. Forty years before that, an Orion flotilla had penetrated the
Terran frontier undetected during ISW-1 and surprised an entire Human colony fleet here. There had
been no survivors.
"Perhaps," he suggested dryly, "that is because we have always been alike in at least one regard,
Saahmaantha." His liaison officer raised an eyebrow in the Human expression of interrogation, and he
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