by Peter Telep
"We'll talk on the way."
Blair grimaced inwardly, then joined the man. They walked in silence for several steps, then Blair blurted out, "Sir, if this is about my loyalty-"
"You might be a Pilgrim half-breed, Lieutenant, but you've earned my trust. You killed Admiral Wilson, a traitor to the Confederation. You could have just as easily killed me."
Though barely into his twenties, Blair felt a heart attack coming on, one inspired by Gerald's forthrightness. Wilson had forced Blair and Gerald into a duel, and Blair had chosen to throw his blade at Wilson-not out of any particular love for Gerald, but because it had been the right thing to do, a less bad choice in a flawed universe. "Sir, I was just doing my duty, sir."
"Yes, you were. And now I have a particularly delicate assignment for you that requires your faith in the unified chain of command and what you know your duty should be, what it always should be. This assignment will be compartmentalized. You will report only to me."
Ah, yes, Gerald's forthrightness had been born of an ulterior motive. Moreover, Blair thought it odd that the man would brief him on some covert op while walking through a corridor outside the pilots' quarters. Then again, anyone who spotted them might think the captain was just making his daily inspection and had run into Lieutenant Blair. Given recent events and Blair's heritage, the two should have a lot to talk about.
"It's no secret that the commodore and I, well, we have political differences," Gerald continued. "Despite that, I respect his knowledge of Pilgrim tactics and theology. But I've just received some disturbing information."
"Sir, for what it's worth, Commodore Taggart is one of the most skilled and loyal Confederation officers I know. Sure, I'm biased because we're both Pilgrims, but we're as loyal to the Confederation as any pure-blood Terran. Admiral Tolwyn trusts Paladin, sir. Why can't you?"
"Because our esteemed commodore had a five-year relationship with Captain Aristee. According to my sources, she broke it off."
Though difficult, Blair feigned his surprise. Paladin had told him a little about his relationship with Aristee. They had met when she had been temporarily assigned to Intell as part of her XO training. Paladin had described her as "a woman of sinister beauty," and "a siren who made me drunk and silly in love, then flitted off with my broken soul." Blair enjoyed the way the commodore spoke, his taste in reading evident in his speech. But how the hell had Gerald discovered this with the Tiger Claw deep in interstellar space? And if Paladin learned that Gerald knew, then Paladin might blame the leak on Blair. Better to go to the commodore and tip him off before word reached him through another channel. But who had told Gerald? Had Paladin told anyone else on board?
"You don't look so surprised," Gerald added.
"I don't think the commodore's personal life is any of my business, sir."
"I figured he told you. And your expression confirms that. I want to believe that Admiral Tolwyn sent him because he had that relationship and might be able to second-guess her. But I think the admiral is taking a great risk with my ship and her crew. It's safe to assume that when push comes to shove, Mr. Taggart will attempt to arrest Captain Aristee rather than kill her. Would you agree with that assumption?"
Blair looked into his mind's eye and saw Paladin's somber expression when he spoke of Aristee. "Sir, I believe that Commodore Taggart would make the right decision." Blair wished he could have said that again; the words sounded halfhearted. In truth, he could not be sure what Paladin would do. And the doubt he felt now was exactly what Gerald wanted him to feel.
They paused a moment as two pilots from Fourth Squadron saluted them, then moved by. Blair looked after the jocks, who returned curious glances.
"It seems that the commodore is the best-and the worst- man for the job," Gerald said. "While I trust his desire to find Captain Aristee, once we do, I need you to act in the best interests of the Confederation. Do you understand what I'm saying, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, you want me to spy on the commodore?"
"I didn't say that."
"I see. Then I assure you, sir, that I will act accordingly."
"Very well, then." He muttered a quick, "Lieutenant," then spun on his heel and double-timed back toward the lift.
Blair saluted the man's back, released a loud sigh, then walked the fifteen meters to his hatch. He keyed in the code and stepped inside.
Maniac had returned to bed after the jump, to continue sleeping off his dancing and drinking binge. Blair settled back onto his own cot, closed his eyes, and considered what Gerald had told him. He wanted very badly to believe that Paladin would do the right thing, but when it came to lost love, didn't most people act foolishly? But he's a mature, seasoned officer, Blair reminded himself. He knows how to callous himself when necessary.
But what would I do if I were in his position? What if Angel and I had a long-standing relationship, then ten years later I discover that she's a traitor to the Confederation and I'm charged with the duty to bring her in? Wouldn't I want to save her somehow? Wouldn't I want to put aside all of the bullshit politics and save her?
Blair jerked as he realized that he would. And maybe it was safer to assume that Paladin had a personal agenda. Sure, he could confront the man, but-
Another thought snared him. He bolted out of the cot, went to the terminal, and dialed up the commodore's quarters. A handful of seconds later, the man leaned toward the camera, shirtless and bleary-eyed. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"Sir-" Blair choked up as the enormity of what he was about to do hit home. "Gerald is aware of you and Captain Aristee. He says he has sources who informed him."
"And he's recruited you to be a spy. Am I correct, Lieutenant?"
The commodore's quick deduction and ironic tone put Blair at ease. "Yes, sir. I just want to do my duty, sir."
"And so you shall. You may spy all you wish. I have nothing to hide. And I take no offense."
"Thank you, sir. Sorry for bothering you. Oh, just one more thing. Who do you think are Gerald's sources?"
"Don't know. A few people aboard must have been aware and finally came forward. Could have been anyone who knew us back then. Just bad luck. I figured it would eventually get out, but I had no intention of volunteering it."
"Yes, sir. Sorry again." He switched off the terminal.
"You talking to your mystic Pilgrim mentor again?" Maniac asked through a yawn.
"I was talking to Commodore Taggart, who, if he heard you call him that, would tear you a new asshole."
"You're a bit sensitive. Feeling achy and bloated, too?"
Blair returned to his cot. "I feel like a serial killer with a fetish for blond pilots."
"Speaking of fetishes, did you know that Zarya-"
"I don't want to hear it," Blair snapped.
Later that day, at the Combat Assessment Meeting, Angel flung Maniac's ego around the room, bounced it off bulkheads, then shoved it back down his throat for the stunt he had pulled over Lethe. That didn't surprise Blair. But when she turned and gave him a similar tongue-lashing for going after Maniac, embarrassment stole his voice. He finally said, "Ma'am. I didn't want to abandon my wingman."
"Don't twist the situation, Lieutenant. Your wingman had abandoned you. You should have remained in position and continued supplying fire support for us. You failed to do that. And while the captain has made you a command-approved wing commander, I've yet to see any evidence that you deserve the job. You're not on your team, Mr. Blair. You're on ours. Thought you knew that. Thought wrong."
"Ma'am, if Lieutenant Marshall's fighter became disabled within the atmosphere, there wouldn't have been anyone close enough to retrieve him."
"I wonder if Lieutenant Marshall thought about that before abandoning his position?" She leered at Maniac, who flushed and sprang to his feet.
"I was thinking about all those little kids out playing in their yards. They would look up, see a bright light, then burst into flames. Lots of little bodies running around, turning into crispy crit
ters. I know all about regs and duty, ma'am. And if you want to dismiss me for being insubordinate and put me on report, I'll understand. But when it comes down to it, our job is to save lives. And for one goddamned time I'd like to do that without getting my ass chewed out."
To Blair's surprise, the rest of squadron broke into spontaneous applause. Cheddarboy and Gangsta actually stood, inspiring Bishop and Sinatra to join them. Hunter, no friend of Maniac's, remained seated, as did Blair and Zarya, though Blair expected Zarya to stand. He guessed that she didn't want to thrust her affection for Maniac into Angel's face.
"All right, sit down," Angel ordered. "That's a very moving little rap you got there, Maniac. I can't ignore the fact that you stopped the torpedo and did save lives. And I can't ignore the fact that you disobeyed orders to do so. Which is why I'm confining you to quarters until we reach the Blytheheart jump point. No visitors other than your bunkmate. You'll be allowed out for sim work and briefings. That's it. I think you need the time to consider your future as a Confederation aviator. Any questions?"
"Just one," Maniac said.
Here it comes, Blair thought.
"Have you ever disobeyed a direct order so that you could do what you knew was right?"
"Yes, Lieutenant. More than once. And each time I paid the price. As will you."
"This is bullshit," Maniac mumbled.
"What was that?" Angel asked.
Manic shook his head disgustedly and waved off her question.
After the meeting, Blair remained in his seat while the others filed out. Angel gathered up her files and data disks, then noticed him. "You have a question, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, ma'am. How are you?"
"Haven't we been here before?"
He got to his feet and homed in on her. "You seem tired. Angry, even. Anything I can do?"
She gazed longingly at the exit hatch. "Unless you have something regarding the assessment, Lieutenant, you'll have to cut me loose."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am. I think something's bothering you, and you're taking it out on me and Maniac." Blair didn't believe that, but he suspected he would get a rise out of her.
And the deep lines of incredulity that mapped out her face confirmed his suspicions. "The only thing bothering me right now is Maniac's attitude. And yours. You seem to think that only end results count, that the chain of command doesn't matter, that protocol doesn't matter. You should've become mercenaries instead of military pilots. I finally got around to reading your flight school evals. They're pretty good, which surprises me given your recent behavior. You might've had them fooled, but you can't fool me. You told me that you had a reputation for being a by-the-book flyer. What happened out there?"'
"Maniac's a major pain in the ass, but I still kind of like him. If I had a sister, I wouldn't let him near her, but when it comes to the Kilrathi, he's a pit bull on my wing. Yeah, he's unpredictable and unreliable. But he racks up the kills. And maybe when it comes down to it, surviving is the only thing that counts."
"If he doesn't square himself away, he won't survive. Start preparing for that now."
He narrowed his gaze. "Is that what you're doing with me?"
"Are we finished, Lieutenant?" Angel checked her watch-phone. "I have a stack of fire-to-kill ratio reports waiting for me."
"Why do you keep shutting me out?"
"Good day, Lieutenant."
Blair noticed a definite slump to her shoulders as she took off. He thought back to the time he had gone to her quarters and she had told him how she had gotten close to Lieutenant Commander Vince "Bossman" Chen. They hadn't been lovers but the best of friends. Then Bossman had died, and she had lost faith in relationships and distrusted getting close to anyone. She had instituted an unwritten policy that said those who died in combat never existed. If you asked after a fallen comrade, the response would be "Who?" Blair had taken exception to the policy, and when Rosie Forbes had died, he believed that he had penetrated Angel's shield and had made her feel the pain of Forbes's loss. You couldn't just bury your grief. You had to deal with it and use it to make you stronger. No complex psychiatry involved there.
But maybe he hadn't changed Angel at all. Maybe she wouldn't get close because she still feared having to deal with that loss. He understood her response, but he couldn't let her push him away when he believed that behind her mental bulwark lay untapped feelings for him. He wasn't being immodest. He had seen the look in her eyes when they had revived her after she had ejected in her pod. He had moved in for the kiss, and she had been willing to accept it. Then a medic had come between them. Now her own fear created an equally powerful barrier.
"And she escapes once more," Merlin said, sitting a meter away on a recliner of air, his boots propped up on an invisible footrest. "I've quite enjoyed sitting here, watching you stumble around her like an adolescent. Call me an armchair Romeo, but I think you're going about this all wrong. I could fill you in on my observations of Commander Deveraux, but you refuse to take any more advice. So here we are, you with the long face, me with the new pastime."
"All right. You think you've got a clue about women? Tell me." Blair folded his arms over his chest.
The hologram wearily pushed himself up from his recliner, groaning as he massaged the small of his back, then stood. "Begin, well, at the beginning. Jeanette Deveraux became an orphan during the Pilgrim war. She doesn't know what side her parents were on or who killed them. Maybe it's a bit presumptuous of me, but I hacked into the worldcom database before we left for Mylon. I performed a search of the interplanetary genealogy database."
Blair felt a tightness in his gut. "You did?"
"I thought maybe I could gather some information for you. That way you could use it as an excuse to meet with her."
"She told me she had already searched for records of her parents' deaths. Those files were destroyed during the war."
"Ah, according to some sources they were. But I used military access codes programmed by your father to track down travel records for one Pierre Christian Deveraux, her father. He and his wife Marie Sousex Deveraux left Belgium and traveled to Dewey Station Five near Pluto, which subsequently fell under Pilgrim attack. The rest is a bit disturbing, but I think you should know. I think she should know." He paused to gather breath, one of the more subtle but interesting features of his program which made him seem all the more human. "The station's south wing succumbed to accidental fire from a strike-carrier trying to target a Pilgrim slo-ship. Fourteen hundred civilians were killed, including Angel's parents. Angel herself had been there. Her name appears on a survivor list. Her father's will gave instructions for her to be shipped back to Belgium and placed in the care of the Agnus Eve Orphanage."
"I think she was four or five years old when that happened," Blair said. "I guess she doesn't remember it or she blocked it out. Why didn't her parents have her turned over to relatives?"
"I don't know. Her father has a brother living on Mars. And her mother has two sisters. Couldn't find anything else on them yet. Still checking."
"Stop. This is like digging through her private stuff. She finds out and… Just stop."
"Okay. But you should know that Confederation Naval Command Authority classified and buried the records of her parents' deaths. As in any war, incidents of friendly fire will occur, and responsible parties will often do everything they can to create plausible deniability."
"I don't think she has any particular love for Confederation military brass, and I don't think she'd be surprised by the cover-up."
"Probably not."
All of this talk about Angel's past suddenly made Blair wonder how and why she had become a Confederation pilot. "You know, there are a billion other possibilities for her, but she suffers with us on this aging bucket. She's certainly not in it for the glory."
"Orphan? No real family? C'mon, Christopher."
"If she's looking for a family, she's found one. But she's still a loner. And a mystery."
"She does like Ital
ian food," Merlin said, flapping his brow. "And according to her medical profile, she has no known allergies."
"You know what? Thank you for reminding me where this comes from. I'm not listening to you. In fact, I'm not going to tell her anything. It's not our business."
"But you can pretend you don't know. Just give her the access codes so she can discover it on her own."
"And rip the scabs from her wounds? I don't think so."
"Then just kiss her, you idiot. You'll either get smacked or laid, though both would be-"
"Switch off," Blair ordered with a huff. He stomped into the corridor, chiding himself for entertaining Merlin's suggestion.
By the time Blair reached Angel's hatch, the notion of barging in and taking her into his arms felt so powerful that he lingered out-side her door, trembling and listening for sounds from inside. Then he remembered her saying she had reports to make; she was probably in her squadron commander's office. He rolled his eyes and hauled himself toward his quarters.
When the hatch opened, he found Angel stripped down to bra and panties and standing near his bunk. She wrapped an arm around his neck, dragged him inside, then kissed him hard and twirled her tongue around his. The hatch cycled shut, and her fingers fumbled for the buttons of his utilities. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maniac's empty bunk and figured that Angel had somehow taken care of that technicality.
"Lieutenant," she moaned after breaking their embrace. "What we're about to do is classified, compartmentalized, and highly erotic."
"Ma'am, are you sure that-"
She put a finger to his lips. "Just get naked."
10
VEGA SECTOR,DRY QUADRANT,CS TIGER CLAW.BLYTHEHEART JUMP POINT.
2654.088.0400 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME
For once Blair sat through a jump with no intention of reaching out to find his mother. The secrets of being a Pilgrim no longer seemed important compared to the events of the past five days. He shifted in his jump seat and fought off the shit-eating grin that threatened to burst across his face.
Making love to Lieutenant Commander Jeanette Deveraux would stand as one of the most memorable experiences of his life. They had spent that entire day together, beginning in his quarters, then moving stealthily back to hers. He had explored every curve of her lithe, well-toned frame, and their bodies felt smooth and right together. In candlelight, they had swayed as one silhouette on the bulkhead, growing more hungry for each other as the hours wore on. They had kept silent, speaking with their hands, their eyes. The fire grew, and they had quivered, grimaced in ecstasy, and had fallen back, exhausted and gratified for their efforts.
