by Peter Telep
"But she managed to take out three cruisers and a destroyer- with no evidence that she used the hopper drive to do so. Considering that she has only one ship, I find that unbelievable. Or has she formed a battle group? But where would she get the ships and the resources? All of our vessels are accounted for."
"She has another weapon, Richard. Access the datanet when you get a chance. Search for Pilgrims, extrakinesis or hypersensory perception. You'll find it interesting."
"I found it interesting when 1 studied it as a cadet. But there were only a few Pilgrims with that power, and using it to kill was against their edicts, so most of them stayed out of the war. I thought we wiped out the ones who fought."
"A lot more fought than history records. And we didn't kill them all. The escapees have had children by now. If we look at the Windmar's analysis of the debris, we'll find Kilrathi bodies with crushed organs, missing eyes, and other evidence of gravitic manipulation."
"And they're powerful enough to destroy four Kilrathi capital ships? My God___"
"During the war, they were even stronger. But the power drains them. That's when we struck."
"So if Aristee arrives in Earth orbit with her hopper drive online, she can use her people to stall us long enough to engage the drive and draw Earth into the well."
"Clever woman. Her plan would've been even more effective if Bill Wilson's timing had been better. He should have delayed his deal with the Kilrathi. They shouldn't have attacked Pegasus until Aristee's hopper drive was modified. That way if Wilson failed, Aristee could move in quickly and take out Earth. I'm speculating here, but I think the cats wouldn't wait, and Wilson got cocky enough to take on the whole mission himself. He failed, and Aristee was left ill-prepared to accept the baton. But she's running with it now."
"The Halstov battle group is at Port Hedland right now," Bel-legarde said, pointing to a cluster of blue orbs on the holograph. "Let's move it to intercept. Between us and the cats, we'll take her out."
"You're forgetting our order to recover that ship intact." He took a deep breath. "Now Richard, what I'm about to tell you is highly confidential and could get me court-martialed, but the time has come for you to know. Just after Aristee attacked Mylon Three, the space marshal persuaded the joint chiefs to recover the hopper drive at all costs. I mean at all costs. Aristee's targets were considered expendable. I viewed the holo of Gregarov's meeting with the joint chefs, and her fervor was, in a word, unsettling. So I've been doing a little digging since this all began. Called in a favor at Confed Intelligence, and my source just came through." Tolwyn took a step closer and lowered his voice. "For the past three years Ms. Gregarov has been receiving her-eyes-only intelligence reports regarding the Pilgrims' construction of the hopper drive. The system's components were assembled on all five of the enclaves and on McDaniel. Pilgrim engineers worked in isolation, and only one group knew how to assemble the drive. That group is on board the Olympus. Most of the other Pilgrims who worked on the components have been taken into custody."
"So Gregarov stood by and did nothing while the Pilgrims assembled the drive?"
"She wanted them to build it. Pilgrims were the original engineers, and the unit often requires a Pilgrim to assist in the operation. She figured she'd take possession before they could use it. Trouble is, the Pilgrims realized there was a leak and fed misinformation to Intell. Aristee got the drive online before Gregarov could react."
The magnitude of what the space marshal had done sent Bel-legarde toward the bulkhead. He raised his fist, thought better of slamming it on the durasteel. "She sat there in the wardroom and tried to blame us for civilian deaths. The blood's on her hands. Did she know about Bill Wilson as well?"
"I'm not sure. In any event, you and I have new orders for which I take full responsibility. If we can't confiscate that drive, then no one else can have it." Tolwyn looked sadly to the deck. "And if that means destroying the ship and losing two of our own, then so be it."
The hatch suddenly opened, and Space Marshal Gregarov carried her glare into the map room. "Lieutenant Wilks just summoned me here. When I asked him to report, he provided me with a lengthy description of a message forwarded from the Barnicket Light. Why wasn't I informed sooner?"
She had directed her question to Tolwyn, but Bellegarde jumped all over it. "Why weren't we informed of your decision to allow the Pilgrims to build a hopper drive?"
"Richard, this is neither the time nor the-"
"I think it is," Bellegarde boldly corrected. "I think the space marshal owes us an explanation-and an apology."
Gregarov lifted a derisive grin. "I heard you weren't much of a diplomat, Mr. Bellegarde. I got a taste of that in the wardroom, but now I really see what they mean. Guess the bottle can do that."
He opened his mouth to launch a retort.
"You can't blame this crisis on me," she went on. "But you have no conception of the forces at work here."
"Then educate me."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."
"Ma'am?" Tolwyn said, slipping between them. "It's highly likely that Aristee will get that drive modified and head back to Earth to create a gravity well that will consume planet. The Tiger Claw and the Fosubius battle group are already standing by there. I've left the Oregon and Mitchell Hammock at Nether-anya. We'll join the Claw and post our battle group here to maintain the no-fly zone."
Gregarov swung her head toward the holograph gleaming above them. "When you look at the stars like this, they seem… I don't know… deceptive. You don't realize that billions of people are out there living on those dots." She faced Tolwyn, her eyes welling up. "geoff, you have to believe me when I say I didn't know so many would die. None of us did."
"You gambled. You lost. Now the bill's come due." Tolwyn raised a brow, then hustled toward the hatch.
"Next time gamble with your own life." Bellegarde didn't wait for her reply. He double-timed into Tolwyn's shadow, leaving Gregarov alone with her remorse.
Which wouldn't change a damned thing now.
Never before had Admiral Vukar watched so many brave warriors plummet to their deaths. The Pilgrims had squeezed their organs or had forced them to gouge out their eyes or even their hearts. The mutated apes had dishonored him and his clan on a scale once unimaginable. A single dreadnought escorted his flagship now, a single dreadnought depleted of its fighters.
They continued pursuing the supercruiser, and Tactical Officer Makorshk had twice during the past fourteen standard days led a team charged with lightening their load and increasing their velocity. Perhaps they could narrow the gap enough to make one last assault on the supercruiser. Still, during their last strike, they had thought that the Pilgrims with telekinetic-like powers would be recovering from destroying the cruisers; he and Makorshk had not figured that more Pilgrims waited in reserve, and those fanatical apes had effortlessly plucked his last cruiser and the destroyer from the sky.
At the moment, more Pilgrims could be standing by, waiting for them to make a move. No, Vukar would not recklessly throw away his warriors' lives, despite the honor of dying in battle and the heat of the blood frenzy that left him tense and sweating at the end of each day. There had to be a way to disable that lone ship and take possession without springing the enemy's trap.
"Kalralahr?"
Vukar stirred in his meditation chair, then reached to the comm display's control panel. Makorshk stared back at him, the folds of his face loose and forming an expression of despair. "We've jettisoned the last from engineering and crew's quarters, but we've only brought velocity up to one-two-nine KPS. The drive's beginning to superheat. The Kot'Akri reports the same. Our prey continues to lead by nearly one hundred and eighty thousand kilometers. Ion emissions remain stable. We have a distinct trail."
"But we won't get close enough to launch another ship-to-ship assault. It is a physical impossibility."
"Yes, but we do have two weapons left. Our fighters and our Skipper missiles. We've gi
ven the Pilgrims too much time already. They'll jump soon. We're at maximum velocity and as close as we'll get. The time has come."
Vukar drew nutrient gas through his broad nostrils and exhaled in a burst. "If we send fighters, they'll simply kill our pilots with their minds. And if we launch Skipper missiles, we won't disable the ship-we'll destroy it. Perhaps no one is meant to have that drive."
"It may take a few hours, but we can replace the warheads in our Skippers with low-level explosives and program them to lock on to ion engines. The photon cloaks should help to get them close enough. Fighter interdiction will be the Pilgrims' only way to stop them."
"What makes you believe our Skippers can evade their counter-assault?"
"We can launch our fighters to keep theirs busy. We outnumber them nearly three-to-one. But most of our pilots won't make it back. They'll either run out of fuel or exceed the ten-hour life support limit."
"Or have their hearts crushed, their eyes torn out."
"We have no defense against that, but we cannot shame ourselves and our clan. If we die, we die with honor. Perhaps you believe that you've already sent too many of the hrai to their deaths. But Kalralahr, not a single life was wasted-all fought with honor until the end. So should we."
"You sound more like an elder than a tactical officer," Vukar mused. "It seems you've found your way in a changing universe. And you remind me of my own."
"Kalralahr, I knew that one day we would embrace in death. Whether it be here or on the challenge ground hardly matters. Know that I've despised you to the core. But you have done something no other officer would: you let me speak, and you listened. For that, I owe you my life, and there is no one else more worthy to receive it."
Vukar scrutinized the young warrior, probing for insincerity but discovering only a stalwart commitment to the words. Makorshk had come a long way, and Vukar felt even more justified in delaying the challenge. "Give the order. Modify our Skipper missiles. Prepare our fighters for launch. I'll be here or in my quarters. Alert me when the time comes."
Makorshk bowed and reached to end the link. Leaning back in his meditation chair, Vukar considered what he would do if this final assault failed. Any other kalralahr would not entertain the possibility of life after such a disgrace. Vukar's duty would be to return home and commit zu'kara before the clan elders. But Makorshk's sense of independence had become infectious, and Vukar suddenly believed that failure should not cost him his life…
"After all of this, after all that's happened, we've changed nothing."
Blair sat on the edge of the cot and glanced idly around the sick bay. He had spent the past two weeks recovering with the others in the long room lined with too many bunks and filled with too many nasty smells. His body temperature had dropped five degrees and hadn't risen for nearly ten days. A non-Pilgrim might have died from such a long period at hypothermic levels, but Blair's physiology had kept him alive. Barely. He finally turned to Karista, who sat next to him and stared blankly across the room. "Did you hear what I said?"
She nodded. "Sounds like you've given up."
"What else can we do? She's getting her hopper drive ready as we speak. How are we supposed to stop that while we're under guard?" He raised his head toward the two Marines posted just outside the open hatch.
"I don't know." She stood with a sigh of frustration. "Today they're moving you back to the brig. Our esteemed captain gave me the honor of escorting you. I almost wish she had killed me. Maybe she already has. The guilt… it's a slow poison. I tossed away everything I believed in."
"No, you didn't."
"The others needed me during the attack. While I was helping you, I was also back in. Some of them were like you-they wanted to feel too much. They would've died."
"Why did you wait so long to tell me?"
"It's my problem, not yours. But I'm weak. I guess I need your help now."
"You don't need me, and you didn't do anything wrong."
"I did exactly what she wanted. I sold out." Karista crossed to the opposite cot and sat with a huff. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
Blair closed his eyes, and, reaching out with his mind, he moved beside her, slid an arm of gravity over her shoulders, and held her close. "You're someone amazing. And I am honored to have you as my pair."
Murmurs came from near the hatch, followed quickly by two distinct rounds of conventional gunfire that echoed violently through the bay. Blair opened his eyes as the two Marine guards slumped to the deck, wearing bloody jewels on their foreheads. William Santyana stepped over them, turning his pistol on a medic seated at a bank of monitors near the hatch.
"Please," the medic said, raising her hands.
"Get back," Santyana ordered, waving his pistol toward the rear of the bay.
The medic had no trouble complying.
"What are you doing?" Blair asked Santyana. "This isn't going to work. We already played this out. We get to the flight deck, launch, and they shoot us down."
"We're not going to the flight deck, Mr. Blair. The hopper drive is almost ready. We'll be jumping to Sol within the hour. Look, I never wanted this job in the first place. And I'm supposed to be retired. But I'll be damned if I sit around and let this bitch kill more people. We're going down to engineering. I want you and Karista to keep those engineers busy-give them a mental itch they can't scratch. I'll take care of the drive."
Blair looked for Karista's reaction. She looked impassive but did get to her feet.
"What are you waiting for?" Santyana asked him. "Should have your sea legs back by now."
"Yeah," Blair moaned, then tightened the sash on his Pilgrim robe, slid into his sandals, and started for the hatch to retrieve one of the Marines' rifles. He scooped up the weapon and turned to encounter a familiar, cocky grin.
"Long time, no see, Ace. Looks like push has come to shove, and we'll really see where your loyalty's at." Maniac jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Blair's chest. "Don't let me influence you in any way."
"I won't," Blair said, then slapped the barrel away. "You look like shit."
Maniac rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. "It's called being locked in a supply room for two weeks-my reward for racking up a dozen kills. They let me out to shit and shower. That's it. Believe it or not, I asked about you. They wouldn't tell me jack. I should have went back to my cell." He crossed to pick up the second Marine's rifle. He thrust it toward Karista, who kept her arms at her sides. "C'mon, sweetheart. You need some firepower. Or are you going to use that…" He fluttered his fingers near his temple.
She sneered and pushed past him.
"What'd I say?"
Blair shook his head in disgust. "She's not some carnival freak."
"With an ass like that? Of course not."
Santyana, who had skulked along the corridor to reach the first intersection, waved them forward. Maniac shouldered the second rifle and charged ahead of Blair.
"We have to get by the torpedo launch bays, pilots' quarters, environmental controls, and the aft storage area," Santyana said. "We'll drop anyone who gets in the way. Do not hesitate. Understood?"
Blair glanced back to Karista. "You don't have to-"
"It's all right," she said firmly, perhaps more for her own benefit than his.
"Coffee break's over," Maniac said. "It's not like no one else heard those shots or that medic's not going to call for help. Let's haul butt."
Santyana took point, with Blair and Maniac two meters back in flanking positions. Karista kept tightly behind Blair, and he felt the necessity of protecting her tighten his muscles. They reached a stairwell without incident and ventured down into the torpedo launch bays. Massive conduits stretched overhead, with the multicolored tubes and the loaders themselves off to their right. A young specialist lifted his head from a loader's display panel.
His last act.
The poor boy took a 2.3mm caseless projectile the hard way, and Santyana did not bat an eye. Four other specialists raised their hands from touchpa
ds as the quartet jogged by. Maniac fired a round into one of the control units, which reacted with a sizzle and a brief puff of smoke. The specialist near it shrieked and shined the deck with her rump.
They forged on through the bay, nearly slipping on a freshly scrubbed floor and winding through narrow passages made even narrower by the intestine-like rubber ducts mounted to the bulkheads. Somewhere behind them, a klaxon rang out and wound Blair's nerves a little tighter. Another hatch leading to a stairwell came up quickly. They filed into it, beat a chaotic rhythm on the durasteel, then finally emerged into a corridor lined on both sides with hatches: the pilots' quarters.
"Here's where we catch a break," Maniac said. "This shouldn't be a secured area."
But he had spoken too soon.
Three Pilgrim Marines rounded the corner of an intersecting passage, their movements tight, deliberate.
Santyana and Maniac dove for the bulkhead to their left, while Blair dropped to one knee. "Down," he instructed Karista.
"Hold your fire!" Maniac shouted. "We surrender."
The three Marines spread out and cautiously advanced, their knees slightly bent, their rifles held high and fixed on Santyana,
Maniac, and Blair. "Weapons to the deck. Now," the lead Marine instructed, her face growing more flush by the second. Barely moving his lips, Blair whispered, "Karista, we have
"Shhh. I know. Close your eyes."
He left himself crouching on the floor, and in his thoughts glided up to the Marines with Karista at his side. She glanced at him, the pain and resignation renewed in her eyes. "We don't have to kill them. Watch." She shifted up to the lead Marine and placed a hand on the woman's chest plate. The Marine gasped, dropped her weapon, and reached for her throat even as Karista shifted to the next and repeated.
Blair went to the third Marine and touched the armor, imagining a force that would partially constrict the Pilgrim's airway. The guy's breath came in a weird crackle, he tugged at his collar, then fell back toward the bulkhead.
