by Peter Telep
And the note. Had she received the note? The Diligent's comm computer had reported a successful transmission. He wondered what she thought of it. He shouldn't have written the "L" word. He had probably frightened her. What a spectacularly foolish thing he had done. Well, it could have been worse. He could have listened to Merlin; then again, he would have someone else to blame if he lost her.
Why was he so afraid of losing her? What about her intrigued him so much? Her raw beauty and strong will had initially attracted him, but what now kept him rapt? Was it her pain? The emptiness he had already tried to fill? Did he want to save her from self-destruction? Or did he want to show her that chivalry still existed despite the years and distances? He should be with her for the right reasons, but what were they? He couldn't just be her savior. She would close up, resent him, because needing him would make her confront her own weaknesses, and while she could do that, the reminder would only bring her more pain.
"… and you should have seen the look on my crew chief's face when the canopy opens and up pops Casey's head. I tell him that I caught her trespassing in my cockpit and that I'm turning her over to security immediately." Maniac chuckled over the memory, then his voice died off into the silence. "C'mon, Blair. You gotta admit that's funny."
"Uh-huh."
"What's the matter? Ain't you ever been locked up for a week aboard a supercruiser taken over by Pilgrims?" He snorted. "I
know this sucks. It really sucks. I bet Taggart's up in the wardroom right now, eating like a king. Aristee's probably won him over already."
"No way. He's up there convincing her to stand down," Blair countered, wishing his words were fact.
"I ain't saying he's a traitor. She could've easily drugged him. He's Intell and privy to a lot of data that she'd love to have. Know what? I'm convinced she's done that. Otherwise, he would have already come down to see us. He's either drugged or suddenly doesn't care. Or maybe I am saying he's a traitor."
"Paladin's no turncoat. He's more loyal to the Confederation than you."
"Then I hope his loyalty buys us a ticket out of this hole." A solid and familiar thump sounded from the wall that adjoined their cells. As he did at least once every day, Maniac had beat his fist on the steel. "Hey, guards?"
Someone approached, but the footsteps sounded a bit lighter than those of the guards, whose passage Blair had come to know well. He sprang from the bunk and gripped the bars of his cell, imagining for the nth time that he had the strength to bend durasteel. He jammed his head against the bars and squinted through the shadows vesturing the passage.
A figure came forward, his white robe extending to his shins and fluttering behind him with an almost underwater slowness. His face grew distinct, and Blair gasped. "Sir."
"Your ears must've been ringing," Maniac said.
Paladin arrived before Blair and gave a curt nod. "Lieutenant. How are you two doing?"
"We're all right," Blair answered. "They fed us well."
"If you call leftover rations a meal," Maniac qualified. "Probably scooped them out of waste can. Hey, Commodore? Where you been? And when the hell are we getting out?"
"It's complicated. And I'm not sure if you'll be getting out anytime soon. Aristee doesn't have enough personnel to assign a guard to you. It's easier for her to keep you here."
"While you get to stroll around the ship unguarded?" Maniac quickly followed. "Excuse me, sir, but I have a slight problem with that."
"She's got a guard on me. He's waiting at the hatch."
"You talk to her yet?" Blair asked.
"I've had several opportunities, Mr. Blair. Suffice it to say, I need many more."
"Question is, do we have that time? Where is she headed? And how many more people do you think she'll kill?"
"She's arranged to purchase supplies and take on more personnel at Aloysius Prime. She's having some trouble with the hopper drive, so I expect it'll take us a while before we get there. I'm not happy with that destination. Aloysius is in Robert's Quadrant, right on the Kilrathi border."
"You're not happy with that destination?" Maniac snapped. "Why don't you do something about it? That bitch will never stand down. We need to take this ship by force."
"Excellent idea," Blair said, feigning his enthusiasm. "The three of us will take on the entire crew. Or maybe you'd like to do that single-handedly? At least you'd have something other than sex to talk about."
"I'm flipping you the bird right now."
Paladin shifted to Maniac's cell. "Mr. Marshall, we may very well have to take this ship by force. And if we do, I expect that you will follow my orders without question—no matter what I tell you to do."
"At this point, sir, I'm most concerned with getting my particular ass off this particular ship. If we can save the Confederation in the interim, more power to us."
"Sir?" Blair interrupted. "Why didn't you come to see us sooner?"
"She's been forcing me to attend her con-crit sessions and suffer through a series of songs and conversations, a kind of exorcism of old ideas through music and speech. Your basic brainwashing in the guise of spiritual pursuit. It takes nearly five days to go through the first sequence."
"Maybe they drugged you," Maniac said. "Maybe you're just feeding us bullshit."
"I haven't been drugged. Tampering with the body in that way is strictly forbidden. That's a covenant in our favor. They want to win over only cognizant individuals since cognizance is a prerequisite of ascension."
"These people don't hang out in shuttleports, chanting and handing out flyers, do they?" Maniac gibed.
"Don't underestimate them, Mr. Marshall. If you do, you'll wind up chanting and distributing flyers yourself."
"Sir, I've never been a POW," Blair confessed. "That Kilrathi tattoo on your neck helps you remember that you were. I don't want to pry, but tell me this: How did you get through it? What did you do to keep yourself sane? It's only been a week, but I feel more tortured by the monotony than if they came down here and beat me. I guess I have too much time on my hands. I'm getting wire happy. So's Maniac. Pretty soon we'll do anything to escape, even if it gets us killed."
"I think you get through it by reaching down into yourself and finding a real reason to live. Why are you here, Mr. Blair? What is your purpose in this universe? Big questions. They might even sound ridiculous. But if you can discover the answers, it won't matter what they throw at you. When the Kilrathi took me, it was like having a window to hell. They know exactly what can kill a human. Exactly. That's just what I said in my debriefing. I spent two long years in captivity, but I made it through because I'm here to affect as many lives as I can. My life was never mine. It took me a long time to reconcile with that."
"To be honest, sir, I have no idea why I'm here. But I'll try to figure that out. Thanks."
"Gentlemen, I'll visit again soon. Just hang tight. Do the Confederation proud."
"Oh, we're doing it real proud sittin' here," Maniac muttered.
Ignoring the remark, the commodore drifted off, into the shadows.
Blair remained at the bars for several minutes after Paladin left. He played over the commodore's advice, but his thoughts seemed as imprisoned as his body. Maybe I'm just here to be a Confederation pilot. Maybe I don't have some higher purpose. Why do I even need one ?
Your purpose is with us.
The voice sent Blair recoiling from the bars to inspect his cell. She had spoken in his head. And it hadn't been during a jump. Who are you ?
I'm not a ghost. I'm not reading your mind. I'm just letting you read the script of my thoughts. My script is here, in this ship. Would you like to know me?
Yeah, I guess so. What do you want?
I'll come for you when I can.
Who are you?
No response.
"Who are you?"
"What?" Maniac asked.
Blair drew in a long breath, rubbed his eyes, then dropped onto his cot. "Nothing."
"Know what's gonna happen, Ace? The Conf
ed is going to pound this ship out of existence, and we'll be along for the ride. We're on death row."
"Hey, Maniac? What's your purpose in life?"
"Shit, that's easy. I'm here to strap on a starfighter and rack up as many kills as possible. I am a killing machine. I am population control. I am the final glimpse before eternity. Sivar loves me. I send him fresh Kilrathi souls."
"Seriously."
" Seriously . I am here to kill, kill, kill. And I'll give back to the universe by a making a few babies. But not any time soon. I need another decade or so of practice, with, of course, as many women as possible. You stand on your marble mountain and tell me I'm shallow. But I got no illusions about this. And if there is a supreme being, then I have to get credit for being exactly who I am. Love me. Hate me. But you have to respect that I know what I'm about. You? You keep turning back to this Pilgrim thing. So your mother was a Pilgrim. So what. Look at these people. Look at what they've done. You want to dial into this?"
Blair jerked himself off the cot and beat a fist into his palm. "Not all Pilgrims are like this. I wish somebody would teach me who they really are. Then maybe I'd know what I'm about. And so would you."
With a laugh, Maniac replied, "You're about fear. You're about confusion. You're about running. And it would make me feel a whole lot better if you were about kicking ass."
"Even if I were, what could we do about it? Try to pull off some pathetic diversion? You complain that you're sick, then the guard opens the door and you pound his ass? Then you open my cell, we take the guards' weapons, hightail it through the ship, and take Aristee at gunpoint? We're living this. It ain't some bad movie."
"We got nothing to lose. I say we try anyway." Blair threw up his hands. "Go ahead. You can add stupidity to what you're about."
Chapter 14
Vega Sector, Day Quadrant
Pephedro System Jump Point
Kis’Shak’Ar’Roc Battle Group
2654.098
0330 Hours Imperial Standard Time
Admiral Vukar sat rigid in his command chair, his gaze traveling intently from station to station as the Shak'Ar'Roc's bridge crew prepared to jump. His officers had just come off a five hour respite, and they appeared invigorated by the notion that they would once more pick up their quarry's scent. Every heart was in the hunt…
Tactical Officer Makorshk had predicted that the supercruiser would go to the Hell's Kitchen system, to a planet called Neth-eryana, to a Pilgrim enclave called Triune that stood directly in the supercruiser's last known trajectory. At tremendous risk, they had jumped back to Lafayette, moved on to Montrose, then on to Pephedro. Vukar felt certain that they had been spotted by Confederation reconnaissance probes, but he also felt certain that if they kept moving, they would remain relatively safe. He had already driven his battle group to its limit and had lost the Fralthi-class cruiser Caxkolee along the way. The ship's drive system had malfunctioned, and those warriors assigned to her had been transferred to the battle group's remaining six cap ships. As usual, they had set the cruiser to self-destruct to avoid its confiscation and study by the apes. Vukar wished they could hide the cruiser's debris from Confederation detection, but he lacked the time and resources for such a massive clean-up operation in enemy territory.
"Distance to jump point?" he asked Makorshk.
"Two-point-nine kilometers. Jump in three-point-zero-one standard minutes. All ships report positive lock on target. Final course corrections have been initiated. Jump commitment will occur in exactly three-point-one-one standard minutes, my Kalralahr."
Vukar flexed his fingers impatiently. He pictured himself seizing the supercruiser's captain by the neck and lifting him into the air. He would strangle the life out of the ape, demonstrating that their species had at least one tenet in common: justice through revenge. He stole another look at his tactical officer and considered the second fang's demise should the calculations prove wrong. For ten long days Vukar had placed his trust in the young warrior. On the other side of the jump point lay Makorshk's fate, and Vukar suspected that his subordinate knew that. Three days ago, the second fang had come to Vukar's ready room to assure him that their course was logical. Vukar had not wanted to hear about logic. He had asked Makorshk what his heart told him.
"My heart tells me nothing," Makorshk had replied.
"Listen more closely."
"As you wish."
"Fail to listen, fail to rely on your instincts, then you fail. This is the way of Sivar."
Since then, Vukar sensed that the second fang had reweighed his primitive beginnings and might draw on them now as a source of power. Makorshk had not come to Vukar with this revelation, but the glimmer in the young warrior's eyes seemed generated by an innate energy and not by thoughts of self-satisfaction. Makorshk had finally committed his heart to the hunt.
"Time?" Vukar asked the second fang.
"Thirty seconds to jump point."
"Mute the alarm before it sounds."
Makorshk threw a switch. "Alarm muted."
"All stations at pre-jump readiness," reported Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki. "Escorts confirm that Point of No Return velocity for Hell's Kitchen jump point has been achieved."
Syl'rkai, the present radar officer, suddenly lifted his voice. "Kalralahr? We have acquired a contact bearing one-one-two by three-three-seven at a range of nine-point-four-one kilometers. Velocity is two one four KPS. It is a Confederation communications drone broadcasting a holographic message on multiple long-range frequencies. Language: Terran standard."
"Helm is locked to autojump system," Second Fang Yil'schk cut in with his necessary report.
Vukar swiveled his chair to face Syl'rkai. "Translate that message and route to bridgecomm."
The communications officer grunted his acknowledgment and beat a near-steady rhythm on his touchpad to initiate the command.
"Twenty seconds to jump point," Makorshk said.
Vukar narrowed his gaze on Syl'rkai. "Do you have the message?"
"Message translated and stored," the officer said. "Routing to bridgecomm."
A meter-wide disk located on the deck in front of Vukar's command chair began to palpitate with light, then a shimmering white column coalesced into a tall, gray-haired ape standing on the bridge of a Confederation supercruiser. The ape folded his arms over his chest and stared angrily at Vukar. His lips moved, and after a nanosecond delay, the translator engaged. "Captain Amity Driftmadien Aristee, Confederation ID number 225X741, you are hereby ordered to surrender your vessel at the nearest Confederation world. Should you fail to comply by calendar date one-five-eight, we will destroy every Pilgrim system and enclave and imprison every known Pilgrim within Confederation territory."
"Ten seconds to jump point," Makorshk shouted over the message.
"By the time you receive this, we will have already established no-fly zones around each of those settlements, which are, as you know, dependent upon imports. Don't force your people into suffering, and don't be the cause of their deaths. You may have little regard for your own life, but think of them. Do what's right for them." The ape took a step forward, his face growing tighter, more intense. "I assure you, we're not bluffing. I invite you to initiate long-range reconnaissance to confirm our presence, and I look forward to your reply. Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, Chief of Fleet Operations, out."
"We're at the jump point," Makorshk cried, as the ship began to shudder. "We'll reach the gravity well's PNR in ten, nine, eight, seven, six—"
Vukar shot to his feet. "Abort the jump!"
Makorshk tilted his large head in confusion.
"Aborting jump," said Helmsman Yil'schk.
Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki's voice came in a wheeze. "Relaying abort order to battle group."
"PNR reached!" Makorshk said.
"Jump drive will not shut down," said Yil'schk. "Override clock exceeded. We are committed to the jump."
"Alert all ships to immediately set course for—" Vukar heard himself finish the command, but
all activity on the bridge had already ceased. His vision lasted but another second before narrowing into a world of speckled darkness. The weight of his armor lifted from his shoulders, and the bindings on his boots no longer pinched. Even the sweet aroma of nutrient gas had been neutralized into a smell that was no smell. He pricked up his ears, straining to hear something. A distant rumble finally sounded, grew louder, then suddenly roared as he coughed, blinked off flashes of piercing light, then leaned onto his command chair.
"Jump completed," Makorshk said. "Drive systems nominal."
"Escorts report successful jump," added Comm officer Ta'kar'ki.
"Relay order for all ships to stalk. Low emissions. Run ultra quiet," Vukar ordered breathlessly. "Navigation? Helm? Set course for Hell's Kitchen jump point." He strode quickly toward the viewport to examine the shining dots of the system dead ahead. The jump point lay within that system, a gravity well about twenty thousand kilometers from the planet Netheryana.
"Jump point data is already in our system," Makorshk said. "Jump calculations will be available in approximately four minutes. We'll reach jump point in four-point-four minutes. Request permission to scan for ion emissions and gravitic residuum."
"Passive scans only," Vukar snarled. "You heard the ape. They've established no-fly zones around each of the Pilgrim enclaves and systems—including this one. We've just jumped head on into a Confederation battle group."
"No, Kalralahr. Passive imager has already detected three Confederation capital ships—only three," Makorshk said, bearing his fangs. "Largest contact identified as the CS Tiger Claw . Other two are Exeter-class destroyers CS Oregon and CS Mitchell Hammock ."
"Navigation? Plot evasion course to jump point."
"We're not going to engage?" Makorshk asked, his tan eyes paling in surprise. "One strike carrier and two destroyers are an easy kill."
Heads turned toward the second fang who dared question his admiral's orders.
Vukar spun to First Fang Jatark. "Remove him."
"No," Makorshk cried. "The apes are there, helpless against us. You deny us the honor, Kalralahr? And you shame me with this order of removal?"
