Pilgrim stars (wing commander)

by Peter Telep

"Save the mystery for another time," Blair shot back.

  An alarm blared rapidly, indicating an aft hull breach. Thankfully, the cockpit had not been compromised. Yet. He shut down the alarm, then checked the jump drive clock. Four seconds to jump. Three, two-

  The gravity well shucked itself off into a tableau so white that it seemed to absorb the Rapier, absorb Blair, absorb the others and lift them all into its silky arms. For an instant, the frailties of being human seemed meaningless. Blair felt as though he could be anyone and anywhere, do anything, join with every bit of matter down to the quantum level.

  Then it was dark, over, and he was just Blair, seated in his cockpit, enveloped by the familiar void tinged blue by Lethe's reflected light.

  "We're back?" Merlin asked.

  Blair heaved a sigh. "Wasn't sure that was possible. Now we know it is." He brought up Angel's private channel. "Commander?"

  "Blair," she acknowledged, gathering her breath. "You know, I was supposed to jump Charybdis with you, and I was kind of upset that I missed that. This puts it all into perspective. Question. Why aren't we on the other side of the well with the Olympus?"

  "We could've jumped there, but I figured they would just launch fighters and overtake us. So I looped us through the well and back onto our original vector."

  "But now we've lost them."

  "No. I marked their coordinates. I'll read them to my nav computer and upload to the data net."

  "Nice work, Blair."

  "It's Pilgrim."

  "Choose another call sign."

  "I won't. And I wish everyone would use it."

  "All right, I'll give that order, but you deal with the harassment-because you're asking for it." She resumed the steely tone of squadron commander. "Ladies? Disengage retrieval systems and sound off."

  6

  VEGA SECTOR.DOWNING QUADRANT BORDER.CS TIGER CLAW.TARTARUS SYSTEM.PLANET LETHE.

  2654.080.0730 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME

  Gerald shifted past the hatch and stormed into Paladin's quarters. He cocked his head, searching the dark living area, then found his target in a corner meagerly lit by a desk light.

  The commodore sat back in a chair, boots kicked up onto the work surface of his terminal. His gaze remained on the hard copy dossier resting on his lap, and Gerald spotted an old picture of Amity Aristee printed in the corner of the first page. "Good morning, Mr. Gerald. I expected you sooner."

  Gerald showed his teeth. "I was a little busy going over the casualty report. With all due respect, sir, I want answers. And I want them now."

  "The folks at Intell still have a bit more corroborating evidence to consider before I can deliver any definitive information."

  "That, sir, is horseshit, the same horseshit I had to feed my people during the first briefing." He finally had Paladin's attention.

  "Go ahead-classify and compartmentalize this," Gerald continued. "But my people have a right to know who killed their comrades. Morale is low. Rumors are running rampant-even among my command staff."

  "All right, then. I'll conduct a briefing for you and your department heads."

  Gerald recoiled a bit in surprise. "We'll need specifics, like exactly how that ship created and jumped a gravity well. We need to know what we're up against."

  "I'll tell you what we know so far," Paladin said resignedly.

  "One more request. For some odd reason I've been locked out of the satellite link to the Confed network. My shipboard records don't indicate which of my people are of Pilgrim ancestry. I assume you have access. I'd like that information uploaded to my personal account."

  Paladin smiled-or was it a sneer? "So the witch hunt begins…"

  "I have a right to any information that may compromise the safety of this ship and her crew. And it sounds to me that your department has already begun that hunt."

  "Not exactly. And for the record, there are only two people aboard of Pilgrim ancestry: myself and Lieutenant Christopher Blair."

  "Are you certain?"

  "I examined the records myself while en route. But there may still be Pilgrims aboard who have evaded our detection."

  "Has Admiral Tolwyn alerted the other line captains?"

  "No. Any Confederation officer or enlisted person is still protected under Confederation law. If we alerted the captains, I'm certain that the rights of those Pilgrims would be violated. At the least, those people would be rounded up and tossed in the brig. At the most, they'd be shot. Check your history. Read up on the plight of Japanese Americans during World War Two."

  "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

  "I thought you already were," Paladin said acidly. "But granted."

  "Sorry, sir, but my boots are firmly planted in the present. I can't trust you. Not until this is over. You may know this group and their tactics better than anyone aboard, but as far as I'm concerned, you're more dangerous than valuable."

  "I know you have an especial hatred for Pilgrims since your father's passing. And I'm sure that experience tells you that you can't let those feelings influence your judgment."

  "My father wasn't just killed by you people. He was tortured first, dismembered until he bled to death. My mother found him in the backyard. Not much left. Just a pile of meat. You won't find that in my psyche ops profile or the fact that there aren't any pictures of him in my mother's apartment. My sister and I can't even mention his name. So when you say I have an especial hatred for Pilgrims, you have no idea."

  "No, I guess I don't. But as I told you once before, we can't blame every citizen of Pilgrim ancestry for what a few individuals have done. Admittedly, it's fanatics like these that made me reject Pilgrim theology. You lost your father to them. So did I. Now, alert your people. We'll assemble in thirty minutes. And I'd like Lieutenant Blair there. We may need to address his heredity… and my own."

  Sitting on his bunk, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Blair thought about how he felt and realized that for once he was at a loss. Sure, he felt worn out from the jump and its accompanying adrenaline rush, and deeply saddened over the loss of Second Squadron, but something else gnawed at him. His spirit glided over a black expanse, and from that expanse rose a figure in a white robe whose face he could not see, but whose arms reached out to him. He had no idea what the feeling or vision- or whatever it was-meant. He only knew that it had come on suddenly during landing and persisted.

  He looked over at Maniac, clad in Skivvies and lying on his own rack. If Zarya could hear the music produced by Maniac's nostrils, her interest in him would definitely dwindle. Knowing Blair's luck, she probably had a fetish for men who snored loudly. He sighed, rose, then padded over to the latrine and stared at himself in the scored mirror. "You are one ugly bastard."

  "Though I hesitate to agree since I am, in fact, a part of you, I would ultimately have to endorse that assessment." Merlin stood on the shelf above Blair's bunk, hands folded over his chest, shoulders hidden by steel-gray hair that he had unloosed from its band.

  "Look who's talking. That a new hairstyle or a bug in your system?"

  "I remind you that my appearance was molded after one of your father's favorite teachers, a man named Jebiah Omans who taught a class that linked particle physics to Shakespeare. Now there's a blending of art and atoms-"

  "You never told me he taught that."

  "Oh, yes. Particles play a vital role in human behavior, and Shakespeare was an expert in that area. Some even acknowledge him as the first particle physicist."

  Blair gave the holograph a penetrating stare.

  Merlin's lips finally curled. "All right, Jebiah Omans was, in fact, one of your father's teachers and the inspiration for me, but he only taught physics."

  After a nod, Blair moved back to his bunk and plopped down. "No offense, but sometimes I wish my father had programmed you in his likeness. You've been with me since I was five, Merlin. But it just isn't the same."

  "Your father never told me why, but he insisted against an interface that resembled hi
m. Maybe he thought it would be too painful for you or that I could never replace him. Maybe he wanted that separation. I'm your guardian, your advisor, and my chips contain your father's protein, but he was and will always be your father. Now I suggest you get dressed."

  "Why?"

  "Because Lieutenant Commander Deveraux is about-"

  The hatch bell sounded, and Merlin disappeared.

  "I'm not waiting, Lieutenant. Be at the wardroom in ten minutes for a briefing. Tell Maniac that I'll brief him and the rest of the squadron afterward."

  As he fumbled with his trousers, Blair glanced at Maniac, who remained dead to the world. "Ma'am, if you can wait another second, I'll head down with you."

  "Sorry, Christopher. She's already gone," Merlin said.

  He looked to the holograph. "Yeah, and I know why."

  "If you'd like my advice-"

  Blair lifted a finger. "We both know what happened the last time I took your advice on women."

  "But Christopher, I could have hardly known that she would be allergic to Italian food."

  "Yeah, but she ate it anyway to be polite. Thought maybe it wouldn't bother her for once. Wound up spending the whole night in the hospital because you went off on that Italian spiel, talking about the whole romance language thing, the food, and you talked me into it. Never again. I think of that date, and all I see is this poor girl with hives all over her face."

  "Fine. I won't help. I've made some observations of Lieutenant Commander Deveraux, but I'll keep them to myself." He tipped up his nose, snapped off.

  "Merlin? Wait. What observations?"

  The holograph would not activate. Blair checked his watch. Just as well. He had to get dressed.

  "Commander," Blair said as he approached Angel. She stood beside the wardroom's open hatch, her uniform crisp, makeup sparingly applied. It didn't take much to enhance her beauty; the gifts were already there.

  "You saved our lives today," she said softly. "I might just recommend you for more chicken guts."

  His cheeks warmed, and he nervously shifted his gaze to the wardroom, where he spotted a knot of five department heads arguing bitterly. "What's with them? And what am I doing here? This looks like a briefing for senior-level officers."

  "Commodore Taggart asked that you be present."

  "Paladin? He's here? Whey didn't he tell me?"

  "He's been busy. C'mon."

  As they entered, the department heads fell silent and gave Blair the once-over, their expressions betraying no prejudice but no thrill to see him either. He took a seat next to Angel in the front row of folding chairs, then glanced back at the familiar faces. Flight Boss Raznick and Deck Boss Peterson sat in the back row, muttering to each other. Representatives from ordnance, maintenance, technical, and damage control sat on the far left. The other five squadron commanders had taken seats directly behind Blair and Angel, and two of those men, Jinxman of the Third and Lightning of the Fourth, returned somber nods and kept silent. Jinxman had draped a blue beret over the empty seat next to his, the name ACHILLES emblazoned on a patch.

  During the next few minutes, Marine Corps Lieutenant Tori Andover and Sergeant Gulliver Cogan arrived with expressions that asked, Why are we here and not out kicking ass? Then the rest of the command staff filed into the room, including Lieutenant Commander Obutu. Blair liked the man and hoped that Gerald had recommend Obutu for a promotion to XO. Obutu had gone out of his way to make Blair feel comfortable during his first visit to the Claw's rec. He had even beaten Blair in a game of virtual dogfighting. When queried about his obvious piloting skills, Obutu responded that he "had a little experience." The mystery intrigued Blair.

  Paladin finally entered with a data slate in one hand while he used the other to tug at the color of his black Naval Intelligence uniform. The chatter died, and everyone snapped to their feet.

  "As you were." The commodore crossed to where Gerald stood before the assembled personnel.

  "Place your bets," Jinxman sang, leaning forward to whisper in Angel's ear. "I say we get five percent truth, ninety-five percent bullshit."

  Angel looked back, eyes brimming with reproof.

  "A few announcements before we begin," Gerald said. "At seventeen hundred hours there will be a memorial service in the chapel for Second Squadron and the others KIA. Tell your people to see Lieutenant Palladino in personnel if they'd like to make donations to the families. Replacements won't come any time soon, so I suggest that you make immediate recommendations for promotions and adjust your duty rosters to compensate. We've been here before, people. I'll expect those recommendations ASAP." He eyed Paladin. "I think most of us know the commodore, but for those who do not, this is Commodore James Taggart of Naval Intelligence, call sign Paladin. Admiral Tolwyn sent him to assist us. Commodore?" Gerald retreated a few steps, and Blair guessed that he was not the only officer who detected the bitterness in Gerald's tone.

  Paladin pulled once more at his collar, tightened his lips, then seemed to sum up the officers, deciding what he would and would not say. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're presently en route to coordinates that will place us between the Lafayette and Tamayo systems. We believe this is the jump target of the CS Olympus. Unfortunately, it will take us three days to get there, and she may be gone by the time we arrive. We can analyze gravitic residuum to approximate her next position, but that will only provide an estimate. I assure you, though, that we haven't lost her yet."

  "Commodore, are they Pilgrims?" Jinxman asked.

  He nodded. "They're being led by one of the most skilled line captains in the fleet." He went on to explain how Captain Amity Aristee had managed to take over the Olympus and how Admiral Tolwyn had sent out a task force to investigate. Then he added, "I've just learned that the remains, or more precisely, the remaining haze of that task force was discovered approximately twenty hours ago in the Enyo system. Those ships were destroyed by a gravity well. Eighteen hours ago, another haze was encountered near Vega, and we believe that it represents the remains of the Olympus's original battle group. We also suspect that at these coordinates she jettisoned remaining non-Pilgrim personnel, creating a limited but pure Pilgrim complement."

  "She's a fanatic and a mass murderer who's creating gravity wells and using them as weapons and jump points," Gerald chipped in, then cocked a brow at Paladin. "Would you elaborate on exactly how she's doing this?"

  "We believe she's in possession of a new generation of hopper drive that allows her to create space-time wells with a controlled matter-antimatter reaction. The well has a limited gravitic cloak verified by the pilots of this wing. But she can still manipulate the well's position and take out ships within five hundred meters."

  "How did she obtain this technology? Better yet, how did she hide it from Confederation Intelligence?" Gerald asked.

  "This isn't something that happens in a day, or a week, or a year. The Confederation legally recognizes three Pilgrim systems and five colonial enclaves. We routinely inspect them to be sure they're not developing technology or engaging in renewed military activity that could threaten us. For years we've had no trouble with them because those most devoted obey the edict that Pilgrims should no longer travel through space or engage in any other activities reliant on technology. They do this as penance for their loss in the war. In fact, when the Kilrathi war began, they insisted on remaining neutral and presently maintain that status."

  "That's an informative history lesson," Gerald said impatiently. "But I'm not sure it answers the question, sir."

  "Indulge me," Paladin said, more a threat than a request. "You see, it's not those Pilgrims who pose the threat but a more radical sect whose ancestors assimilated back into Confederation society. These Pilgrims are members of our own military. They've abandoned their edicts in favor of a new order: destroy Earth, dismantle the Confederation, reclaim what is theirs. Irony is, the Confederation taught them how to do it. We believe that research and development of this new hopper drive has been going on for ten, possibly twen
ty years, with construction occurring within the last four. Alarmists call it a Pilgrim conspiracy, and maybe that's what it is, but these radicals have taken advantage of those neutral systems and enclaves. We've already discovered evidence of their research in all of them. Seems they threatened those Pilgrims with force, bribed Confederation inspectors or had them replaced with Pilgrims or others sympathetic to their cause, and operated without our knowledge. The Kilrathi war still provides them with a convenient diversion and a possible ally. Admiral Bill Wilson managed to conspire with the cats."

  "Sir, you said that Aristee hopes to destroy Earth, dismantle the Confederation, and take back what belongs to the Pilgrims," Angel said. "How does she intend to do that with just one super-cruiser? Why isn't she building a fleet?"

  "We don't know. On the outset, her plan seems reckless. But she's a brilliant woman, not be underestimated. She's choosing her targets carefully in order to recruit Confed Navy personnel of Pilgrim ancestry. Maybe she'll begin building a fleet-or maybe the Kilrathi already have one waiting for her."

  "I find it highly unlikely that she has access to shipbuilding facilities, unless you're about to tell me that the Trojan Yards and others now belong to the Pilgrims," Gerald said. "She may be working with the Kilrathi. That seems more reasonable."

  "And now she's gathering people to crew those Kilrathi ships?" Angel asked. "Why doesn't she simply defect to the Kilrathi, strike a deal, and have the cats do her dirty work the same way Admiral Wilson did?"

  "Yeah, but his deal with the Kilrathi went south," Jinxman reminded. "Maybe the cats won't bargain anymore."

  Paladin nodded in understanding. "We should continue to speculate on her plans, and I encourage your input on the matter in person or through the data net. But our mission now is to stop her and recover that ship, and we've been authorized to use whatever means necessary to accomplish those goals. Questions?"

  "Sir, we're talking about a possible Pilgrim conspiracy," Marine Lieutenant Andover asked. "How will security handle this?"

  "I'll post details of what's being done on the fleet level as soon as I'm notified. As far as the Claw is concerned, it's business as usual."