Pilgrim stars (wing commander)

by Peter Telep

  "You spoke with him," she fired back. "You know I do. Go to him now if you've forgotten."

  "Oh, I've spoken with him enough. He's Protur Carver Tsu the Third, not the second. I've known for a while now."

  "He's the protur," she said, spacing her words for effect.

  "A protur who assumed that position after Carver Tsu the Second died suddenly of natural causes during your visit to McDaniel. Remarkable timing, wouldn't you say? You didn't even let Frotur McDaniel in on your plan, and he disagrees with what you've done. You conspired with Carver Tsu the Third. Technically, you have the protur's blessing, but he is not a protur who represents the voice of our people. They don't want this war."

  She seized his arm and pulled him toward the viewport, out of the crew's earshot. "How do you know what they want? You've been away for too long. Wake up, James. This is our time."

  "Yes, it's our time to die. And for what?"

  "For a chance to remind our people that the stars belong to the elect. I'd die for that."

  "Who are we to claim the stars? Maybe they belong to no one. Or everyone. Why are we the elect? Because Ivar Chu says we are? What if he's wrong?"

  She shook her head, unwilling to hear more. "We're going down to Aloysius. Once I take care of business, you and I will finish this. Let's go." She stomped off.

  He stood there a moment, staring through fractured thoughts and suddenly realizing that there wasn't anything left to talk about, that he couldn't save her from herself. He had been living in denial for twenty-four days. The time had to come to act. And to grieve.

  "Brotur Taggart?" she called from the lift.

  With a perfunctory nod, he left the viewport to join her.

  16

  VEGA SECTOR.ROBERT'S QUADRANT.FREYA SYSTEM.KILRATHI BORDER.KIS SHAK AR'ROC BATTLE GROUP.

  2654.113. 1100 HOURS,IMPERIAL STANDARD TIME

  Admiral Vukar had tried for the past several days to ignite his darkened spirits, but the recent past held nothing but misery. Their jump into the Hell's Kitchen system had resulted in the loss of a dreadnought. First Fang Jatark had been killed by Makorshk, and Vukar had challenged his tactical officer. The duel should have already taken place, but Vukar had been agonizing over the date. He knew he should fight the second fang to the death, but he still recognized his need for the young warrior on his bridge. So he had decided that their blood duel would take place on Kilrah, before Sator-shck and the rest of the clan elders. Makorshk had, of course, warmly accepted this idea as the rest of the crew grew more suspicious of Vukar's ever-growing tolerance. Though no one had voiced his objections, Vukar knew that his warriors did not understand his actions. Even warriors who unintentionally insulted their superiors were expected to commit zu'kara; Makorshk had done far more than that, yet Vukar allowed him to live. For the past week, Vukar had emerged only a few times from his quarters to supervise jumps. He handled most of his inter-ship communications from there, which sparked even more rumors. He simply felt too broken, too dishonored to show his face. They had not detected the Confederation supercruiser. The ship could be anywhere. And jumping through Confederation space on a haphazard search would only result in the loss of more ships, even the loss of the entire battle group. Twice they had narrowly escaped Confederation cap ships that had jumped into systems even as they had jumped out. The apes' tenacious pursuit proved both enviable and unsettling. With little else left to do, Vukar had ordered their return to Kilrah.

  Now, as he sat in his quarters, flooding his gut with the liquid warmth of sckviska, a celebratory drink he had been saving for the day they captured the supercruiser, he decided that the blood duel with Makorshk would not take place, that once on Kilrah, he would commit zu'kara to atone for his failure, for his disgrace.

  "Kalralahr?"

  Snapping out of his thoughts, Vukar regarded the comm unit atop his tusk-shaped desk. Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki's face contorted violently in a vision often produced by sckviska. "What is it?" Vukar hissed, then sat up and tried to collect himself.

  "Dax'tri nar Ragitagha wishes to speak with you."

  "Where is he now?"

  "His battle group has just jumped into the system."

  Vukar set down his ewer of sckviska. "He's here?"

  "Yes, my Kalralahr."

  "Establish a link."

  Ta'kar'ki bowed his head, and the image switched to Admiral Dax'tri, an ancient warlord whose whiskers had thinned to just several pairs and whose eyes looked more gray than yellow. "Returning to the empire so soon, Vukar?" The old one's cutting tone reminded Vukar of the years of often violent rivalry between them.

  Vukar dismissed the question with one of his own. "What do you want?"

  "I thought I'd take a moment to bathe in your failure. This is typical of the Caxki hrai. You have always been the weakest of the noble clans. The emperor should have charged me with finding that supercruiser. We would have had it by now."

  "My destroyers were lost. The honor was mine. And so now is the shame. But you shame yourself by reveling in my failure."

  Dax'tri brightened as he leaned back in his chair. "You have failed. There is no doubt about that. But the leaders of our two clans have struck a bargain from which we will both profit."

  "My days as Kalralahr are already over. No bargain can save them." Vukar closed his eyes, drew in a long breath of nutrient gas, savored it, then faced Dax'tri with a deeper look of despair.

  "You plan to accept defeat without a fight? This I cannot believe."

  "Had I the means to fight I would."

  "Then I will give them to you. Your clan will secede from the emperor's new alliance if my clan gives you the location of the Confederation supercruiser and allows your battle group to recover it."

  "Satorshck would not have bargained with your people," said Vukar, barely containing his roar. "You dishonor me and him by suggesting such a discussion took place."

  "Oh, but it did, Kalralahr. And we do have the location of that supercruiser. I've had an arrangement with Pilgrim mercenaries for over a standard year now, and that's the reason why my clan has procured so much Confederation technology."

  Vukar thought back to the many triumphs that the Ragitagha clan had claimed in the past year. Yes, they had confiscated more Confederation equipment and information than any other clan. Perhaps they did have an understanding with the Pilgrims, but Vukar had never known Dax'tri to be so forthcoming. "Why not take the honor yourself and bring back that supercruiser? It would not be the first time you strayed from an order."

  "Breaking up the emperor's new alliance is far more important than the meager honor of recovering a single ship, whether it has a unique drive system or not. The alliance will destroy our clans. Our leaders recognize that. We should as well. Of course, Satorshck is taking full advantage of the situation. The Rag-itagha and Caxki clans will work together to undermine this new alliance." Dax'tri raised his shoulders and leaned toward the camera. "Now, Vukar, listen closely. You will find the super-cruiser in the Aloysius system, in orbit of Aloysius Prime. She is there taking on personnel and supplies. You can reach her in twelve standard hours."

  "Or I'll find a Confederation battle group waiting for me. This may be an elaborate scheme to bring down my entire clan. Why should I trust you?"

  "You can verify all of this with Satorshck, but you will waste a lot of time. The Caxki clan will not secede until you confirm that the coordinates are correct. Nothing will happen until you report. But it is your duty to report as soon as you reach that system. If you choose to return home now, you do so with a zu'kara blade to your throat. As the apes say, you have nothing to lose."

  "Except my entire hrai."

  "I've done my part. Do yours. And once you gain control of that ship, you will return it to K'n'Rek, where our clans will assume joint possession."

  "Or where your clan will be waiting to seize the ship. I think I will waste the time and contact Satorshck." Vukar drew back his lips, fangs jutting out.

  "Yes, you could. Bu
t my reconnaissance informs me that it will only take two, perhaps three of their standard days to finish taking on supplies. If you travel to K'n'Rek to contact Satorshck, you won't make it back to Aloysius in time. You'd find nothing more than gravitic residuum and ion emissions that might yield a rough estimate of her next location-or yield nothing. The time to strike is now."

  Exhaling loudly, Vukar turned away from the screen, his thoughts now caught in a crossfire. He could almost believe that Dax'tri would hand him the information so that the Caxki clan would join forces with Ragitagha and dissolve the emperor's alliance-but the threat of deception still loomed.

  "Vukar, do not spend too much time contemplating this," Dax'tri warned. "What does your heart tell you?"

  Yes, that is where I have gone awry, Vukar thought. Fail to listen, fail to rely on your instincts, then you fail altogether. This is the way ofSivar. He had reminded Makorshk of that teaching, now he should heed it himself. He reached into his heart, straining for even the barest whisper of truth.

  Though Commodore Richard Bellegarde would never strike a perfect balance with his universe, he felt that in the past month he had come pretty close. He had been so busy analyzing the data from the Fourteenth Fleet's line captains that he had barely had time for self-pity and had only twice romanced his bottle since the admiral's visit to his quarters.

  The no-fly zones they had established around the Pilgrim systems and enclaves and the task force they had deployed to capture the Kilrathi battle group within Vega sector kept everyone aboard the Concordia, especially Admiral Tolwyn, on the edge of their seats. Bellegarde especially enjoyed the reckless abandon, since he had been questioning his career with the Confederation Navy anyway. He and Tolwyn remained committed to their plan, whether it ruined their careers or not. If Aristee did not comply within the time allowed, Tolwyn would order the attack, an order that would send shock waves through the senate and the rest of the Confederation.

  As Bellegarde sat in the wardroom with Tolwyn and Space Marshal Gregarov, he sensed that the precursors of those waves had already reached the space marshal and now bound her features in an unwavering grimace. She turned her hazel eyes on Tolwyn, took in a long breath, then, as always, measured each word as she spoke.

  "Some members of the senate are already calling for my resignation, Geoff. They say I've employed one lunatic to find another. And the Pilgrim ambassadors have, to stay the least, been very vocal. You lied to the senate. You lied to me. What do you expect me to do?"

  The admiral cocked a brow. "I wanted to keep you out of this. It's not your fault that I'm a… 'lunatic' But let my clock run out. Forty-five days. That's all I'm asking. The senate will know that we gave Aristee ample time to recover one of our drones and consider our terms."

  "What if she doesn't find a drone? You'll destroy those systems and enclaves without even hearing from her?"

  "To do anything less would be bowing to terrorists."

  "No, I can't allow you to do that."

  "Ma'am, we would wipe out those systems in retaliation for Mylon Three," Bellegarde explained. "And while some members of the senate disagree with our tactics, others applaud our efforts. As usual, they're split along party lines. Our opponents know that you'll never resign, and it would take them months to indict you. By then, Aristee could have destroyed God knows how many systems. For centuries, governments have refused to bargain with terrorists. And for centuries, that policy has worked. But here we are, trying to make a deal. And in the dealing, civilians will die. You can blame Aristee for that. Not us. You might think the cure is worse than the disease, but we need a cure-not a bandage. We will cut off the enemy, demoralize her, then bring her to her knees. She'll die alone."

  "As will you," Gregarov quickly amended. "To think that you can kill billions of people without consequence… Commodore, that's beyond my comprehension."

  Bellegarde steeled himself. "She's an extremist. Do you know of a better way to combat her? We demand she comes to us. She doesn't, they die."

  "And then what? We're back to nothing." Gregarov regarded Tolwyn. "I see you've stoked his fire with your own. Unfortunately, I'm here to extinguish both of you. Effective immediately, I want you to loosen up your no-fly zones and allow food and fuel to be delivered to those people. You'll get your forty-five days, but you will not, under any circumstances, attack those systems and enclaves."

  "Aristee suspects, or will suspect, that we're making empty threats," Tolwyn said, his voice even, but a hairline away from becoming impassioned. "Impenetrable no-fly zones are the first statement. If we fail to maintain those, we'll be lowering our hand. She'll have confirmation that we won't attack. Richard and I agonized over destroying one of the enclaves to show her that we mean business, but we resigned ourselves to the zones. We need them as they are."

  "Some of those people are beginning to starve," Gregarov shot back. "How will you account for their deaths?"

  Tolwyn slowly shook his head. "I won't. They're Aristee's victims. Not ours."

  The space marshal sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "God, Geoff. What have we done? We're talking about genocide as though we're commenting on the financial markets."

  "We didn't start the conversation, but we'll finish it."

  She scrutinized him in an almost motherly fashion. "That kind of resolve will get you court martialed."

  "Or promoted," Bellegarde said, wringing his hands as though her neck were between them.

  "Have you gentlemen watched the Terran news channels?"

  Bellegarde gave a half-shrug. "Just the local reports from McDaniel."

  "Well, maybe you need some perspective." She reached into the attache case on the deck beside her, withdrew a data disk, then slid it into the table's holoplayer.

  A female reporter in trendy dress tunic shimmered above them. "… so the incident over Triune was just the first in this on-going series of challenges to the Confederation Navy's blockade of all systems and enclaves. Three more cargo vessels were lost over McDaniel's World just this week, shot down by fighters from the Concordia battle group, and massive rioting has begun in Spiritia, the Pilgrim enclave in the Ymir system."

  The reporter dissolved into the image of a city street straight from one of the Pilgrim metroplexes on planet. A wall of fifty or so heavily-armed Marines pressed forward with their riot shock-shields, into a far larger wall of two or three hundred civilians throwing rocks, bottles, and whatever they could get their hands on. The image turned Bellegarde's stomach, and his jaw fell slack as the Marines fired sylago gas into the crowds. Emerald clouds billowed over the mob and descended, turning grimaces into vacant stares. For a few hours, the gas would make the mob quite agreeable. But far in the distance, another fifty, maybe sixty Pilgrims wearing gas masks and brandishing confiscated rifles ran a ragged pattern toward the frontline.

  "Seen here in a Terran Six News exclusive, Marines try to quell the crowds, but their efforts are only marginally successful," the reporter said before her image returned. "The death toll in Spiritia stands at over three thousand. Nearly twenty million Pilgrims live there now, with just five hundred thousand Marines assigned to keep the peace. Reports of massive food shortages have already poured in from Spiritia and the other enclaves. Meanwhile, skirmishes continue to break out in and around the nearly ten thousand Pilgrim safe camps."

  Bellegarde now studied the image of a university campus. Ancient brick buildings with signs identifying them as Library, Administration, Biological Sciences, Offworld Sciences, and Humanities and Fine Arts girdled an oval reflection pond about thirty meters across. The caption read: designated pilgrlm safe

  ZONE: UNIVERSITY OF CENTRAL FLORIDA, EARTH. A half dozen rifle-toting young men sprinted along the pond's perimeter, with an equal number of Marines in pursuit. The men took up flanking positions near the library and unleashed a vicious spray of conventional fire into the building's glass doors as the reporter narrated the action. "Many Confederation citizens are using the current crisis as an
excuse to take the law into their own hands. Some seek revenge for the Pilgrim war, and they intend to get it. Marines who have been assigned to protect camps like this one in Central Florida have been accused of doing a less than adequate job. One Marine, Private Jacko Fistalis, had this to say."

  The chiseled young grunt held his combat helmet in the crook of his arm, and stared self-consciously at the camera. "Couple my buddies from boot were on Mylon Three when it was attacked. Yeah, we gotta protect these people, but if a few Pilgrims buy it, well, it won't be on my conscious. They got it com-ing. Hey, Mom! Hey, Pop! You [BEEP]ing believe this? I'm on the [BEEP]ing news!" The grunt's ridiculous grin dissolved, and the reporter returned. "According to one insider, that apathetic attitude now permeates the military. And Terran Six News has also learned that Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, Commander of the Fourteenth Fleet, has given Captain Aristee until calendar date one-five-eight to surrender. After that, his forces will annihilate all Pilgrim systems and enclaves. We go now to military analyst Jobar Bouliano, author of the book Why Your Military Hates You." The holograph split into two vidboxes, one containing the reporter, the other a portly, middle-aged man wearing antique wire rims. As the reporter and Bouliano exchanged the requisite greetings, Tolwyn pushed himself up.

  Space Marshal Gregarov scowled at the admiral. "We're not finished."

  "I'm familiar with Mr. Bouliano's work," Tolwyn responded, remaining on his feet. "The man's assessment of our situation will be as biased and ill-informed as his book."

  "Still, I'd like you to hear it."

  "Ma'am, I'd rather not."

  Gregarov switched off the holoplayer and stood to meet Tolwyn's gaze. "Geoff, you're the best I have. But I'll relieve you of command without hesitation. I've already sent for the rest of my staff. I'll be setting up a field office here."

  "That won't be necessary."

  Her gaze grew as heated as his. "I think it is."

  "Lost your faith in the old rogue?"