Pilgrim stars (wing commander)

by Peter Telep

  "We'll kill thrusters and hit the brakes about a hundred meters out for a little over and under S and S."

  "Now you're talking. But we haven't pulled that one since training. What the hell. I get top, clockwise rotation."

  "And I got control. Steady now. Mark!"

  They peeled away, with Blair banking to port, Maniac to starboard, and came around to reassume their formation flying abreast. The Dralthi hurtled toward them like a heated braid of silver and tarnished copper that would for a few seconds wholly deceive the casual observer.

  "Range: six hundred meters."

  "Oh, God," Blair said through an audible shiver. "Back there this seemed like a good idea."

  "Hey, I say that myself-usually when I'm climbing out of her bed the next morning and can't remember her name. Range: four hundred meters."

  Hungry for their first kill, the cats opened up with wing-mounted laser cannons. Bolts perforated the vacuum around Maniac's Rapier, and a trio spattered across his forward shield and sent shock waves ripping through the ship. He thought better of adjusting course, though. Any change would ruin their ploy.

  "About ten seconds now," Blair cried. "Merlin says that the odds of us taking out all nineteen are-"

  "Unless he's taking bets, tell the old geezer to shut up."

  Maniac fastened his gaze to the nav clock and its pretty green numbers that blithely ticked off the final seconds.

  19

  VEGA SECTOR,ROBERT'S QUADRANT,LEAVING ALOYSIUS SYSTEM,CS OLYMPUS,

  2654.114,0055HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME

  Hard brake. Cramp in shoulders. Damned harness. Velocity zero. Holy… They're right on top of us! Maneuvering thrusters: fire. Commence rotation. Neutron cannon engaged…

  Maniac had positioned himself about ten meters directly over Blair. They held their coordinates and broke into clockwise and counter-clockwise flat spins, creating deadly girandoles of fire. The tactic, dubbed a "sit-'n'-spin," worked well if you were alone and well away from your comrades since whatever entered your cone of fire would wind up dead meat, whether you wanted it dead meat or not. Not many pilots would attempt a duel spin since one misfire of manuerving jets could result in point-blank friendly fire-certainly no way to get friendly.

  But Maniac and Blair had perfected the maneuver. With the tap of a switch, he had turned over maneuvering to Blair as the Dralthi fanned out and climbed, seconds away from swooping down and attacking them from above. Blair rolled both Rapiers onto their sides so that they fired vertically relative to the Dralthi. He continued the roll, adjusting course as necessary and producing gyroscopic inertia and precession, forces that, despite the dampeners, they could not sustain for long without blacking out.

  As Maniac tightened his stomach and forced bile back down his throat, he caught the barest glimpse of a Dralthi breaking apart under Blair's fire, then he spotted another disassembling under his own wrath. Red blips on the scope broke off and knifed back toward the bombers and escorts. Just as well. Shadows crept into Maniac's peripheral vision. Time to call it.

  "Stalled them as long as we could," Blair said, probably feeling the same effect. "Slowing to break link. Five seconds."

  After a slight thump, control returned, and Maniac eased on the throttle, pulling forward and away from Blair's Rapier. He savored the few seconds he had to compose himself, then rolled back to glide over his wingman.

  About a quarter klick ahead, the destroyer turned hard to starboard, retreating from the bombers and fighters. A beep from Maniac's radar scope alerted him to the presence of a vessel much larger than a fighter: one of the Fralthi-class cruisers; it too retreated from the Olympus, with a squadron of Pilgrim bombers diving toward its six. Behind it, a portico of sparking rubble forged a gateway back to the Olympus.

  So Aristee's people had somehow taken out two of the Fralthi-class cruisers and now had the third cruiser and the destroyer on the run. The dreadnought and superdreadnought kept their distance but continued to follow the Olympus, and Maniac figured that the cruiser and destroyer would regroup with them. He guessed that Aristee didn't have spies aboard the surviving Kil-rathi ships since they continued to rattle off anti-starcraft fire or retain their present headings.

  The bombers hunting down the cruiser found their locks and unloaded their ordnance in an exhibition of well-choreographed firepower. Like the fingers of some enormous hand, the torpedoes descended upon the cruiser.

  But the ship's antimatter guns found three of those fingers off its aft quarter and detonated them harmlessly over the hull. The explosions tossed a fourth torpedo into a fifth, driving both well off course and into a concentrated burst of laser fire that turned their destructive capacities inward. The sixth projectile locked onto a cloud of chaff twinkling and expanding in the cruiser's wash and lifted a white-hot explosion that swallowed the last two torpedoes. Eight shots. Eight misses. The bombers pulled out of their run in sixty-degree climbs, then, as though with their tails between their legs, beat a full-throttle retreat back toward the Olympus.

  Meanwhile, the bombers targeting the destroyer fared no better. Maniac drew closer to the scene as antimatter fire, superheated countermeasure cones, and what he deemed lucky guided missile strikes by Dralthi pilots lashed at or lured away the ordnance. The last torpedo met its fate by cannon fire as he and Blair buzzed over the destroyer, all but ignored by squadrons of Dralthi and Salthi fighters hightailing it back to the flagship.

  "Looks like they're cutting their losses," Santyana said. "Eighth Squadron? Let's cut our own. Return to base."

  Nearly in unison, Maniac and Blair pulled away from the destroyer and aimed for a loose blue wreath of thrusters. Maniac flicked back his HUD viewer, massaged weary eyes, then pulled up Blair's channel. "Nice little spin back there, Ace. Next time I got the stick."

  "Fair enough," Blair answered, blinking clear his vision and looking about as spent as Maniac.

  "So I'm still sweating the details. How did Aristee get those cruisers to cease fire?"

  "Like this."

  Maniac's head snapped up as an unseen fist struck a mild blow to his chin. "Hey, what the-"

  "Some of us, not many, have this thing, an extrakinetic power they call it. Kind of like telekinesis, telepathy, and extrasensory perception, only different is the way we experience it. And it's pretty deadly if we want it to be."

  "How'd you get it? You're only half Pilgrim?"

  "Guess I got lucky," Blair answered, sounding anything but. "And you know what? I thought about using it to bring down a few of those fighters. But to kill someone like that… I don't know… it's supposed to make you feel kind of dead yourself.

  When you touch inanimate objects, it gives you the shakes like you wouldn't believe."

  "Does that mean you can read minds like your girlfriend? Like maybe you can read Zarya's mind and let me know what's up with her? And poker! Holy shit, man. We can make a killing."

  "Some of us can access scripts and read thoughts. But I'm not sure if I have or not. It's like I can talk to other people in my head, but that's it."

  Maniac rubbed his chin. "Punching me from over there… that still ain't bad. Can you squeeze a woman's breasts like that? And what did you say? Access the script? You lost me there."

  "I'm not squeezing any breasts with this, you idiot. Look, I'll tell you the rest when we get back. We'll have plenty of time."

  "You mean when we get back to our cells? I'm not going."

  "Wasn't too long ago when you wouldn't leave."

  "We're out here now. We got the firepower. Let's take the shot, disable the ship. Some properly placed missiles to her ion engines will take 'em offline. Hopper drive's down, so she can't skip out. A comm drone carrying our mayday would only take about a week or two to reach the trade routes. It's not like we'd be stranded out here for long."

  "Uh, excuse me, but that battle group, or at least what's left of it, is still pursuing. That ship's our only ride. And even if we move in to attack, her cannon operators-or eve
n pilots from this squadron-will be on us before we get off a shot. Besides, can you imagine what would happen if the Kilrathi got their hands on the hopper drive?"

  "Yeah, I can. They would, like Aristee, use it to destroy Earth. And your point?"

  "Tell you what. We lose this battle group, then maybe I'll consider your plan."

  "Chris, we swore an oath. We have to do this. We won't get another chance."

  "You don't know that. And like I said, if we disable the Olympus, then the cats get her. Hell, they get us. They're carnivores. I heard they eat live prey."

  "Wait a minute. You said Aristee took out the other cruisers by using Pilgrims with that, what was it, extrakinetic thing? Those Pilgrims are on board the Olympus, right?"

  "Yeah, so what?"

  The idea unfolded a little more and drove Maniac to straighten in his seat. "Then that battle group is no problem. We disable the Olympus, draw in the Kilrathi, then Aristee unleashes her people. We kill two birds. You with me?"

  "I don't know."

  Admiral Vukar beat a fist on the control panel beside Tactical Officer Makorshk. "I said why?"

  "And I'll repeat, my Kalralahr. I'm not sure." Makorshk clenched his own fist but kept it resting steadily on the panel. "After we lost contact, her defense systems came down. She did launch fighters, but they also lost contact with her. It seems both cruisers suffered the same fate, which, my Kalralahr, I'm at a loss to explain."

  "Interesting. For once you don't have all the answers."

  Vukar tore himself away from the tactical station and tramped to the viewport. Out there in the void, beyond the wash of infrared radiation that appeared like a bloodred foam to his eyes, the supercruiser streaked off unabated, carrying with it a drive of enormous power and another weapon arguably even more powerful. And maybe the destruction of two cruisers represented but a mere glance at its potential.

  "Kalralahr?" He spun toward Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki's station. "I've been scanning the recordings of intership communications. You must see this."

  Vukar took several hurried strides and arrived behind Ta'kar'-ki. A holograph of a communications officer making a routine report flickered above the station. Sans forewarning, the warrior's head shook violently and his eyes snapped close. He shrieked, extended his claws, and began gouging out his own eyes as static filtered into and washed clean the transmission. Vukar held himself a moment, considering the horrific image. He felt hot breath pass across his neck and cocked his head to find Makorshk seething behind him. "Comment?"

  "Interesting. Now I do have an answer." The tactical officer returned to his station and quickly buried himself in his displays.

  Expecting that in a moment Makorshk would share his findings, Vukar paused at the comm station and waited.

  The moment passed, but the second fang ignored Vukar and the other officers, everything save for his data.

  With his blood frenzy reawakened and thoughts of initiating the challenge here and now, Vukar crossed to Makorshk's station and once more beat his fist on the control panel, jarring the tactical officer. "If you have an answer, let's hear it!"

  "I've just scanned data that we recovered during the Terran-Pilgrim War. What we just saw? It's nothing new. Some Pilgrims, not many, possess a form of telekinesis that they can use as a weapon. However, their precepts rule against such use. The Confederation hunted down as many of these Pilgrims as they could, but it seems a few got away. I'm certain that's what we're dealing with now."

  "We're not dealing with them. We're being slaughtered by them. But why this method now? Why not use their hopper drive? Can they still engage it?"

  "I don't believe they can. I ran a multi-emission scan of the ship, searching for evidence of a reaction containment field or other controlled matter-antimatter reactions. I found none, which may mean their drive is offline, possibly for repairs. If it were not, then yes, why would they turn to their brethren for help and break their own precepts? The gravity well would kill us far more efficiently. And there's another interesting fact. The Confederation was able to capture many of these Pilgrims because once they reach out and kill a life form, they need time to recover, sometimes as long as several standard days."

  "What if those Pilgrims expended most of their energy on our cruisers? That would mean…"

  "Yes, Kalrahalr. Now you are the one with the answers."

  Vukar repressed his reaction. No sense in letting the bridge crew see his amusement over Makorshk's compliment, perhaps the first he had ever given. Vukar shifted to the comm station and gave the order: "Dispatch our cruiser and destroyer. Launch all fighters from the dreadnought to escort. This time the Caxki clan will take her."

  The command chair felt too small, and the bulkheads seemed to inch a little closer toward Amity Aristee. She bolted from her seat, her breath coming in an uneven burst. The XO, seated at the port observation station to study a tactical report, glanced back and registered his concern.

  "Captain?" That from Sostur Charity, the radar officer on duty. "The Kilrathi cruiser and destroyer are breaking ahead of the battle group. Count one-eight-seven bandits in escort."

  "How many?"

  "One-eight-seven, ma'am. A combined force from the cruiser and dreadnought."

  Aristee nearly lunged back to her command chair, slid over the comm screen mounted on a swivel arm, and dialed up the aft observation bubble. "Brotur Zimbaka?"

  No response. She hit the override to engage the comm unit's camera and remote operate it from the bridge. She panned across the wide, circular room crowned by a hemisphere of Plexi, spotted the narrow columns of telescopic imaging components, then something told her to pan down.

  Zimbaka and the nine others who had agreed to help lay on the floor, some shivering violently, some staring off at a cold tomb of horrors. Zimbaka himself sat up with his knees pulled into his chest. His head jittered, his eyes looked red and clouded, and his mouth hung open. Drool dripped from his chin.

  "Brotur Zimbaka?"

  He tilted his head a fraction to the left, as though recognizing her voice, but continued to shake, to drool, to remain lost in a labyrinth of pain.

  She called again. No reaction.

  Aristee banged off the comm unit and regarded Sostur Char-ity. "How long until the Kilrathi are in cannon range?"

  "They're accelerating to one-five-zero. ETA to cannon range, three-point-three-one minutes."

  At least the cats would only launch a limited torpedo barrage and not call upon their new Skipper missile. They clearly intended to take the ship intact. They would, as they just had, direct their fire toward the ion engines to disable the ship. And without the help of Karista Mullens and the others, the cruiser might get in close enough to deliver the crippling blow. The seventy or so Rapiers left in Aristee's complement would surely be overrun by the Dralthi, even with James's help out there. She clutched the arm of her command chair, closed her eyes, and groped for a solution. Groped again. Something now… something…

  Eyes open.

  Fingers tapped hard on the comm touchpad.

  "Yes, Captain," Karista Mullens said, staring nervously at the camera.

  "Sostur. You and I need to talk. I'm coming down."

  Maniac shifted course three degrees to starboard. The targeting reticle rested squarely over the Olympus's portside ion engine. Range: four-zero-nine meters. The computer continued to flash warnings along the perimeter of his HUD, which he translated as, Hey, you're targeting your own ship. Sorry, honey, but this isn't my ship at all. "Maniac is locked on," he told Blair.

  "Locked myself, but I'm picking up something right on the fringe. Can't get an ID yet. Looks big, though. Maybe we should-"

  "No way. This is it. I'm making the run, with or without you. And like you said, at any second the cannon operators or other pilots will get wise."

  Blair sighed in resignation. "All right. This is the right thing. This is what we have to do."

  "That's right. Keep convincing yourself. I'm telling you, it's all going
to work out. Let's get in just a little-"

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Blair cried. "Something moving into her wash. Searching… Aw, shit. It's a Rapier, alternating course between exhaust nodules."

  "It'll be the memory of a Rapier in two seconds," Maniac promised.

  "Break off," Paladin ordered, assuming an expression of unflappable calm as he piloted the fighter shielding the Olym-pus's engines.

  Maniac scowled at the display. "No, sir. You break off. Otherwise I'll wax your ass. Sir."

  "Lieutenant, you won't get that chance. The big guns'll shovel enough antimatter fire into your face to make you burst into flames before you get off a shot. Every nerve in your body will register the sensation of being burned alive. Don't believe me? Scan the ship. You're dancing in their sights."

  "Like I care, Pilgrim. I'll go out doing the right thing, not selling out to the goddamned enemy. How do you live with yourself? You're supposed to be a commodore, for God's sake. All it takes is one whiff of Pilgrim poontang?"

  "Sir?" Blair cut in. "I know you've done everything you can to get Aristee to stand down. But she obviously won't. It's time to act. And if we die now, well, we knew that could happen going in."

  "Mr. Blair, this won't solve anything, and you'll lose your lives for nothing."

  "But we can do this now," Blair implored him. "Why don't you help us? We can disable the ship and put an end to all of this."

  "Yes, we'll end everything. The cats will get the ship. We'll die. Wrong ending, Lieutenant."

  "What about Aristee's people, the ones with the extrakinetic thing?" Maniac asked. "Why doesn't she just let 'em loose on the cats?"

  "She did. They're incapacitated now. Could be days before they recover. And gentlemen? It gets more interesting. Seems that the Kilrathi have done their homework. They've realized what we threw at them, figured out that our Pilgrims need down time, so they've launched another assault. The cruiser and the destroyer are inbound, along with nearly two hundred fighters. We have about seventy or so Rapiers to throw at them. The bombers have headed in to reload." He paused to take a long breath. "Still want to disable the ship?"