by Peter Telep
Bulkheads thundered so loudly that they overpowered the XO, the drive, and the gunfire traded between Santyana and the Marines.
Then every sensation got locked inside that trillion-year second of the jump:
Karista hovered over Frotur McDaniel, her face like a plate of shattered glass.
The flash from Santyana's muzzle hung like a silk blossom, and a round floated just a meter away from the gun. With ruddy cheeks and bulging eyes, he had begun to shout something.
Maniac gaped at the blood on his fingers. More blood had streamed down from his neck and onto the collar of his Pilgrim robe.
Although Aristee had been freed, she had only made it halfway to the control panel, had felt the oncoming jump, and had reached out in vain before the drive rooted her to the deck.
Zimbaka and the other two Pilgrims had sought cover behind the curving back of the panel. They huddled together, eyes closed, heads tucked tightly into their shoulders.
While the drive officers had remained at their stations, all four had attempted to lift their legs and squeeze themselves into the padded confines of their chairs.
Then there was Paladin, who had assumed McDaniel's place at the drive's control panel and wore his mask of quiet intensity as he gripped his Pilgrim cross.
A key suddenly turned, the chest of the moment yawned open, and chaos escaped as though held under pressure.
"We've taken another hit to the port engine," the XO said over the comm monitor. "But the jump was successful, Brotur Taggart."
As Santyana cut loose another volley at the Marines above, Blair crawled on his elbows toward him.
Karista darted to Maniac, slung his arm over her shoulder, then hauled him to the relative cover of the hopper drive's massive pedestal.
"Hold your fire," Aristee roared. "Hold your fire!"
Rounds beat in triplets off the catwalk's railing as Santyana drove the Marines back toward the corridor. That accomplished, he straightened and swung his rifle at Aristee.
In the meantime, Blair glanced at the Marine he had tossed over the railing. While Santyana had confiscated her rifle, her pistol remained holstered at her side. Blair kept hunched over and stole his way to the unconscious soldier, withdrew her sidearm, then, two-handing the weapon, he slinked back behind the panel and stood beside Santyana.
"Brotur Vyson," Aristee said, directing her voice to the monitor and ignoring the weapons trained on her. "Report."
"We're five minutes from Earth orbit. Picking up massive electromagnetic signatures. Hold a minute. Contacts identified as the strike carrier Tiger Claw and the supercruiser Fosubius with her standard two-by-one escort."
"I was hoping for a smaller reception," Aristee muttered.
"Those pilots on Aloysius must've been picked up and tipped off Tolwyn," Paladin said. "But it doesn't matter. We can open the well now and take them all out. Computer. Initiate pre-jump sequence."
"Initiated."
"Don't do it, sir," Blair said, following Santyana around the control panel. Santyana broke right to close in on Aristee, while Blair continued on toward Paladin.
"Look up," Aristee said. "We have you covered again. You shoot. They shoot. So we're back to our standoff."
She hadn't lied. The Marines had once more fanned out along the catwalk, though Blair counted only seven now.
"Shoot her, for God's sake," Maniac cried. "And cap him, too, the scumbag traitor."
Blair closed his eyes and took himself toward Paladin-
But Zimbaka suddenly appeared and bent his knees in a battle stance. Blair didn't know which form of martial arts the man practiced, but he did know he was about to find out. "I don't think so, Brotur."
A hand fell on Blair's shoulder. "The containment field is operating at one hundred percent," Karista said. "Brotur Zimbaka and his friends are free to stop us. And they can. Forget it, Blair."
"But we have to do something."
After word had reached Captain Gerald of the Olympus's jump into Sol, he had decided that Angel's squadron would be designated Alert One and held in reserve to escort the Tiger Claw. Before the launch, Angel had gone to his ready room to dispute that decision.
"Don't question my judgment," Gerald had warned.
"You think my prejudice will falter out there?"
"Of course it will."
"We don't even know if Taggart and Blair are still on board that ship. I've been at this too long to let emotions get in the way. You know that."
"The admiral has ordered us to take the ship intact. If that's not possible, we will destroy it. To be honest, Commander, I don't think you're up to the task. You weren't particularly aggressive over Triune, and one of your people lost a Rapier because of that."
"But as I recall, I wasn't the one with doubts, sir."
"You have your orders."
"We're point squadron. Keep us in the rear and you're wasting resources."
"Thank you for that unsolicited opinion, Commander. You're dismissed."
She had considered pounding out of Gerald's ready room; instead, she had lifted a crisp salute, spun on her heel, and exited. Any display of anger at that point would have revealed that her emotions did get in the way.
But it hurt so badly to bury her feelings for Blair. She felt guilty, felt as though she were betraying herself.
Now, as she hovered with the rest of the squadron off the Claw's portside, she wondered if she could muster enough control to stand by and watch nearly five hundred Rapiers and a hundred Broadsword bombers-a combined force from the Claw and the Fosubius battle group-attack that lone supercruiser. Then again, maybe Gerald had done her squadron a favor. If the cruiser opened a gravity well, the battle over Lethe would repeat itself but on a much more devastating scale.
Dozens of thrusters speckled the night like sapphires and joined into necklaces that twisted back to the Fosubius and her escorts.
"Well, mates, there they go," Hunter said, transmitting on the squadron's general frequency. "And here we stay."
"Yeah," Bishop groaned. "Our first real shot at payback, and we're benched. Typical."
"At least we got good seats for the show," Gangsta said, her spirits only slightly higher than theirs.
"Hey, don't want to sound, well, scared, but I kinda like it where we are," Cheddarboy confessed. "Beats being flushed. You just know they'll open a well."
"Commander?" Hunter called. "Any idea why the captain held us back?"
Angel hesitated. "Ladies, it's my fault."
"Your fault?" Hunter asked. "You piss him off or what?"
"That's nice of you, Captain, but you know damned well why we're back here. You can't tell me you haven't heard the rumors about me and Lieutenant Blair."
"I, uh, didn't want to bring that up, ma'am."
"Well, there it is," Angel said.
"Maybe Gerald thinks we won't fight aggressively either, since one of our own might be on that ship," Bishop added.
"You people tolerate Mr. Blair, but you wouldn't disobey orders to save his life. Gerald knows that. But me? Maybe I would." Angel pressed her head into her seat and shut her eyes. "Maybe I would."
"What are you talking about?" Gangsta cried. "He pulled us out of that well over Lethe. We owe him. And if we get a chance to save him now, then we should."
"Hey, I need this job," Bishop said. "And holy shit, people! They're opening a well!"
The voice of the Olympus's NAVCOM AI resounded over the ship-wide intercom: "Attention. Attention. Jump interphase complete. Jump sequence engaged. Ship will reach Point of No Return Velocity in nine-point-zero-three minutes. All systems locked out. Ship is committed to the jump."
"Oh my god," Blair rasped, holding shaky aim on the commodore. "What have you done!"
"He's created the well," Maniac shouted from his seat on the deck. "You should've killed him!" With a shriek, Maniac jerked himself up and started for Paladin.
But a shot from the Marines glanced off the deck in front of Maniac, and he turned into a man
nequin of himself, shifting just once to catch his balance.
Santyana swung his rifle toward the catwalk and sprayed the Marine who had fired. The jarhead staggered back as several rounds blasted off his armor. He dropped his rifle and collapsed.
Aristee's gaze swept across a bank of monitors, then something she saw there drained the confidence from her expression. She stared accusingly at Paladin. "A standard well? Five hundred meters? This won't…" She yanked the Pilgrim cross from her chain and fingered the center button. With a swish, the cross's long blade telescoped from its bottom. She drew back the cross, knife-end sticking from the bottom of her fist, and went for him. "You bastard!"
As Paladin raised an arm, the NAVCOM boomed again over a sudden squawking of alarms: "Warning. Error in second set jump coordinates. Suggest course correction immediately."
Aristee's blade came down on Paladin, but he deftly blocked her forearm with his own and seized the cross. "I've just opened a well that'll consume this ship."
"But I love you. We're paired. You told me you understood. You told me it was time to create a home."
"Warning. Error in second set jump coordinates," the NAVCOM droned on.
Aristee gianced to the drive control panel. "Input the coordinates. At least let us jump."
"I'm sorry." He threw her cross to the deck, shoved her back, then touched a comm control. "All hands, this is Brotur Taggart. I've just sent off an automatic message relaying our surrender. I suggest that all of you immediately abandon ship. We won't reach the gravity well's PNR for another eight minutes. That's all the time you have. I'll direct the NAVCOM to issue automatic clock reports." He paused, never looking more grim. "Save yourselves."
"They won't do it," Aristee said. "Not unless they hear it from me."
His hand shot out, locking her neck in the vice of his grip. "Then give the order."
"I won't. They pledged their lives to this rebellion. Now they'll make the sacrifice. And maybe that's our statement." He held her a moment more, then twisted away.
"Blair? Maniac? Mr. Santyana? Round up as many as you can and abandon ship."
"Finally an order that makes sense," Maniac grumbled, his palm still pressed firmly on his neck.
Aristee went to the main drive panel and stood there, once a woman who had gathered power and strength from the night, now a woman whose night had turned against her. For a second, Blair left himself and tried to touch her thoughts. Towers of fire and ice stood in his way. He did sense that she had no intention of leaving the ship, not only because she was its captain but because the well would embrace her in martyrdom.
Blair returned to himself and rushed up behind Paladin. "Sir?"
The commodore would not turn. "What is it?"
"Let's go."
"I'll meet you on the flight deck," he answered a little too quickly. "But here…" He removed his Pilgrim cross, then turned and proffered it to Blair. "In case I don't make it back."
"I can't."
Paladin tossed the cross, and Blair could not help but catch it. "You're my anchor, Mr. Blair."
"That why you took me along?"
"You've been pressing me about Pilgrim culture and history. So you got a look." He glanced to Karista, who had once more moved to brace Maniac. "And you met your pair. Now evacuate this area. That's an order." The commodore suddenly looked very old, very lost, sure of nothing.
Blair hoisted a painful salute and mumbled, "Aye-aye, sir."
"Looks like our Marine buddies know what's good for them," Santyana said, scanning the empty catwalk. "Maniac, can you move?"
"It's just a little hickey. Hurts like a mother, though. Let's throttle up."
After slipping Paladin's cross over his neck, Blair joined Santyana, Karista, and Maniac as they mounted the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Brotur Zimbaka scrutinizing them as he spoke with Aristee. Her gaze found Blair's for a second, then she regarded Zimbaka and shook her head.
"Our fighters are breaking off," Bishop noticed. "Can you say: What?"
If Angel had not heard the order herself, she would have had as much trouble believing it as the rest of her squadron. But Gerald had spoken the words himself, and Angel assumed that the Fosubius's skipper had done likewise. "Commodore Taggart just relayed a message of the Pilgrims' unconditional surrender. It's over, ladies," Angel muted her headset's mike and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. At least Paladin had survived, and if he was looking out for Blair, then maybe, just maybe…
But did be wait for me? Probably not.
But you didn't want him to wait.
You lied.
It had been a long time since Angel had seen so many starfighters operating in a single Area of Operations, and it had been even longer since she had seen so many engage in a synchronous withdrawal. Rapiers by the dozens banked or wheeled or looped back, away from the undulating target of darkness off the supercruiser's bow. Bombing groups broke into lazy turns to streak across the moon's pale white brilliance. The cap ships themselves framed this spectacle; the Fosubius stood a kilometer off to starboard, with its escorts spread out like the buoys of a fishing net, and the Tiger Claw lay to port, her tubes ready to open for a little cap-to-cap combat.
"Hey, mates, if they're surrendering, then why are they launching fighters?" Hunter asked.
"Maybe they're abandoning ship," suggested Gangsta.
"But what about that gravity well?" Cheddarboy asked. "That ship's going to jump."
Pilgrim Rapiers continued rocketing from the Olympus's aft flight deck and forming into squadrons. They slowed as they grouped up, making it clear that they would not pursue the retreating Confederation fighters and bombers.
Then an unprovoked squadron of Confed Rapiers near the rear and closest to the Pilgrims turned tail, broke box formation, and vectored toward the enemy.
"Hello," Angel muttered. She quickly dialed up the Claw and had Gerald within seconds. "Got a squadron from the Fos-ubius — "
"We see them, Commander. They have no authorization to attack. That squadron commander is operating on his own."
"Sir?" Radar Officer Falk called in the background. "Second squadron joining in the attack."
"What's going on?" Angel demanded. "Those people have surrendered."
Neutron fire glittered in the distance, then two Rapiers, either Confederation or Pilgrim, exploded in a one-two punch, signaling the start of the battle.
A half dozen more Confederation squadrons took their cue and swung around toward their comrades. Angel scanned her communications menu, then touched to monitor the point squadrons' general frequency. Masked faces flashed on her VDU:
"They smoked Sly Honey!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is payback one-oh-one. Today we're going to teach you eight silent ways to toast a Pilgrim."
"Order to recall coming in."
"We've been provoked. You will ignore that order and defend yourselves at all costs."
Angel selected the squadron commander's private channel. The guy went by the moniker of "Tyrant," and if he had half a brain, he would listen. "Angel to Tyrant, copy?"
A web of scars lay over the man's cheeks and brow. He had been badly burned and probably couldn't afford a new face. At least his oxygen mask covered most of it. "Tyrant here. What do you want, Commander?"
"Break off your attack."
"Attack? We're on the defensive."
"Break off your attack!"
"You know the rules of engagement."
"I know 'em, and you broke 'em. They've surrendered."
"They had us locked on. We were targets."
"Of course they had you locked. Standard precaution. They didn't-"
"Look, lady, I don't have to justify this to you. Tyrant out."
"Son of a bitch," she whispered, then threw back her head.
"Ma'am?" Sinatra sounded over her private channel. "Gettin' hairy out there. What say we drift over and pop us a few Pilgrims?"
"Shut up," she yelled. "Just shut the hell up!
"
23
SOL SECTOR.TERRA QUADRANT.PLANET EARTH.CS OLYMPUS.
2654.128.1045 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME
"It'll take a couple of minutes to get everything online," Blair said as he tapped in a code on the Diligent's ramp control panel. "But we can make it."
"In this bucket?" Maniac asked as he watched the ramp lower into place. "Where's my Rapier?" He pulled away from Karista and had retreated not more than a few steps when a half dozen Pilgrims whose sashes identified them as ordnance specialists shoved their way around him. They ignored Maniac's cursing, focusing intently on the troopships across the bay.
Blair looked past Maniac to a surreal image of blistering panic. Though many of the Pilgrims on board remained at their stations, there had to be two, maybe three hundred people screaming and crowding the ramps of those eight troopships, and Blair imagined a similar riot on the Olym-pus's forward flight deck. The frenetic atmosphere left Blair feeling as panicked as the others. Somewhere across the bay, gunfire tore holes of silence in the commotion. More screams. And the chaos returned, mounting steadily toward a crescendo.
Just clear your head. Do the job. Fly them out.
"Most of them won't make it," Karista shouted, blinking to hold back the tears. "How many can we take?"
"Ten, fifteen at the most," Blair said. "But we have to save room for Santyana, his family, and the commodore."
"If they don't get their asses here soon, I'd go without 'em," Maniac said as he surveyed the swarm of Pilgrims for a second, then shook his head and headed back for the Diligent.
"Hey!" a young woman cried, clutching a boy of two or three. "Are you getting out? Can you take us?"
"Attention," came the NAVCOM AI's disembodied voice. "Ship will reach PNR velocity in four minutes."
Blair tensed as he studied the woman. "Get in."
"Thank you, Brotur. Thank you." She hustled past him.
"What're you gonna do, Blair? Make us too heavy to escape the well?" Maniac snarled. "Give me this!" He ripped the pistol from Blair's hand, then cocked his head toward the hold. "Get this bitch pre-flighted. I'm guarding the hatch."