Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars Chapter 16
| Chapter 16 | |
|---|---|
| |
| Book | Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars |
| Parts | 4 |
| Previous | Chapter 15 |
| Next | Chapter 17 |
| Pages | 187-199 |
Dramatis Personae
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| POV | ||||
| Speaking |
Jacko Fistalis |
Amity Aristee | ||
| Mentioned |
Text
| VEGA SECTOR ROBERT'S QUADRANT |
| FREYA SYSTEM KILRATHI BORDER |
| KIS SHAK'AR'ROC BATTLE GROUP |
| 2654.113 |
| 1100 HOURS IMPERIAL STANDARD TIME |
Part One
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 Satorshck 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 intership 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 Ragitagha 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 supercruiser 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. But 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 of Sivar. 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.
Part Two
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 attaché 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 PILGRIM 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 coming. 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?"
"Not at all. I have complete faith that you'll eventually resolve this situation, despite broken promises. I'm here to make sure you do so without sacrificing your career." She shifted her attention to Bellegarde. "I'll try to save yours, too."
Unsure of whether to thank or curse her, Bellegarde opted for a weak nod.
"Gentlemen, we're off to the map room for my update." She fetched her attaché case and carried her solid frame toward the door.
Bellegarde shared a weary look with Tolwyn as they followed her out.
Part Three
Who am I? Who am I Really?
Paladin had not said a word to Amity Aristee during their trip down to Aloysius Prime. He had stared through one of the launch's portholes and had imagined himself as a numb, purely logical creature who knew what was best for the Confederation and for the Pilgrims. But he had kept returning to the notion that he should do what was best for himself, for his heart. Why couldn't that complement his duty? Why did they have to be at cross purposes?
The launch had set down in a wide clearing encompassed by a dense rainforest that reminded Paladin of the holos he had seen of South America during his secondary education. Dark green fronds the size of Rapier wings created a fettered canopy that split the sunlight into thousands of glimmering blades. Trees with trunks as thick as three meters soared upward, losing themselves in their own limbs and the limbs of neighbors. Brown, moss-like vegetation blanketed most of the forest floor, with the occasional splotch of rich, black soil seeping through. Surprisingly, it had only taken a few minutes to grow accustomed to the air, and a strange, almost familiar scent lingered, a blend of anise and cinnamon that seemed wholly out of place given the damp terrain. Paladin presumed the odor came from a particular species of flora, though he had yet to find it. He had cautiously moved through the bramble, avoiding thorns and stroking the leaves and stems of several plants his terrain scanner identified as non-toxic. He had marveled over velvety textures and the trilling some vegetation made when touched, one of the few sounds in an area that, were it on Earth, would bustle with the hoots and cackles of its denizens. Aloysius's indigenous forest dwellers, mammals ranging from the size of a fingernail to three meters tall when standing on hind legs, were some of the shyest creatures in the known galaxy; the fact that any of them had been recorded stood as a triumph of some remarkably patient researchers.
The slightly muffled roar of running water emanated about one hundred meters away from the clearing, and while Aristee had gone off to meet with Frotur McDaniel, Paladin had ventured down a steep, natural embankment to a spectacular waterfall that rose some ninety meters and thrust out its great chest for nearly twice that. The water fell partly in a large double drop and partly in a series of smaller cataracts that gave it a crescent shape at its apex. Clouds of mist surged up from the river below and wound their way through the verdant treetops guarding the falls. The soothing rush of water and the angelic vapor that glossed the scene had lifted Paladin out of the nightmare of Aristee's rebellion and had lowered him into a dream where he could be consoled, comforted, and loved without complications. After a few minutes of pure rapture, he had sat on a large rock whose face had been worn smooth. He had remained there for nearly an hour until Aristee had come down to find him. She had massaged his shoulders for a few minutes, then, like a giggling schoolgirl, had stripped out of her uniform and had jumped into the river. Paladin had shaken his head at her requests for him to join her. Then she had come ashore and had dragged him fully clothed into the water.
They had spent the rest of that first day at the falls, swimming, climbing the slick rocks to find purchase beneath some of the less turbulent falls, letting the water cascade over their naked bodies. They had even discovered a cave behind one of the cataracts, had speculated on the treasure that lay within, but visions of sharp-toothed predators had cured their curiosity. They had eaten fruit and bread that Aristee had stowed in her pack and were disturbed only once by a call from the XO, who had delivered a routine progress report. Paladin had wondered when Aristee would return to the conversation they had begun on the bridge, but she had seemed at peace with the moment and had not wanted to spoil it. He had tapped into a little of her peace and had avoided the issue as well. Given his surroundings, he could easily pretend that he had but one task: to draw pleasure from the environment and the woman.
After relishing in fourteen standard hours of sunlight, twilight had washed over the sapphire sky, and Paladin had suggested that they head back to the launch. Aristee had insisted that they camp near the falls. She had taken along a small, Marine Corps-issue survival tent, so they had sent up their bivouac on the shoreline. They had made love until they were breathless, then had remained in each other's arms, whispered to sleep by the falls.
Part Four
Morning's light cut through the flaps of their tent and drew a blinding line across Paladin's face. He suddenly bolted awake, wondering how long they had slept. 1125 CST. Aristee lay on her stomach, head resting on an arm, hair curving across her smooth cheek. She breathed softly and looked frail, a young girl incapable of all she had wrought. Paladin shifted gingerly toward her pack and removed the palmlink. He slipped through the tent flaps and stood shivering in the cool, moist air as he opened a channel to the Olympus.
"Yes, Brotur Taggart?" came the comm officer's quick response, his face displayed on the link's tiny screen. "Get me the XO."
"Aye, sir."
After waiting but a few seconds, the XO appeared, seated in the command chair. "What can I do for you, Brotur Taggart?"
"Status report on cargo and personnel loading."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure whether I can--"
"Mr. Taggart has full security clearance, Brotur Vyson." Paladin glimpsed over his shoulder at Aristee, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, struggling to keep warm.
"Yes, ma'am. Cargo and personnel loading proceeding behind schedule. Awaiting nineteen more troopship arrivals. Departure time now stands at 0200 hours on one-one-four." Aristee tore the link from Paladin's hand. "What's the problem?"
"We've had a few delays on the flight deck, and we discovered minor hull breaches in two of the troopships. Repairs are nearly finished."
"Why wasn't I notified of this earlier?"
"To be honest, ma'am, I assumed you were
busy."
"Assume nothing. See if you can shave a few hours off that DT, you read me, Vyson?"
"Aye, ma'am. We're on it."
She thumbed off the palmlink, handed it to him, then puffed air. "Maybe you were right. Maybe we shouldn't have come down."
He shrugged and stepped away from her, conscious of his nudity. Back inside the tent, he retrieved his boxers. When he came out, she was already halfway to the shore line. She furrowed her brow at his underwear and beckoned him with an index finger. They did have the rest of the day to relax; why shouldn't he live the fantasy a bit longer?
The palmlink beeped for an incoming message. He accepted, and the XO's face reappeared. "Brotur Taggart? We've just intercepted a communications drone. Message has been decrypted. The captain needs to hear this."
