Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars Chapter 13
| Chapter 13 | |
|---|---|
| |
| Book | Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars |
| Parts | 2 |
| Previous | Chapter 12 |
| Next | Chapter 14 |
| Pages | 149-159 |
Dramatis Personae
| Part 1 | Part 2 | |
|---|---|---|
| POV | ||
| Speaking |
Jeanette "Angel" Deveraux |
Todd "Maniac" Marshall |
| Mentioned |
Text
| VEGA SECTOR, DAY QUADRANT |
| CS TIGER CLAW |
| HIGH ORBIT, NETHER- ANYA |
| 2654.095 |
| 0900 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME |
Part One
"Relayed drone message from the Concordia coming through now, sir," Comm Officer Zabrowsky reported.
Gerald nodded sharply. "Decrypt and route to OS station two."
"Aye, sir. Decryption in progress." The freckle-faced boy swiveled back to his instruments. "Routing to OS two."
As Gerald pulled his tired frame to the portside observation station, he muttered, "It's about time."
The Tiger Claw had reached Netheranya three standard days ago and had assumed a high orbit of the mottled brown world whose oceans comprised only ten percent of her total area. Gerald had sent off a drone to Naval Station Gemini near the Enyo system to inform the admiral that they were at station. Gemini would in turn send off a jump-capable drone to the Concordia, now orbiting McDaniel's World.
Intership, long-distance drone communications did little more than snail along, but the Hell's Kitchen system stood in an area of space known as the Vega cluster, with Enyo, McAuliffe, Dieno, Pephedro, Blackmane, and Cambria all within the grid and just a single jump away. With so many systems in the area, Gerald had assumed there would be other fleet operations within direct communications range. They had detected and contacted several Confed merchant and cargo vessels as well as several civilian and commercial transports, but they had failed to find any capital ships from the 14th Fleet. Gerald had grown a bit unnerved by the prospect of the Claw, the Mitchell Hammock, and the Oregon being the only capital ships within half of Day Quadrant. He wondered why the admiral had spread the fleet so thinly, and he hoped the communique would explain that.
Appearing to be his usual impeccable self, Tolwyn gave his customary nod of acknowledgment and said, "Sorry for the delay, Mr. Gerald. We'll get right to it. Interstellar probes detected a Kilrathi battle group between Lafayette and Tamayo systems. The cats are obviously after the Olympus. I've dispatched six strike carriers with orders to find and destroy that battle group. In the meantime, we're going to call Captain Aristee's bluff. At this moment, nearly one hundred CF-20 ConCom ships are deploying drones throughout Vega sector. Each drone will broadcast a long-range transmission for Captain Aristee. I've attached a copy of the transmission for your review. In sum, she is ordered to surrender her vessel--otherwise every Pilgrim system and enclave within Confederation territory will be destroyed and all surviving Pilgrims within our borders will be arrested and imprisoned until she stands down. That last part won't be too difficult since many of those Pilgrims have already sought shelter in designated camps."
Gerald paused the message. Had the admiral lost his mind? Yes, he might be calling Aristee's bluff, but if he actually ordered the destruction, he would be personally responsible for the deaths of billions. The senate would hang him. It took a moment more for Gerald to realize what Tolwyn had done, and he smiled inwardly. The senate probably had no idea of the admiral's plan. However, if one of the drones were intercepted by the wrong ship, and word leaked back to the senate--but by then it would be too late to stop Tolwyn. On the other hand, the plan might work. How could Aristee ever hope to build a force if the
Confederation wiped out the systems and enclaves? She might finally recognize the foolishness of her pursuits.
"Mr. Gerald, I want you to establish a no-fly zone around the Pilgrim enclave Triune on Netheranya. The strike bases at Tung and Sylee will provide atmospheric air support while your fighter wing will interdict all ships attempting to make orbit or planet-fall. I've already contacted the Pilgrim ambassador of Triune and declared a state of martial law. Now, Mr. Gerald, if we receive a refusal from Captain Aristee, know that I will give the order to destroy Triune and its four million inhabitants. In all, over two billion Pilgrims across three systems and five colonial enclaves will die. That's our worst case scenario, and I'm praying it doesn't come to that. But Aristee has been sending messages long enough. It's high time we replied. I'll keep you informed. Tolwyn out."
"You're really going to do it, old man," Gerald whispered to the blank screen. He glanced up at Netheryana, looming in the viewport. His mind traveled to the cities, the suburbs, the little farms, the wine fields, the hills that rolled on to the horizon. He thought of the children lining up behind their teachers, the old men and women gaming in the parks, the cool, dark waters of the many streams that ran through the simple land. He had had too much time to study the enclave, to drift through the holos that showed images as strikingly beautiful as they now were painful. He should feel glad that Tolwyn was taking extreme measures to bring in Aristee, but killing civilians just to make a point smacked of terrorism. They're not civilians--they're Pilgrims. Hell, they don't even think of themselves as human. The reminder hardly made him feel better. He craned his head to the comm station. "Mr. Z? Get me the COs at Tung and Sylee."
"Aye, sir. Establishing communications."
"Mr. Obutu? Recall security patrol and scramble First and Third squadrons."
Obutu repeated the command, then contacted the Rapier pilots presently flying patrol.
Gerald switched on the shipwide intercom and hemmed. "All personnel, this is the captain. We have just received orders to establish a no-fly zone over Triune. I suspect we'll encounter a lot of resistance from commercial and civilian vessels. We'll remain secured from general quarters, but I'd like to maintain a heightened sense of readiness. Any one of those ships could take a potshot at us, and those skippers know we won't return fire and create an incident. I'd like to avoid becoming famous, but we will respond appropriately to significant threats. If you have any questions, consult with your department heads. That is all."
"Sir?" Comm Officer Zabrowsky called. "No response from the strike bases yet, but I have Lieutenant Commander Deveraux on a secure channel."
"I'll take it here."
Angel's bewildered expression lit the screen, with officers scrambling from the flight control room behind her. "Sir. We expecting Aristee?"
"I doubt it. The admiral's calling her bluff with this blockade, but my gut's telling me this isn't right. Exercise extreme caution out there. Divert civilian and commercial pilots to Enyo where possible. Notify any ships in need of refueling that we will accommodate that need as necessary."
"How long will this last?"
"Vega's a big place. And Aristee is a stubborn woman. I think we'll be anchoring here for a very long time."
"Have you received any word from Commodore Taggart?"
"I'm betting that when we hear from Aristee, we'll hear from him. Probably not before."
"Yes, sir." She ended the transmission.
"Sir? Contact bearing three-two-four by five-one-nine," Radar Officer Falk said. "Designate Bravo two-five, Wren-class commercial transport. Range: two-one-five Ks. Velocity: one-two-five KPS and slowing."
"And the party begins," Gerald said, then rose and skirted his way back to his command chair. "Hail them, Mr. Falk. Report perimeter violation of standard no-fly zone. If that captain gives you an argument, patch him through to me."
Part Two
Blair shook his head as Maniac released an especially loud yawn. "I ever tell you about the time I took Casey up in my Rapier trainer? That was a date that blondie will never forget. Shit, even I remember it."
Maniac's words echoed hollowly through the brig, and for once in his life Blair truly wished he were alone. He had been sitting in his cell for seven days since first coming aboard. Paladin had been in his company for the first two days, then the Marine guards had fetched him, and Blair had not seen or heard from the commodore since.
He and Maniac spent most of their time talking. Blair told Maniac stories about his boyhood, stories of farming, of his first experience with his holographic assistant, Merlin, and of his first kiss in preschool. But this heart-warming, general audience stuff only inspired fits of yawning from his wingman. Living up to his reputation, Maniac related tales of his numerous and varied sexual encounters, he the virile hero whose presence struck down women with an overpowering desire to tear the clothes from their bodies and throw themselves at him. The stories grew more graphic, the women more beautiful, the truth lost in all of that heavy breathing. Marshall's call sign should have been NymphoManiac .
By the third day, Blair's request for a shower and clean clothes had finally been honored. The guards had kept their weapons trained on them even while in the latrine and afterward had forced them to wear Pilgrim robes. Maniac had swapped a few insults with the guards, but for the most part they ignored his crude comments.
With the passage of each day, marked by a report from Merlin and the switching on or off of the lights, Blair grew more anxious and began to doubt that they would ever be released. Surely he had better things to do with his time than die in a miserable cell in the company of Todd Marshall. Even now, as Maniac launched into another of his tales, which somehow involved two people in the cramped confines of a Rapier cockpit, Blair rocked slowly on his cot and thought of his youth, of how much he had not seen, and of how his last image might be a sheet of scored gray steel.
And the questions, so many questions, continued to elude him. Where was Paladin? Why hadn't he come to visit? Why hadn't anyone come to see them? Why did Paladin bring him here in the first place? Where was the ship now? What was happening back on the Claw? What about Angel?
And the note. Had she received the note? The Diligent's comm computer had reported a successful transmission. He wondered what she thought of it. He shouldn't have written the "L" word. He had probably frightened her. What a spectacularly foolish thing he had done. Well, it could have been worse. He could have listened to Merlin; then again, he would have someone else to blame if he lost her.
Why was he so afraid of losing her? What about her intrigued him so much? Her raw beauty and strong will had initially attracted him, but what now kept him rapt? Was it her pain? The emptiness he had already tried to fill? Did he want to save her from self-destruction? Or did he want to show her that chivalry still existed despite the years and distances? He should be with her for the right reasons, but what were they? He couldn't just be her savior. She would close up, resent him, because needing him would make her confront her own weaknesses, and while she could do that, the reminder would only bring her more pain."
"... and you should have seen the look on my crew chief's face when the canopy opens and up pops Casey's head. I tell him that I caught her trespassing in my cockpit and that I'm turning her over to security immediately." Maniac chuckled over the memory, then his voice died off into the silence. "C'mon, Blair. You gotta admit that's funny."
"Uh-huh."
"What's the matter? Ain't you ever been locked up for a week aboard a supercruiser taken over by Pilgrims?" He snorted. "I
know this sucks. It really sucks. I bet Taggart's up in the wardroom right now, eating like a king. Aristee's probably won him over already."
"No way. He's up there convincing her to stand down," Blair countered, wishing his words were fact.
"I ain't saying he's a traitor. She could've easily drugged him. He's Intell and privy to a lot of data that she'd love to have. Know what? I'm convinced she's done that. Otherwise, he would have already come down to see us. He's either drugged or suddenly doesn't care. Or maybe I am saying he's a traitor."
"Paladin's no turncoat. He's more loyal to the Confederation than you."
"Then I hope his loyalty buys us a ticket out of this hole." A solid and familiar thump sounded from the wall that adjoined their cells. As he did at least once every day, Maniac had beat his fist on the steel. "Hey, guards?"
Someone approached, but the footsteps sounded a bit lighter than those of the guards, whose passage Blair had come to know well. He sprang from the bunk and gripped the bars of his cell, imagining for the nth time that he had the strength to bend durasteel. He jammed his head against the bars and squinted through the shadows vesturing the passage.
A figure came forward, his white robe extending to his shins and fluttering behind him with an almost underwater slowness. His face grew distinct, and Blair gasped. "Sir."
"Your ears must've been ringing," Maniac said.
Paladin arrived before Blair and gave a curt nod. "Lieutenant. How are you two doing?"
"We're all right," Blair answered. "They fed us well."
"If you call leftover rations a meal," Maniac qualified. "Probably scooped them out of waste can. Hey, Commodore? Where you been? And when the hell are we getting out?"
"It's complicated. And I'm not sure if you'll be getting out anytime soon. Aristee doesn't have enough personnel to assign a guard to you. It's easier for her to keep you here."
"While you get to stroll around the ship unguarded?" Maniac quickly followed. "Excuse me, sir, but I have a slight problem with that."
"She's got a guard on me. He's waiting at the hatch."
"You talk to her yet?" Blair asked.
"I've had several opportunities, Mr. Blair. Suffice it to say, I need many more."
"Question is, do we have that time? Where is she headed? And how many more people do you think she'll kill?"
"She's arranged to purchase supplies and take on more personnel at Aloysius Prime. She's having some trouble with the hopper drive, so I expect it'll take us a while before we get there. I'm not happy with that destination. Aloysius is in Robert's Quadrant, right on the Kilrathi border."
"You're not happy with that destination?" Maniac snapped. "Why don't you do something about it? That bitch will never stand down. We need to take this ship by force."
"Excellent idea," Blair said, feigning his enthusiasm. "The three of us will take on the entire crew. Or maybe you'd like to do that single-handedly? At least you'd have something other than sex to talk about."
"I'm flipping you the bird right now."
Paladin shifted to Maniac's cell. "Mr. Marshall, we may very well have to take this ship by force. And if we do, I expect that you will follow my orders without question--no matter what I tell you to do."
"At this point, sir, I'm most concerned with getting my particular ass off this particular ship. If we can save the Confederation in the interim, more power to us."
"Sir?" Blair interrupted. "Why didn't you come to see us sooner?"
"She's been forcing me to attend her con-crit sessions and suffer through a series of songs and conversations, a kind of exorcism of old ideas through music and speech. Your basic brainwashing in the guise of spiritual pursuit. It takes nearly five days to go through the first sequence."
"Maybe they drugged you," Maniac said. "Maybe you're just feeding us bullshit."
"I haven't been drugged. Tampering with the body in that way is strictly forbidden. That's a covenant in our favor. They want to win over only cognizant individuals since cognizance is a prerequisite of ascension."
"These people don't hang out in shuttleports, chanting and handing out flyers, do they?" Maniac gibed.
"Don't underestimate them, Mr. Marshall. If you do, you'll wind up chanting and distributing flyers yourself."
"Sir, I've never been a POW," Blair confessed. "That Kilrathi tattoo on your neck helps you remember that you were. I don't want to pry, but tell me this: How did you get through it? What did you do to keep yourself sane? It's only been a week, but I feel more tortured by the monotony than if they came down here and beat me. I guess I have too much time on my hands. I'm getting wire happy. So's Maniac. Pretty soon we'll do anything to escape, even if it gets us killed."
"I think you get through it by reaching down into yourself and finding a real reason to live. Why are you here, Mr. Blair? What is your purpose in this universe? Big questions. They might even sound ridiculous. But if you can discover the answers, it won't matter what they throw at you. When the Kilrathi took me, it was like having a window to hell. They know exactly what can kill a human. Exactly. That's just what I said in my debriefing. I spent two long years in captivity, but I made it through because I'm here to affect as many lives as I can. My life was never mine. It took me a long time to reconcile with that."
"To be honest, sir, I have no idea why I'm here. But I'll try to figure that out. Thanks."
"Gentlemen, I'll visit again soon. Just hang tight. Do the Confederation proud."
"Oh, we're doing it real proud sittin' here," Maniac muttered.
Ignoring the remark, the commodore drifted off, into the shadows.
Blair remained at the bars for several minutes after Paladin left. He played over the commodore's advice, but his thoughts seemed as imprisoned as his body. Maybe I'm just here to be a Confederation pilot. Maybe I don't have some higher purpose. Why do I even need one?
Your purpose is with us.
The voice sent Blair recoiling from the bars to inspect his cell. She had spoken in his head. And it hadn't been during a jump. Who are you?
I'm not a ghost. I'm not reading your mind. I'm just letting you read the script of my thoughts. My script is here, in this ship. Would you like to know me?
Yeah, I guess so. What do you want?
I'll come for you when I can.
Who are you?
No response.
"Who are you?"
"What?" Maniac asked.
Blair drew in a long breath, rubbed his eyes, then dropped onto his cot. "Nothing."
"Know what's gonna happen, Ace? The Confed is going to pound this ship out of existence, and we'll be along for the ride. We're on death row."
"Hey, Maniac? What's your purpose in life?"
"Shit, that's easy. I'm here to strap on a starfighter and rack up as many kills as possible. I am a killing machine. I am population control. I am the final glimpse before eternity. Sivar loves me. I send him fresh Kilrathi souls."
"Seriously."
" Seriously. I am here to kill, kill, kill. And I'll give back to the universe by a making a few babies. But not any time soon. I need another decade or so of practice, with, of course, as many women as possible. You stand on your marble mountain and tell me I'm shallow. But I got no illusions about this. And if there is a supreme being, then I have to get credit for being exactly who I am. Love me. Hate me. But you have to respect that I know what I'm about. You? You keep turning back to this Pilgrim thing. So your mother was a Pilgrim. So what. Look at these people. Look at what they've done. You want to dial into this?"
Blair jerked himself off the cot and beat a fist into his palm. "Not all Pilgrims are like this. I wish somebody would teach me who they really are. Then maybe I'd know what I'm about. And so would you."
With a laugh, Maniac replied, "You're about fear. You're about confusion. You're about running. And it would make me feel a whole lot better if you were about kicking ass."
"Even if I were, what could we do about it? Try to pull off some pathetic diversion? You complain that you're sick, then the guard opens the door and you pound his ass? Then you open my cell, we take the guards' weapons, hightail it through the ship, and take Aristee at gunpoint? We're living this. It ain't some bad movie."
"We got nothing to lose. I say we try anyway." Blair threw up his hands. "Go ahead. You can add stupidity to what you're about."
