Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars Chapter 17
| Chapter 17 | |
|---|---|
| |
| Book | Wing Commander Pilgrim Stars |
| Parts | 4 |
| Previous | Chapter 16 |
| Next | Chapter 18 |
| Pages | 200-213 |
Dramatis Personae
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| POV | ||||
| Speaking |
Captain Amity Aristee |
Todd "Maniac" Marshall | ||
| Non-Speaking |
Unnamed Guard | |||
| Mentioned |
Text
| VEGA SECTOR ROBERT'S QUADRANT |
| ALOYSIUS SYSTEM |
| CS OLYMPUS |
| 2654.113 |
| 2230 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME |
Part One
"Try it again. Yes, that's perfect. I can feel it. Stronger now. Yes, stronger. What you see and what you feel--they should be much stronger, sometimes so strong that you can't bear them or distinguish between the two. But that's okay. That's normal, relatively speaking." In his mind, Blair reached out to Karista Mullens. He touched her cheek and could hardly believe that what he felt wasn't actually happening. Yes, the senses seemed heightened and blended together in a sensation entirely new to him. He snapped open his eyes, breaking the link. "We're tapping into the quantum bond between particles. That's how it works. Your cheek is over there, my hand over here. But the particles in my hand and your cheek are already connected at the quantum level. We think we're separate entities, but we're not. On one side of the universe a particle's rotation stops. On the other side of the universe, a particle linked to that one stops as well. Distances don't matter. And I guess as Pilgrims we're just able to recognize the connection."
She rolled her eyes and fell back on his cot. "This is about being, about emotion, not physics."
"There's a reason why we can do this, a scientific reason."
"We could make love without laying a hand on each other. Why don't you consider that instead of trying to explain this away? Our ancestors suffered from Space Syndrome Mutation. So here we are. Isn't that enough?"
He muttered, "Oh, man," and went to the bars of his cell, leaning back to work out a kink in his shoulder. She had to mention sex again.
I'm not trying seduce you.
Uh-huh...
"Why won't you tell more about this ability?" he asked, steering them far and away from sexual speculation. "You've taught me how to focus my thoughts and tap into that quantum level, but what can we do with this? What kind of range does this power have? Can we use it as a weapon? Can I force someone's eyes closed, throw someone against a wall, squeeze someone's heart until it stops beating? What?"
"You've reached out into gravity wells and found your way through them. No one explained how to do that. I've pointed you in the right direction, but I can't do any more."
That drew his snort. "Where I come from we call that rhetoric. Why don't you just answer a simple question?"
She sat up, pulled her long, blond locks behind her head, then lifted a narrow brow. "Because I don't know the answers. It's different for everyone, stronger in some, weaker in others. Not every Pilgrim has this ability. It's pretty rare. Even Frotur Johan can't do it. Neither can Amity Aristee."
"How many are we talking about?"
"Out of two billion or so Pilgrims, there are a hundred of us, maybe more. It takes time to realize you can do it."
"It's like telekinesis or something. Maybe the mutation exploited this ability in our ancestors," Blair supposed.
"This isn't just telekinesis. We've compared what we do to a few Terrans confirmed with those abilities. They can't feel the weight, the texture, or sense the smell of the objects they move. They describe the feeling as a force against another force. Sure, that's extrasensory, but what we have is much more. Some call it hypersensory or extrakinetic." She pushed herself up and came uncomfortably close, her eyes presenting a dangerous invitation. "But you--you're even more remarkable, Christopher Blair. You're a half-breed who's retained the power. As far as I know, you're the only one who has. I sensed the first time I contacted you that it was there. What you do with it is up to you. I can tell you this, though. If the universe has a consciousness, then it also has an eye on us. Some Pilgrims tried to exploit the power during the first war. They were successful at first, but when the Confederation finally captured some of them, they were taken to hospitals and ... well, studied, vivisected, you know the rest. They were punished for breaking the edicts."
"Are there more of us on board?"
"At least twenty-two more, but some of us can keep it out of our scripts, hide it from each other. The number's probably higher. If I were Captain Aristee, I would recruit as many of us as possible."
"Could we combine our power into a single force?"
She hesitated, then finally nodded. "It's complicated and has never been done with so many, but it's possible. I don't think Aristee could get everyone to do it, not unless the protur endorsed the order. Even then ..."
"How much power are we talking about?"
"We could reach out and murder a capital ship crew. We could tear apart its ion engines. We could destroy the ship within a minute or two. But what we have is regarded as sacred, a gift from Ivar Chu himself, something to be used for knowledge and discovery. We know Aristee plans to use us to the contrary. We believe in the cause, but most of us will draw the line there."
He flashed a wry grin. "But some won't."
"They're free to join her."
"And they can cause a lot of damage. So how strong are they individually? How strong are you? Show me."
His head slammed against the bars as unseen hands throttled him. He grabbed at his neck, trying in vain to pull the hands away as his air supply thinned.
"You can't stop me with your hands, Brotur. What I do with my mind is only as strong as what I can do with my body. You have to fight me on my terms."
Though still reflexively clutching his neck, Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on her image. He saw her standing beside him, eyes wide, arms extended, hands locked firmly around his neck. He seized her wrists and quite easily jerked himself free. Even as her hands left his neck, he gasped and opened his eyes.
"I hate that," she said with a shudder.
"I'm not exactly fond of it myself." He swallowed painfully. "What about objects? The cot? Move it across the room."
"No. There's a cold feeling that gets inside when you do that. It can take weeks to get out."
"Then maybe I can do it."
This time Blair kept his eyes open but focused on his thoughts. He envisioned himself walking over to the cot. He slid his palms under the durasteel frame and heaved. The cot would not budge. He looked up and saw Karista holding the opposite side of the rack. "You don't want to feel this," she said. "This coldness
it's not for us. Touch scripts. Touch people."
He strained against her and spoke through clenched teeth. "Let go."
She shattered like glass, fragments of her tumbling to the floor and on to the cot as he slid it across the cell--
And felt her promise of ice, of wind, of a winter colder than any he had known, a winter that coiled around his heart, gripped his head in a frosty vice, and sent chills dashing up his spine. He tore away from the rack and cried out, half surprised, half terrified. He focused on Karista, whose look of sympathy failed to warm him.
"W-why does ... it feel like that?" he asked, shivering uncontrollably.
"The cot has no life force. You sense that. You sense one corridor of death. For the Terran, moving the cot is painless. But for us, well, you'll be cold for a long time. I'm sorry."
"Hey," Maniac called from his cell. "You guys still talking in there? Shit, if I had a conjugal visit, you can bet your ass we would get conjugal. Hey, Karista, any chance you fixin' me up with a friend? C'mon, honey. Think of me. Be nice to get laid before I buy it down here."
"W-we aren't m-married and this isn't ... a conjugal visit Blair forced out. "Go b-back ... to sleep."
"Can't. 'Cause I'm sick of this. Sick of these walls. Sick of your special privileges. Sick of just lying here. Why don't they brainwash us? Torture us? Something? It's worse to be ignored."
"Yeah, f-for once, you don't ... have your ... audience."
Karista started for the door. "I'd better go."
"Aren't you worried?" Blair asked, blocking her with his arm. "When you k-key open the door, I could tap into the quantum bond, rush you, and escape."
"You won't. It's not time yet. You're waiting for your friends to come for you. But you're worried because you haven't had time to talk to the commodore. You could probably make it down to the flight deck and launch in the Diligent, but you're still worried about being shot down."
The revelation that she had probed his script made him feel even colder than moving the cot. He battled against the shivers, keeping his voice hard and steady. "You didn't come here to teach me anything. This has just been an interrogation. You got me to sell out those pilots. And everything you've told me--was that a lie, too?"
She took his hands in her own. "I didn't come down here to interrogate you. I wanted to meet my pair. I want to teach you. I haven't told the captain about your plans. And I won't. But I don't want you to throw your life away. Christopher, you're meant for so much more."
"That does wonders for my ego, but it still doesn't convince me or get me out of this cell. You don't want me to throw away my life? Help me. Get a few of your friends. You could make this happen."
"I'll think about it."
"Think hard. Think fast."
Blair shifted away and collapsed onto his bunk. Anguish seamed her face as she reached between the bars and keyed open the door. She gave him a final look, then fluttered off. He fell back on his pillow, lying in the cold clutches of himself.
Then, with a volume and abruptness that nearly made him fall out of the cot, the general quarters alarm sounded.
"Bet this ain't a drill," Maniac cried over the high-pitched tones.
Even as Blair opened his mouth to voice his own speculation, a powerful explosion ripped into the ship and sent massive tremors through the starboard side bulkheads. Every barred door in the brig rattled, and the deck heaved as it absorbed the potent force.
"Torpedo strike," shouted Maniac.
"Yeah, but whose?"
"Like it matters?" Maniac said through an ironic chuckle. "Our ride's about to end. I knew Aristee couldn't run for long. And now we pay for her mistake."
Part Two
After listening to Admiral Tolwyn's message, Amity Aristee had turned to Paladin, her face lighting with the realization that her hopper drive modifications would be completed ten days before Tolwyn's purported attack. She had snickered as she speculated on whether Tolwyn would actually sacrifice so many innocent lives.
"Don't doubt him," Paladin had said. "I've known Tolwyn for a long time. He's a brilliant strategist with a touch of insanity thrown in for good measure. Makes for a deadly combination. He means what he says."
"I've known him for a long time, too," she had countered. "He won't toss away his career for this."
"Maybe not, but his blockade has been in place for awhile. And there's a witch hunt going on throughout the Confederation. Our people are already suffering and dying. By the time you're ready to make your statement, most of them won't be around to witness it."
She had considered that for a moment, then had nodded. "I don't care what engineering has to do. We need that hopper drive modified much sooner. The second it's ready, we'll jump to Sol. But we have to finish loading cargo. I won't take us out understaffed and unprepared. Since we have to wait anyway, let's put this aside. I know that might seem absurd, but I have to clear my head. I have to get balance somehow. Come for a swim. You look like you need one, too."
It had taken her several more minutes of coaxing before he had finally succumbed to her siren's song. And it had taken another few hours for Paladin to fully forget recent events that seemed to pull on his limbs as though he were strapped to some medieval instrument of torture. He had slipped even deeper into the fantasy than he had the day before, embracing Aristee with a love that had gone unanswered for too many years. He had felt the urgent desire to merge with her, become one, to live that way for the rest of his life.
Part Three
Twilight had come on like a pallbearer, carrying the lost day on its back and leaving Paladin deeply troubled. Not long afterward the palmlink had beeped. The XO had nervously made his report to Aristee. "Captain. A Kilrathi battle group has just jumped into the system. Confirm a Snakeir-class superdreadnought and five escorts. No evidence that they've tagged us yet."
"Very well. Cease cargo loading. Recall all ships. Put the planet between us and that battle group."
"Aye, ma'am."
Paladin had given her a look.
"All right," she had said, rolling her eyes, "you told me so."
They had snatched up their clothes, had left behind their tent, and raced to the captain's launch. Within five minutes they had taken off, with Paladin at the helm.
Now, as they cleared Aloysius's atmosphere and spotted the shining speck of the Olympus dead ahead, Paladin pulled up a tactical report and noted the battle group's position. Although the Olympus had pulled around to the dark side of the planet, the battle group had shifted into a wide arc and had probably made visual confirmation before the Olympus could get into hiding. Yes, the Olympus presently operated in stealth mode, but that had failed to elude the Kilrathi and had proven that they knew the ship would be here and that Aristee had been double-crossed. The cats' first volley of torpedoes had already reconfirmed that assessment.
"Second salvo inbound," Paladin said as he tightened his grip on the launch's control stick. The sleek little shuttle with forward-swept wings responded well to even the slightest tap. He lit its twin afterburners and focused on the supercruiser.
Aristee faced the starboard Visual Display Unit, trading intent stares with the deck boss. "How many more troopships left, Mr. Towers?"
"Thirteen, Captain. I think we can get at least eight of them aboard before we're out of the system."
"Try to get them all." She tapped a touchpad below the VDU, bringing up the engineering station. "Brotur Hawthorne? Talk to me about my hopper drive."
The bedraggled man jerked toward the screen and tried to flatten his matted hair. "Still offline for modifications, ma'am."
"What?"
"You asked me to step up our schedule. I can't do that without taking the drive offline." He backhanded sweat from his brow and sighed.
"Well, I want it back online now. We have a Kilrathi battle group bearing down on us."
"I'm aware of that, ma'am, but the well field integrator has already been disassembled. I assumed you wanted me to make full modifications to the drive as we've discussed. I could have us ready to jump to Earth in fifteen, twenty days at the most, cutting our estimates in half. But the drive will have to remain offline."
"Forget about that," she said, on the cusp of swearing. "Just get it back online and get us out of here."
"We can reassemble within a day or two, but it'll take another eight to ten days to establish and moderate the reaction containment field. We'll have to add that time on to our estimates--and I know you want to get to Earth ASAP. If you want the drive to remain online during modifications and you want me to reassemble now, then we won't make it to Earth before one-five-eight. You told me we had to get there before then. I'm sorry, but this is the best I can do."
Aristee closed her eyes, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "Keep the drive offline. Carry on with modifications. I assume the helm will answer to full impulse?"
"It will."
She tapped in another code, and the XO turned to face her. "Captain, shields holding. I've launched countermeasures and shifted us into an evasion course."
"We can't jump, Mr. Vyson. Take the ship out of orbit. As soon as I'm aboard, we'll make way under full impulse."
"Aye, ma'am. But we'll be leaving behind some of the troopships."
"I know. Order those pilots back to Aloysius."
"Yes, ma'am. And I have one more report. Bad news."
"Of course it gets worse," she muttered.
"Three pilots from Eighth Squadron deserted their patrol sectors at the first sighting of the Kilrathi. They broke atmosphere and ejected in their pods."
"Eighth Squadron? Was Mr. Santyana with them?"
"He was out there, ma'am, but he remained in position. We lost Doug Henrick, Jadyk Charm, and Joe Pazansky. And ma'am, I'm sorry to report that four pilots from the One-Nine and six from the Two-Two also deserted their patrols and have gone planetside."
"Instruct cannon operators to fire upon any of our ships who make unauthorized breaks from their squadrons. Aristee out." She switched off the link and leaned toward him. "You believe that? Only a few of our people came unwillingly. I thought Santyana would be the first one to desert."
"Worry about your bruised ego later," Paladin said, consumed by the laser-lit chaos blooming ahead. "We're going to take a few hits. Hang on."
He jammed the stick forward and dove toward the fleeing supercruiser as it unfurled a long tail of fire back toward the Kilrathi battle group, roughly twenty-two hundred kilometers behind. Aloysius's lime-colored glow faded from the ship's hull as she continued her escape and Paladin raced to reach her. He wove his way through avenues of antimatter fire and lined up with the flight deck behind a pair of troopships that lumbered at a frustratingly slow velocity. The incoming fire tightened its grasp, with bolts now glancing off the launch's shields and tossing himself and Aristee against their harnesses.
Keeping an iron grip on the stick and screaming for the troopships to move their asses, Paladin concluded that if he waited for even a minute longer, the shields would bottom out and the launch's light armor would succumb to the torrential thrashing. The ship had been designed for diplomatic missions, for speed. Time to exploit that advantage. He lit the pipes and soared recklessly over the two troopships, then dove once more toward the aft flight deck's rectangular launch tunnel, sealed off by its glimmering environmental maintenance field.
"Captain's Launch Alpha One. You have not been cleared to land," said the flight boss, a cranky, thick-faced Pilgrim in her fifties with an unforgettable mug and a name so long it was barely pronounceable, let alone memorable. "What is the--"
"I have the captain aboard," Paladin barked. "We're landing."
But he had spoken too soon. A lone antimatter round tore into the launch's exhaust cones and divided into millions of creepers that burned into fuel and hydraulic lines. The ship's safety systems kicked in, saving them from the heat and radiation as it ejected the thrusters a mere second before they thundered apart and sent debris careening into the hull.
Now propelled by its own momentum, the launch plummeted through the energy curtain. "No response to course corrections," Paladin said, strangely intrigued by the moment of impending death. If he didn't get the nose up, they would strike the deck and be crushed into a neat, recyclable package fully appreciated by the deckdozer driver who would have little trouble clearing them from the runway. He ignored the tingle in his neck and the flashing indicator to lower the landing skids and just two-handed the stick, drawing it toward him in a last-ditch effort to belly flop. The launch remained on its collision course.
"I have attitude jets back online," Aristee suddenly announced. "Firing!"
Part Four
"What's going on?"
The guards ignored Maniac, so, of course, he shouted the question again. And again.
"They don't know either," Blair finally said. "Just shut up. Listen."
"Oh, I am. Sounds like our funeral march."
The general quarters alarm had been switched off, replaced by the frequent rumble of shield impacts and the thrumming of the supercruiser's impulse engines. Seventy-three thousand tonnes of durasteel would soon reach a maximum velocity of one hundred kilometers per second. An engineering marvel, no doubt, but why hadn't they jumped yet? Had Confederation capital ships somehow managed to corner Aristee? That seemed unlikely. The drive's gravity well would prevent that. Wait. Paladin had mentioned that they had been having trouble with the drive. Blair's shoulders slumped. If they couldn't jump out, then maybe this was it
The brig's main hatch cycled open, and one of the guards spoke to someone with a voice too soft to discern. Blair hustled to the bars and spotted Paladin in a crimson flight suit, a nasty bruise purpling his forehead. "On your feet, Lieutenant," he said as he passed Maniac's cell.
With a swish and chink, the cell door slid aside, and in mild astonishment Blair stepped into the corridor. The ship suddenly listed, and he grabbed a bar for support. Maniac staggered into the corridor, behind Taggart, who turned wearily to face them.
"Sir? What's happening? Are you all right?" Blair asked, staring at the commodore's injury.
Paladin mustered a grin. "Rough landing. Are you all right? You're shivering."
"I'm okay."
"And I'm okay, too," Maniac said darkly. "And we're all just fine. Let's celebrate, goddamn it!"
"Gentlemen," Paladin began in a tone that forced even Maniac into silence. "We have a Kilrathi battle group on our tail, and the hopper drive is offline. We can maintain our gap with the dreadnought and the superdreadnought, maybe slip out of their cannon range or at least present a smaller target, but the three cruisers and destroyers can overtake us. Which is to say, we have a problem."
According to Joan's Ships of Known Space, an interactive database every Confed pilot worth his salt had memorized, Kilrathi cruisers routinely reached a maximum velocity of 150 KPS, while destroyers could reach 250. The numbers rarely lied. However, the cats would not be foolish enough to send out a lone destroyer; it would remain in the company of the cruisers.
"Yeah, we have problem," Maniac mimicked, "we're dead. But at least the cats will send us off instead of our own people."
Paladin lifted an index finger. "I said those cruisers and destroyer can overtake us. I didn't say they will."
"Sir, there aren't any asteroid fields or comet belts in this system," Blair said, recalling his cosmography. "Even the jump point's pretty far away. We have no cover."
"And no defense," Maniac added. "You think this ragtag bunch of fanatics can stop the Kilrathi? Shit." He rubbed his forehead. "We got a battle group out there? They got five, maybe six fighters to Aristee's one."
"Which is why you're suiting up. Mr. Marshall? You're Rapier came in redlined, but I'm told its been repaired and preflighted. Mr. Blair, we have a Rapier for you. Once we reach the flight deck, you'll launch and report to William Santyana, your squadron commander. He's a good man. Do what he says."
Maniac whirled toward his cell, walked back inside, then sat on his bunk. "It doesn't take much to get me in a cockpit, but if you think I'll fly for these people ..."
"They die, we die," Blair said. "How do you not get that?"
"Six million killed at Mylon Three. And what about our own people? What about Second Squadron? You forgot about them already? I'd rather die than help these lunatics."
"You won't be helping them," Paladin corrected. "You'll be helping me. If we can evade this battle group, you'll buy me the time I need."
"Permission to speak candidly?" Maniac asked, throttling up the sarcasm.
"Say whatever you want, Mr. Marshall, but get off that bunk and join us."
"Sir, we've been on this ship for nearly a month. How much more time do you need?"
"Matters of diplomacy don't work on a timetable, Lieutenant."
"Well, I got a feeling the admiral won't let Aristee waltz around the sector for much longer. Maybe you can give your diplomatic efforts a boot in the ass, eh? And I have to wonder, what do you think you can accomplish? She knows you're here to stop her. She's waiting for you to make your move, and then you'll get the cell next to mine. Your strategy is a joke. Coming here was a joke. Unless you planned on joining her in the first place, which, given everything I've seen, makes more sense. I mean, you love her, right?"
Blair rushed by Paladin, stormed into Maniac's cell, and grabbed the wiry blonde's neck, fingers digging into Maniac's esophagus. "You're not just out of line, asshole. You've gone way beyond that. Unless you'd like me to tear you a new breathing hole, I suggest you come along."
Powerful hands clenched Blair's wrists and pulled him away from Maniac.
"We'll die before we settle this," Paladin said, releasing Blair. "Lieutenant Marshall, I can't force you to fly. But I can assure you that when the moment comes and you're staring at the ceiling and listening to the atmosphere whistle away through breeches in the hull, when you know in your gut that you have only a few seconds to live and you're thinking about your life and did you live it well and did it mean anything, when you realize that you're alone and helpless, that you can't fight back because you're locked behind these bars, I can assure you that you will, at that moment, wish that you had strapped yourself into a fighter, slammed on your helmet, and jammed down the trigger to fire in the face of death--because you're a Confederation fighter pilot and that's what you do. That's what's in your blood." Paladin swung toward the door. "Mr. Blair? Let's go."
