Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 2 - 0930 Zulu

Script

46D INT. TIGER CLAW - BLAIR/MANIAC's QUARTERS

Dark. The lights snap on. BLAIR, asleep, sits up. He's

shirtless, and we can see the Pilgrim's cross hanging

from his neck.

HE squints at MANIAC, in flight gear, standing in the

room.

BLAIR

We going out?

MANIAC

No. Just me. I pulled security with

Lt. Forbes.

BLAIR

So why did you wake me up?

MANIAC

Back at the academy you promised me you

wouldn't wear that cross anymore.

BLAIR

It brings me luck, Todd.

MANIAC

It's going to get you killed -- Chris.

BLAIR

I was wearing it when I made the jump.

MANIAC

That had nothing to do with luck. It

was about training and desire. take off

the cross.

BLAIR

(not convinced)

It's who I am.

MANIAC

You don't even know what it means. They

lost the war. Winners write the history

books and make the rules.

(a beat)

This is the big show. It is either kill

or be killed. You need someone watching

your back and I can't always be there.

MANIAC shakes his head.

MANIAC

...I'm trying to have sensitive moment -

- I don't even know why I bother.

Maniac turns to go.

MANIAC (Cont'd)

Wish me luck.

BLAIR

Luck? What about "desire."

MANIAC

You've seen Lt. Forbes -- you know I

got the desire.

MANIAC heads out.

BLAIR

Hey, Marshall - luck.

Maniac smiles and closes the door behind him.

CLOSE ON BLAIR, thinking. He gets up and heads out the door.

MERLIN's hologram appears on the counter across the room.

MERLIN

My god, what time is it?

BLAIR

The Pilgrims. What can you tell me

about them?

MERLIN

Very little, I'm afraid. Confederation

executive order 37495 decreed that "all

history and references to the Pilgrim

movement be eradicated--

BLAIR

--from all databanks, computer systems,

and hard copy texts. I know the order.

Do you have anything?

MERLIN

I'm afraid that that's all I have. Your

father wiped my flash memory after the

war -- it was law.

MERLIN looks genuinely sad by his lack of information. He

tries to help.

MERLIN (Cont'd)

I do know that since the Pilgrim's were

defeated not a single new Quasar has

been charted.

BLAIR pops out of bed, pulls on pants and a shirt, heads

for the door.

MERLIN

Where are you going?

BLAIR

To talk to someone who may know a

little about the Pilgrims.

MERLIN

Lieutenant, I must caution you against

bringing up the subject. It is

officially forbidden....

But Blair is gone.

46E INT. TIGER CLAW - PALADIN'S QUARTERS

PALADIN stands at big windows, looks out at the vastness

of space. Buzzer rings.

PALADIN

Come.

Door opens and BLAIR enters.

PALADIN (Cont'd)

Except for a few specs of light, it's

all emptiness. If it were up to me, I'd

let the Kilrathi have it all -- just

leave Earth alone.

BLAIR

We need to talk.

PALADIN

I have been in a thousand different

solar systems and I've never seen

anything in the Void as beautiful as

our own sun breaking through the clouds

after a rain storm.

Paladin turns to Blair

PALADIN (Cont'd)

The Kilrathi see us as decadent and

weak -- they won't stop until we're all

dead. If they let us exist, it would be

admitting that another race deserves the stars.

BLAIR

Talk to me.

PALADIN

About?

BLAIR

All my life I've taken shit about being

part Pilgrim. And I don't know why.

PALADIN

You are who you choose to be.

(a beat)

You are one of the last descendants of

a dying race. Pilgrims were the first

human space explorers and settles. For

five centuries they defied the odds:

They embraced space and were rewarded

with a gift of a flawless sense of

direction. No computers, Blair, no

compasses, no charts. They just knew.

Then, in a small number, about one in a

million, a change started to occur.

BLAIR

What kind of change?

Paladin looks at Blair -- there's a hidden importance to

his words.

PALADIN

They learned to feel the magnetic

fields created by black holes and

quasars -- to negotiate singularities.

They learned to navigate not just the

stars, but space-time itself.

BLAIR

Like a NAVCOM A.I..

PALADIN

You've got it backwards. The billions

of calculations each second necessary

to lead us through a black hole or

quasar is the NAVCOM's recreation of

the mind of a single Pilgrim.

BLAIR

How did the war start?

PALADIN turns back to the window. It's as though he's

recalling painful memories.

PALADIN

You spend so much time out here, alone,

you end up loosing your humanity. The

Pilgrims began to lose touch with their

heritage -- they saw themselves as

superior to man. And in their

arrogance, they chose to abandon all

things human to follow what they called

their destiny. Some say they believed

they were gods, others, that they were

angels.

BLAIR

...You believe they were gods?

PALADIN turns back to Blair.

PALADIN

No. But I do believe they were touched

by God. And like it or not, you've got

some of that inside you.

Paladin lets this sink in.

PALADIN (Cont'd)

I have to get to the bridge. We'll be

jumping soon. I'd like you to be there.

BLAIR watches Paladin exist. Blair looks --

Novelization

CHAPTER 9

UNITED CONFEDERATION CARRIER TIGER CLAW

MARCH 16, 2654 0930 HOURS ZULU TIME

VEGA SECTOR

ETA TO CLASS 2 PULSAR FIVE HOURS

With the lights off and his eyes closed, Blair lay on his cot in the

quarters he now shared with Marshall. He needed to sleep. Needed to

dream. Dream about anyplace but the carrier. He thought of dreams he

would like to have, dreams of home, of Nephele, of his aunt and uncle who

had worked so hard to raise him after his parents had died. He thought of

old girlfriends, of old summer jobs, of a particular July 17 birthday party

that had marked the end of his teenage years. He considered his time at

the academy on Hilthros, days that felt like several millennia ago. His life

had become a streak of indistinct memories. Nothing stood out anymore.

All of it seemed blighted by his depression. The only thing tangible was the

Pilgrim cross around his neck. A blessing. A curse.

How did I get here? I was just a kid who liked to wrestle and was

raised on a farm. I joined up to get flying experience, not to become

another Confederation statistic. I remember my uncle telling me never to

join the service. What has it done for me? What has it really done for

me?

The lights snapped on. Covering his eyes, Blair sat up. He heard a

shuffling of boots, a zipper being pulled up, and the rat-tie of metal on

metal. He squinted and saw Marshall standing in a crimson flight suit, his

battered helmet tucked in the crook of his arm.

"We going out?" Blair asked.

"No. Just me. I pulled security with Lieutenant Forbes."

"So why did you wake me up?"

Marshall shook his index finger at Blair's cross and opened his mouth.

But Blair beat him to the punch. "So I changed my mind. But I can't

change who I am."

"No, you can't. But you made a promise back at the academy that you

wouldn't wear that anymore. I'm not saying to throw it away. I think you

know what I'm saying."

"It brings me luck, Todd."

"It's going to get you killed—Chris."

Blair took the cross in hand, as though to protect it. "I was wearing this

when I made the jump. You heard Taggart. A NAV-COM can't do what I

did."

"That had nothing to do with luck. It was about training and desire."

Marshall reached toward Blair. "Take it off."

Drawing back, Blair held the cross tightly against his chest. "It's who I

am. Or who I should be."

Marshall snorted loudly. "You don't even know what it means. They lost

the war. Winners write the history books and make the rules. You want to

play on a team that doesn't exist anymore? Think about it."

He recognized the truth in Marshall's words. But he still felt powerfully

intrigued by his heritage, by the feeling, and by what the cross truly

represented. He couldn't abandon the past just to make things right with

the other pilots.

"This is the big show," Marshall went on. "It's either kill or be killed."

"Man, that's profound. Did it come to you in a vision?"

"Shuddup. You know what I mean. And you really messed up this

time."

"I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, you did. And now you need someone watching your back. Let me

tell you something, buddy. I can't always be there."

"I don't expect that from anyone—especially you."

"Oh man," Marshall said, turning away. "You're going to get whacked.

If not by the Kilrathi, then—"

"This is getting old."

Marshall collapsed on his cot, smoothed back his hair, then kneaded his

bloodshot eyes. "I'm trying to have a sensitive moment. I don't know why I

bother." He sprang from the cot. "Wish me luck."

"Luck? What about desire?"

With a wink, Marshall said, "You've seen Lieutenant Forbes. You know

I got the desire." He headed for the hatch.

"Hey, Marshall—luck."

The trademark grin came and went, along with its owner.

Blair fell back on his cot, pillowing his head in his hands. He gazed up

at the lovely overhead, bedecked by flexible tubes and ductwork. He

shouldn't complain. Having to share a cabin with just one other pilot

might be the last luxury available to first lieutenants aboard the Tiger

Claw. During training on the TCS Formidable, he had been assigned to a

berth with seventeen other pilots and had slept on a lower bunk above a

two-hundred-and-ten-pound Neanderthal with a hearty appetite for fried

onions, cabbage, and broccoli.

What was it that Marshall had said that now troubled him so much?

Something about the cross. That he didn't even know what it meant. That

he didn't really know who he was and where he had come from. Without

that knowledge, how could he forge a clear path for himself? How could he

could keep the memory of his parents vivid? How could he stop

wondering?

"Merlin. Activate."

The little man walked along the edge of a storage locker on the opposite

side of the room. "My God. What time is it?"

"The Pilgrims. What can you tell me about them?" Blair sat up and

crawled to the edge of the cot.

"Pilgrims. Yes. Earth history. They were English Separatists who

founded the colony of Plymouth in New England, circa 1620."

"Wrong ones."

The hologram shrugged, his tone soft and sympathetic. "I'm afraid I

have very little on the Pilgrims of this millennium. Your father wiped my

flash memory."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you have anything? A temp file you forgot to erase?"

"I'm sorry, Christopher."

"That's all right."

Brightening, Merlin added, "I do know that since the Pilgrims were

defeated, not a single new quasar has been charted."

"You heard that from Taggart."

"Did I? Oh yes. I must've been monitoring. Sorry again."

Blair stood and crossed to the latrine. He leaned over the sink for a few

minutes, splashing warm water on his face. He eventually looked to the

mirror, but his dark hair and dusky skin remained blurred by

condensation. After drying off, he opened his locker door and withdrew a

clean uniform.

"Where are you going?" Merlin asked.

"To talk to someone who may know more about the Pilgrims."

Once dressed, Blair accessed the Shipboard Information Datanet and

found Taggart's cabin assignment. He printed out a map that would take

him there. With over twenty corridors and thirteen levels between him

and the man, a map remained more than a good idea if he planned on

talking to Taggart during this decade.

As he walked through the ship, taking a lift here, a stairwell there, his

gaze buried in the map, he felt like a cadet on the first day of his academy

training. No less than three times, crew members accosted him to see if

they could help. Though grateful, Blair declined their offers. He would

have to learn the ship's layout one way or another, and he welcomed the

practice.

After twenty minutes of travel, he found the hatch and touched the bell

key.

"Come," Taggart said through the intercom.

The door automatically opened, and Blair entered to admire the

captain's spacious accommodations and bunk with thick mattress and

comforter.

He found Taggart staring through a great bay window. The vacuum

appeared especially dark, and for some reason the captain felt compelled

to note that. "Except for a few specs of light, it's all emptiness. If it were

up to me, I'd let the Kilrathi have it all—just leave Earth alone."

Blair hemmed. "We need to talk."

"I've been in a thousand different solar systems, and I've never seen

anything in the void as beautiful as our own sun breaking through the

clouds after a rainstorm. I'm a native of Ares, Lieutenant. But my parents

were terraforming engineers from Scotland. They taught me that my

home wasn't a space station in orbit around Venus. They told me the

truth. Did yours?" He craned his head.

"You mean my real home is Earth?"

He nodded.

"The only home I've ever known is Nephele. I was on Peron when I was

little, but I don't remember anything. You know if I went to Earth now,

they'd call me an alien."

"If you went to Earth now, you'd really know why we fight. The Kilrathi

see us as decadent and weak. They won't stop until we're all dead. If they

let us exist, that would be admitting that another race deserves the stars.

In truth, none of us does. But I suspect you haven't come here for a

philosophy lesson."

"No, sir. Talk to me."

"About what?"

Blair crossed to a well-padded chair and took a seat. "All my life I've

taken shit about being part-Pilgrim. And I barely know why. Most people

don't want to talk about it or don't really know why humans and Pilgrims

hated each other so much."

"That's right. Most people don't like to talk about it."

"C'mon. You know about them. Tell me the long story about how you

got the star charts. Have you ever met a real Pilgrim—not a half-breed like

me? What are they like? What about the war? What do you know?"

"I knew a boy about your age who asked the same questions. Do you

know what happened to him?"

"I don't care."

"You should."

Seeing the conversational dead end rushing toward him, Blair stood

and started for the hatch. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"You are who you choose to be, Lieutenant."

The hatch opened.

"You're one of the last descendants of a dying race," Taggart added

quickly.

Blair turned back, and the hatch sealed after him.

"Pilgrims were the first human space explorers and settlers. For five

centuries they defied the odds. They embraced space and were rewarded

with a gift: a flawless sense of direction. No computers, Blair. No

compasses. No charts. They just knew. Then, in a small number, about one

in a million, a change started to occur."

"What kind of change?"

A hidden importance now resided in Taggart's expression, something

Blair could sense but not fully describe. "They learned to feel the magnetic

fields created by black holes and quasars—to negotiate singularities. They

learned to navigate not just the stars but space-time itself."

Blair shook as a powerful chill fanned across his shoulders.

To feel the magnetic fields created by black holes and quasars.

To navigate space-time itself.

It seemed impossible. And possible. And in his blood.

"So the Pilgrims could perform like a NAVCOM AI," Blair said.

"You've got it backwards. The billions of calculations necessary to lead

us through a black hole or quasar are the NAVCOM's recreation of the

mind of a single Pilgrim."

He nodded in wonder. How could one mind be so powerful? He most

definitely lacked that kind of power. "How did the war start?"

Taggart moved back to the window, and as he did so, Blair saw his lips

come together and his eyes well up. "You spend so much time out here

alone, you end up losing your humanity. The Pilgrims began to lose touch

with their heritage. They saw themselves as superior to humans. And in

their arrogance, they chose to abandon all things human in order to follow

their destiny. Some say they believed they were gods, others that they were

angels."

"You believe they were gods?"

"No. But I do believe they were touched by God." He looked back, his

eyes still glassy. "And like it or not, you've got some of that inside you."

Blair's people had done great things. And terrible things. Had they been

gods? Demons? Where was the line? And now that he knew his heritage,

where did he go from here? For every question answered, it seemed that

Taggart had raised three more. Blair simply wanted to ask, "So how do I

live like this? What kind of life should I expect?" But the captain did not

have the answers. No one did. Except Blair.

Taggart sighed and said, "I have to get to the bridge. We'll be jumping

in a few hours. I'd like you to be there."

"I will." He ambled toward the window. "You mind if I stay here a

while?"

"No. Just don't drink my coffee."

Blair grinned, then listened to him leave.

Something flashed at the corner of his eye. Two patrolling Rapiers in

tight formation pierced the night. Behind them, far in the distance, lay an

enormous, flashing gulf that Blair recognized as a pulsar, a spinning,

superdense mass of neutrons. Only high-energy photons, neutrinos, and

Confed ships carrying Pilgrims or a NAVCOM could escape the pulsar's

gravitational pull. Blair wondered how many of his forefathers had

jumped here.

And he wondered how many other Pilgrims were still out there,

contemplating their future among the stars.