Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 1130 Zulu

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GERALD crosses the deck in several long deliberate

Mr. Blair...

He smashes Blair across the side of the head with the
butt of his weapons, sends Blair sprawling to the deck.

I believe you just called me traitor.

GERALD lines the weapon on Blair's head, pulls the slide
back, motions to the panel with a nod.

Turn if off.

BLAIR looks at Gerald. If it's not him, then its....

A hallow, very human laugh cuts through the tension.

To think we came from you.

Both men snap around, react at the sight of the Traitor,
weapon lined. He steps out of the shadow...

It's Admiral Wilson!

Wilson? But the Pegasus? It was your

Twenty years of service. Ironic isn't
it? Twenty years, all to destroy the
world that trains you.

His finger tenses on the trigger.


BLAIR lifts his cross, holds it high.

Where did you get that cross?

BLAIR stands, cross held in front of him.

It was my mother's. She was killed at

Wilson studies Blair.

BLAIR (Cont'd)
I was five.

My wife burned in those flames. When
you remember Peron, what do you feel?

BLAIR looks at Gerald with a dead and deadly expression.


...If you're a Pilgrim, prove it.
Kill him.

BLAIR nods, reaches for his weapon.

WILSON (Cont'd)
With the blade.

Slowly, Blair's hand moves away from the weapon. HE
pulls the cross from his neck. A whooshing sound as the
blade periscopes out. GERALD pulls an ugly looking
fighting knife from his vest, assumes a fighting stance.

I was right all along. Come on,
Pilgrim, pass your test.

BLAIR and GERALD circle one another, blades moving in
slow, almost hypnotic patters. BLAIR feints left and
Gerald tries to cut him. Blades spark. GERALD kicks
Blair. Blow knocks Blair off balance, gives Gerald the
advantage. HE swings, cuts Blair in the arm. Two men
circle. Then GERALD makes a mistake: with a head fake,
he stabs at Blair. BLAIR catches Gerald's arm, steps in,
and in a classic jujitsu move, sweeps his legs out.
GERALD lands hard on his back, BLAIR standing over him,
blade held high.

Finish him!

BLAIR brings the cross down. But instead of digging it
into Gerald, he throws it.

Cross flies through the air, catches Wilson in the chest.
He staggers back, slumps against a column. We can hear the
hiss of his suit losing air. Inevitable death.

GERALD looks at BLAIR, approaches the dying traitor.

Why warn Tolwyn?

(weak smile)
The stars were the Pilgrim's destiny.
Not Earth's, not Kilrahs.

With his last ounce of energy Wilson props himself up. In
his other hand he holds something.

A grenade... With no safety! Wilson relaxes his hand. The
firing pin spins off...


Blair and Gerald dive through the doorway, just as a huge
explosion envelopes Wilson and most of the room.

The two men get to their feet.

BLAIR (Cont'd)
(Turning to Gerald.)
Now do you want to know who your
traitor is?

Suddenly DEVERAUX and Marines enter.

You alright in here?

They look back at the scorched bridge.

Secure the fuel cells. Blair and I
have some business to take care of.

SC. 234 - 244 OMIT


Blair and Gerald rush in, weapons drawn. Sansky is
propped up in his bed, In his hand he holds SOMETHING.

You were the best CO I had. Why?

Because, Paul, sometimes the role you
play isn't the one you were born for.

You've failed in both.

(Smiling ironically.)
Have I? A bad spy and a bad captain.
(close to death)
Give this back to Tolwyn, please.

Sansky gives TOLWYN'S RING to Blair -- then his hands
fall lifelessly to his side.

Gerald picks up Sansky's HOLO-PIC, remembering better

CLOSE ON THE HOLO-PIC: A different angle on the
Graduating Class Sansky is in -- At the podium is

GERALD, staring at the holo-pic, reacts to the intercom.
Obutu's voice comes over:

Engineering reports that the Kilrathi
fuel cells have been adapted. We have
60 percent power.

Very well. Take us out of the crater.


Blair is changing into his flight suit - Ready for the
Tiger Claw's last hurrah. His hand instinctively goes to
his chest -- but the cross is no longer there.

He pauses for a moment, noticing Tolwyn's ring. He
pockets it and heads out the door.

SC. 246 - 249 OMIT

SC. 250 NOW SC. 251A




MARCH 17, 2654
1130 HOURS

Gerald crossed the ConCom's bridge in several long,
deliberate strides. "Mr. Blair," he began, then suddenly
smashed Blair's helmet with the butt of his rifle. "I believe you
just called me a traitor."
Blair rolled across a console, then fell to his knees.
After flipping the weapon around, Gerald aimed it at Blair's
head. He pulled the slide back, then nodded at the NAVCOM.
"Turn it off."
Three simple words… yet they shocked Blair. If Gerald wasn't
the traitor, then—
A hollow laugh resounded from the rear corner of the bridge.
"To think we came from you."
Wearing a space suit and clutching a large Kilrathi pistol, a
man stepped from the shadows, a man whose gaunt face seemed
familiar, but Blair couldn't summon a name.
"Wilson?" Gerald said, his tone so full of astonishment that
the word had barely escaped his lips. "But the Pegasus—"
The admiral took a step forward, and Blair had never seen a
man more consumed by hatred; it clung to his face like a
parasite. "Twenty years of service. Ironic, isn't it?" He extended
his arm, the pistol directed at Gerald.
"Wait," Blair cried. He lifted his pilgrim cross with a
trembling hand.
Wilson drew back, gazing suspiciously at the cross, then at
Blair. "Where did you get that?"
"It was my mother's. She was killed at Peron." Extending a
palm in truce, Blair slowly got to his feet, holding the cross like
a shield in front of him.
For a second, Wilson's eyes glazed over, as though he had
taken himself across the light-years and back to the massacre.
"When you remember Peron, what do you feel?"
Before answering, Blair turned his glower on Commander
Gerald. "I feel hate."
"So you think you're a Pilgrim? Do you have any idea what it's
like to wait a lifetime for justice?" He waved the pistol at
Gerald. "My people gave them the stars… our greatest folly."
"Your people murdered millions," Gerald said. "Your regrets
should lie there, you bastard."
Wilson seemed unaffected by the remark. He favored Blair,
his expression brightening. "So, boy, if you're a Pilgrim, prove
it." He raised his chin to Gerald. "Kill him."
Blair's nod came easily, and he turned back for his rifle, his
thoughts colliding as he fully comprehended the moment. He
had enough bitterness stored inside to fight Gerald, but could
he kill the man? The answer was obvious.
"No rifles," Wilson said. "Use the blade."
Shifting back, Blair pulled the cross from its chain and
touched the center symbol. The cutting edge flashed out.
Gerald withdrew a long, ugly-looking fighting knife from his
vest. Not standard-issue to be sure, the blade seemed to bear a
charge of winking silver. Gerald assumed a fighting stance,
grinning ominously. "I was right all along. Come on, Pilgrim.
Pass your test." The commander lunged at him.
Skirting behind a console, Blair saw that he had reached a
dead end at the bulkhead. He climbed atop one of the stations
and leaped into an open area, behind the helm controls. Gerald
followed. Now they circled each other, feinting with their
Time slowed for Blair, his arm moving in a hypnotic pattern
as the feeling of hopelessness grew. Gerald seemed part of some
bad dream, while Wilson, looking on, had emerged from a
nightmare. Mother? Father? Is this what we are?
I can't be in this place. I can't do this.
Sparks skittered along his blade as Gerald's big knife made
contact. Blair fought against the other man's weight, then
flipped his wrist, breaking pressure while spinning behind
But the commander whirled around, boot raised, and kicked
Blair in the ribs. As Blair fought to remain standing, he saw
Gerald lift his blade—
A horrible tearing sound came from the sleeve of Blair's
space suit. He reached for the tear, reeling back farther from
the commander. Automatic voice alarms warned him that
Gerald's blade had penetrated the suit's first layer.
He tensed once more as Gerald, now wild-eyed, searched for
an opening. The man's blade shot at him once, twice, a third
time, and Blair parried each assault. He remained defensive,
caught his breath, and watched as the commander's face grew
more flushed.
"Is that all you have, Mr. Gerald?" Wilson taunted.
Swearing at the admiral, Gerald feinted right, lowered his
head, and came in with a thrust toward Blair's abdomen.
Instead of parrying, Blair grabbed Gerald's wrist with his free
hand, then threw himself beneath the commander, sweeping
out the man's legs in a classic jujitsu move he remembered from
boot camp. Gerald landed hard on his back as Blair followed
through with the maneuver, exploiting his momentum to roll
and hover over the commander, blade centered over the man's
"Finish him!" Wilson cried.
He looked at Gerald, whose face paled in the half-light. The
commander mouthed a curse, and Blair suddenly felt as though
he had been dipped in ice water as he imagined Gerald writhing
in agony. He lifted the blade a few inches, preparing to drive it
Then turned, flicking his wrist.
The blade warbled, threw off dazzles of gold and silver, then…
The admiral flinched, looked down at the cross stuck in his
chest, then raised his head, wearing a new mask of horror as his
space suit began hissing loudly. He stumbled, reaching blindly
for support, then slumped against a column.
Gerald sat up, and Blair proffered his hand. "Take it, sir."
After a moment's consideration, Gerald accepted. He went to
the admiral, whose face looked contorted and skeletal.
Despite his agony, the man remained conscious.
"Why warn Tolwyn?" Gerald demanded. "Your Kilrathi
friends could've destroyed Pegasus, taken the NAVCOM, and
jumped to Earth with no interference."
He smiled weakly. "I used to think the stars were not my
destiny. I used to think I was human. But I'm a Pilgrim. And the
stars were the Pilgrims' destiny. Not Earth's. Not Kilrah's."
A faint click drew Blair's gaze to the admiral's hand, which
slowly opened. A concussion grenade sat in his palm, its firing
button triggered.
"Shit!" Blair cried, already turning to retreat. He crashed
into a pair of big chairs as he and Gerald darted toward the
At the first hint of the explosion, they dove toward the
corridor. An intense wave of heat wiped over Blair's legs as he
hit the rattling deck. His comm unit crackled as the boom
overloaded his mike. He crawled toward the corridor, but a
second explosion had him cowering again. Black smoke poured
over them, and the snapping of flames grew louder. He forced
himself to stand and took a deep breath to ward off the
dizziness. Gerald was already on his feet.
"Now do you want to know who your traitor is?" Blair asked.
The hatch at the corridor's end opened, drawing Gerald's
attention. A Marine crouched near the edge, directing the
business end of his rifle at the commander. "Halt!" he shouted
as two other Marines joined him.
"Cogan? Deveraux?" Gerald called back.
Deveraux jogged from behind the Marines and through the
hatch. "Sir? What are you doing here?"
"Never mind. Secure the fuel cells. Blair and I have some
business to take care of." He marched past her.
She looked after him, then turned her troubled expression to
"It's okay," he said.
"What business do you—"
"Gotta go." He sprinted to catch up with Gerald.
Once on board the Diligent, Blair gave Taggart the bad news
while Gerald prepared an escape pod for an express ride back to
the Tiger Claw.
"You're in the intelligence business, sir. Did we ever suspect
Captain Sansky of espionage?"
"No," Taggart said, still overwhelmed by the news. "He's had
a long and distinguished career."
"Is he a Pilgrim?"
"Who knows?"
Gerald stood in the hatchway. "Let's go, Lieutenant."
* * *
The pod came in for a rough landing, and Gerald ignored the
flight boss's complaints as he hustled toward the lift. Blair
struggled to keep up with him and tried to ignore the stares of
the deck crew. Two officers rushing off with drawn pistols
would invariably raise an eyebrow or two.
At Sansky's hatch, Gerald overrode the lock. The door slid
aside, and they rushed in like military police.
The captain sat up in bed, his sallow face registering only
mild surprise. "Gentlemen, I don't pose a threat." He checked
his watch. "In fact, I'll be dead in a few minutes." Noting Blair's
frown, Sansky waved a finger at a syringe lying on his
night-stand. "In the old days they used cyanide. The plecadome,
I'm told, makes for a more peaceful retreat."
"Jesus Christ, Jay. You were the best CO I had." Gerald
lowered his pistol and huffed his disappointment. "Why?"
"Because, Paul, sometimes the role you play isn't the one you
were born for."
"You've failed at both," Gerald growled.
"Have I?" he asked, his voice heavy with irony. "A bad spy and
a bad captain." His eyelids grew heavy as the poison took effect.
He battled against it, lifting his hand toward Blair. "Here. Give
this back to Tolwyn. Please."
Blair took the ring as the admiral's hand fell limp. He held
the ring tightly, needing something to believe in for the
moment, something tangible, something that wasn't a lie.
"Look," Gerald said, raising a holopic from the nightstand.
He thumbed through the images of Sansky's graduating class at
the academy. Admiral Wilson stood close by in every hologram.
There was even one of him at the podium, accepting his
Confederation commission.
"They're my age," Blair said. "I was just there."
"Here's the past," Gerald said, shaking the holopic. He
pointed at Sansky. "There's the future—if you let your Pilgrim
roots get in the way."
"I just want to know who I am, sir. That's all."
"I think you already know."
"Commander?" Obutu said over the intercom.
"Talk to me, Mr. Obutu."
"Engineering reports that the Kilrathi fuel cells have arrived.
They'll have them adapted in a few minutes. They estimate that
we'll have sixty percent power."
"Very well. Prepare to get under way." Gerald, realizing he
still held the holopic, threw it violently across the room. "If we
live," he began, trying to contain his fury, "it's going to take me
a long time to get over this."
Blair nodded somberly. "At least one of us will."