Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

He suppressed a sudden chill as he considered whether he had made a terrible mistake in saying good-bye to Trish. But the admiral had advised him to end the affair, and Bellegarde had complied, both because he had great respect for Tolwyn and because Tolwyn controlled his destiny. Bellegarde wanted a promotion to rear admiral and a fleet to command. Adulterers and sloppy drunks rarely ascended to that particular throne. Keep your nose clean and do what they tell you had been Bellegarde's motto for his entire Confederation career, though he only partially lived up to the ideal. Tolwyn had somehow learned of his failings and had at least given him the chance to redeem himself. Bellegarde had not passed up that opportunity, painful though it was. He opened his eyes as landing skids thudded to the deck.

After the usual check-in and greetings from a few of the pilots who continually invited him to their nightly poker game, Bellegarde accessed the shipboard data net and learned that the admiral was in his quarters. He caught a lift and rode impatiently with two ordnance specialists who stood at attention and would not speak in his presence.

In the corridor outside Tolwyn's hatch, Bellegarde touched the intercom and identified himself. The admiral's distracted greeting piped through the speaker. Bellegarde moved inside and found Tolwyn seated at his comm terminal in the narrow living room, staring at a large flat screen mounted on the bulkhead.

The words accessing inter-ship communications channel glowed on the screen. Tolwyn whirled in his chair. "Good to have you back, Richard. Welcome to the Lafayette system. Have a seat."

Bellegarde crossed to a leather sofa. "Good to be back, sir. I came as soon as I heard."

"Yes, I hated cutting short your leave, but the situation has grown markedly worse."

"I read the briefing you sent along. Where is she now?"

"At Tartarus, launching an attack on Lethe. 1 sent the Tiger Claw, the Mitchell Hammock, and the Oregon to intercept. Paladin's already on board the Claw."

"Excellent. But couldn't we spare more ships?"

"No. In fact we still haven't received word from the Chippewa and the Olympus's escorts. We're down seven capital ships in just three days. Recent intell indicates that the cats are mobilizing in the K'n'Rek system. Seems two of their destroyers and a ConCom were taken out by a Confederation supercruiser. The details are still sketchy, but it seems Aristee left Mylon and traveled through Kilrathi space."

"That seems foolish."

"Yes, it does." Tolwyn paused, and Bellegarde sensed he was holding something back.

"Communications established," came a cool computer voice from the admiral's terminal.

Tolwyn swung back to face the screen. "Excuse me for a moment."

Space Marshal Sandra Gregarov appeared and gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. Her double-breasted uniform with ornate lapels, her curly blonde hair brushed with gray and deftly styled, and her probing hazel eyes afforded her a presence that radiated grace and command. And for as long as Bellegarde had known her, he had never witnessed a single word escape her lips that had not been carefully measured. A supreme diplomat, politician, and an enormously successful line captain during the Pilgrim war, Gregarov had been the joint chiefs' first pick for the

Confederation Navy's highest ranking post. She had served in that position for two years now and had earned a large measure of respect for the freedom she gave and the trust she placed in her subordinates. She had even won the hearts of the Senate, a feat Admiral Tolwyn himself had yet to accomplish. Then again, Tolwyn wasn't in the business of making friends, and his impatience and short temper underscored that. Just as well. Bellegarde would hate to serve a man whose agenda leaned more heavily on pleasing senators than winning wars.

"Ma'am, I assume you've read my latest report," Tolwyn began steadily.

"I have. And frankly, Geoff, I'm worried. My staff has been swamped by Terran News people. Seems a shuttle of survivors from Mylon Three escaped the attack and jumped to Ymir before the Tiger Claw arrived on scene. They sought out the press and gave some unfavorable interviews. I've had to evade the accusations that Confederation forces wiped out Mylon."

"But you didn't-"

"Of course not. We can't afford a public witch hunt for Pilgrims. Not yet, anyway. The press believes we're still investigating the incident. But I can't feed that cock-and-bull story to the Senate. They demand and deserve answers. Bill Wilson's betrayal has already made their faith in us wane. I'll be jumping back to Earth within the hour."

"Then you know what you have to do."

She learned toward the camera, her gaze growing more intent. "Yes, I need to assure them that this mess will be cleaned up swiftly and decisively and that, as previously ordered, any technology valuable to the Confederation will be recovered. Can I do that?"

"With certainty."

"Thank you, Geoff. I'll keep you informed." She broke the link.

"Well, there it is, Richard." As Tolwyn swiveled back, he drew in a deep breath and suddenly appeared much older than his sixty-two years. His watchphone beeped. "Yes?"

"Admiral? Intelligence drone from K'n'Rek just came in," Radar Officer Abrams said. "Data is being uploaded to your terminal, sir."

"Very well. Come have a look, Richard."

Bellegarde rose and stood over Tolwyn's shoulder as the admiral accessed the report. Long-range reconnaissance video showed a thin, tube-shaped haze slowly dissipating in space. Data columns identified the object as the remains of a ship or ships. The officer who had made the report noted in his comments that the haze's composition included elements found in Kilrathi plastisteel and that he suspected that a gravity well had been responsible for the devastation, though no known well existed in the region. The report also indicated that two Kilrathi battle groups had jumped out of the system, their suspected destinations Ymir and Nephele. A third battle group had jumped, its course still unknown.

Tolwyn bolted from his chair. "Mr. Bellegarde. Let's get to the bridge. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP. And we need ships in Ymir and Nephele even sooner."

"Yes, sir." Bellegarde rose and followed Tolwyn to the hatch. "And sir? Regarding that report. How could a gravity well be responsible for destroying those Kilrathi ships? My physics tells me that wells don't suddenly appear and vanish."

"You heard the space marshal, Richard. 'Recover any technology valuable to the Confederation.' Gravity wells do suddenly appear if they're being generated by a Pilgrim hopper drive, one that can be operated within planetary systems, one with an amazingly powerful range."

"There's no such technology."

Tolwyn reached for the hatch control panel, then froze. He stared gravely at Bellegarde. "Welcome to the new war, Richard."

VEGA SECTOR.DOWNING QUADRANT BORDER.CS TIGER CLAW.ENTERING TARTARUS SYSTEM.

2654.080.0600 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME

"Mr. Obutu? Stealth mode," Gerald ordered.

"Stealth mode, aye-aye, sir." From his forward station, Obutu tapped a series of commands on his touchpad, and standard lighting dimmed to stain the bridge crimson.

"Sir?" Radar Officer Falk called. "The Mitchell Hammock and Oregon arrived at oh-four-thirty and are in position behind Lethe's moon. They report no signs of planetary torpedoes."

Gerald nodded. "Our ETA to Lethe?"

"Seven point three-one minutes, full impulse."

"Very well." He looked to Mr. Obutu. "Engage telescopic imaging."

"Telescopic imaging, aye-aye, sir."

Leaning over Obutu's shoulder, Gerald studied the image piping in from the Claw's laser-guided reflecting telescope. The scope might be able to detect coruscation generated by the super-cruiser, but as it was, only the spectacularly blue orb of Lethe dominated the readout. Eighty-five percent of the world lay beneath oceans, with just a cluster of three continents rising a few thousand meters above sea level. The planet's available land remained slightly larger than the continent of Australia, at about eight million square kilometers distributed mainly between the two larger land masses. Some nineteen million people jammed those continents, nineteen million souls who now weighed heavily on Gerald's shoulders. "Keep scanning, Mr. Obutu."