Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

"Bishop takes bomb," Bishop quipped.

"Aw, shit!" Zarya moaned. "Mine missed. Guidance system malfunction."

"I got the torpedo on my scope," Maniac said. "Locked on. I'm going down to take the shot!"

"Negative. Stay on my wing," ordered Blair.

"And let like a million people die?"

"Stay on his wing," Angel repeated.

"Second and Third got this ball sewed up," Maniac argued. "I ain't got time for this. Court martial my ass, but I won't let those people die. See ya, Blair."

With that, Maniac broke from the circle and arrowed toward the planet.

"Got that torpedo on my scope, too," Blair said. "It's already too far. You can't get in close enough for a lock."

"Maniac, get back here," Angel shouted. "Know what? 7 don't have time for this."

"That's right, Commander," Hunter said. "Got two more torpedoes in the air!"

He's going to get too low, Blair thought. The Rapier's not capable of sustained atmospheric operations. He'll lose control and burn up. Even if he manages to eject, there'll be no one there to tractor in his pod. I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do it.

Swearing aloud, Blair cut the stick hard right and traced Maniac's path toward Lethe. The expected shouting from Angel never came; she and Hunter were too busy tracking the torpe-does. As he plummeted toward the fluctuating blue expanse broken only by the fiery dot of the torpedo's engine and the glowing eyes of Maniac's thrusters, Blair frowned as he considered his wingman's motivation for violating orders. Was Maniac really the noble pilot who wanted to save millions? Or did he only intend to bail out and impress Zarya? The latter seemed more shallow, much more like Maniac. The fact that he would save lives in the interim only further enticed him.

"I'm on your six," Blair said, his signal broadcast on Maniac's private channel. "About a K out and closing."

"Get out of here, Blair."

"Too late. We're both committed. Just get the lock and take the shot. Got mild chop already. Clock's ticking."

"Just need a few more meters," Maniac said distractedly. "Come on, you son of a bitch. Come on. Come on. Yeah! Got the lock! And firing!"

Close enough now so that he could see the sharp-angled outline of Maniac's fighter, Blair watched the guided missile drop a meter from the Rapier's short wing then burst off toward the distant torpedo. "Rocket's away. Now pull out."

"Thanks for the tip, Ace." Maniac pitched up ninety degrees.

Meanwhile, Blair rolled to port, electing to retreat more slowly and give himself more time to adjust to possible fluctuations in the exosphere. His radar scope showed Maniac's fighter about fifty meters to port and gaining fast. The guided missile stood at the scope's edge, hauling ass toward the torpedo.

"Impact in three, two, one. Bang!" Maniac cried.

The missile and torpedo scattered themselves in a fleeting conflagration that might very well have marked the end or the rise of Lieutenant Todd Marshall's naval career. Fitting possibility for a man of extremes.

As though cued, Angel broke into their private channel. "Maniac? Blair?"

Blair could see why she had called. Two torpedoes charged toward them, with guided missiles in pursuit. ETA: twenty seconds. "I see 'em, Angel. Setting evasion course."

"And I'm in his wash," Maniac added.

"Oh, shit," Blair said through a shiver as he stared at the quartet of incoming ordnance backdropped by the supercruiser and the spectacular firefight raging around it.

"I'm locked on to one of 'em," Maniac said.

"But we're still too close."

"Get ready. Firing!"

Maniac's missile lanced out at the starboard torpedo, the one closer to Blair. Even as he jerked the stick toward him, pulling into a high-G climb, the missile struck the torpedo and sent up an explosion that rose over their Rapiers. Hundreds of torpedo and missile fragments slashed against Blair's shields as he fought for control. The Rapier shimmied and suddenly propelled free of the blast. He craned his neck and saw Maniac's fighter emerge from billowing black clouds, climbing in a high-speed flat spin with attitude thrusters firing ineffectually.

"Maniac!"

"Give me a sec," the jock said, cockpit alarms nearly overpowering his voice. He swung out of the flat spin, banked hard, and lined up quickly on Blair's vector. "Damn. You want to talk recoveries? Check the recorder on that one."

"You two are still in the cone," Angel observed. "Move out to cover."

"Roger that," Blair said. He increased thrust, aiming for his original position directly over the supercruiser as the ship seemed to lose momentum.

"Fighters bugging out," Hunter said. "I don't get it. They're leaving the ship undefended. They can't be that low on fuel. And now look. She's slowing down even more and taking missile fire from the destroyers and the Claw. She surrendering or what?"

Blair saw it, too. Enemy Rapiers abruptly ducked out of their dogfights and bounded for the supercruiser, whose meson shields flickered with the azure talons of a missile barrage. First, Second, and Third squadrons would now add their fire to the cap ship bombardment. Clearly, the cruiser had surrendered. Her velocity measured just a few meters per second.

"Guess they are Pilgrims," Maniac said. "They're on their knees, but prayer ain't' gonna help 'em now."

As Blair neared the ship, a strange feeling seized him, a feeling that began as a cold wind blasting through his helmet and flight suit. The wind suddenly grew warm and concentrated on his face. He squinted against its force and trembled as he wondered if he was suffering from G-induced spacesickness or something worse. He gasped as the hot wind felt like fingers stroking his cheek and a woman's voice-not his mother's-repeatedly called him by his first name. He gazed out past the supercruiser, to the disk of wavering darkness that devoured the surrounding light. Then, as quickly as they had come, the voice and the caress were gone.

Dazed, Blair blinked hard and found Merlin pacing over a bridge of air, tugging nervously on his ponytail. The holograph occasionally self-activated during times of crisis, and his expression indicated no less. "Christopher, my sensors are reading a massive, localized disturbance being generated by the supercruiser. Analysis confirms that a gravitic warp has formed approximately eight hundred meters ahead of the ship. I'm reading a matter-antimatter reaction, but it's remarkably controlled. I can't explain this, but the warp contains a peripheral field of indeterminate particles that are apparently neutralizing the gravitic interference created by nearby objects, most notably the planet."

He heard Merlin, but the words hardly registered. "What?"

"Forget what I said. Just hit the brakes!"

Even as Blair frantically throttled down, the comm channel erupted with the stricken voices of his squadron:

"What the hell is that?" Maniac asked.

"Don't know, but it's got me!" Gangsta said. "I'm fully lit and can't break free."

"Commander? Commander?" Cheddarboy cried. "I'm being pulled in with her."

"Oh my god," Bishop muttered. "Look at The Mongrels. They're breaking up! Oh, man. Now it has me."

Blair riveted his gaze on the disk, his mouth opening as the

Rapiers from Second Squadron spun, barrel rolled, or tumbled bow over stern, shedding pieces until they finally disintegrated. Radь of debris zippered back toward the disk's center, wiping the universe clean of the destruction, save for vines of lingering haze.

"Jinxman? Get your people back to the Claw," Angel told Third Squadron's commander.

"We were already falling back. That well has an antigraviton cloak that extends for about five hundred meters. Lost two in the fight, but the rest are accounted for. And we IDed those enemy pilots as Confederation officers. What the hell is going on here?"