Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

The commodore sat back in a chair, boots kicked up onto the work surface of his terminal. His gaze remained on the hard copy dossier resting on his lap, and Gerald spotted an old picture of Amity Aristee printed in the corner of the first page. "Good morning, Mr. Gerald. I expected you sooner."

Gerald showed his teeth. "I was a little busy going over the casualty report. With all due respect, sir, I want answers. And I want them now."

"The folks at Intell still have a bit more corroborating evidence to consider before I can deliver any definitive information."

"That, sir, is horseshit, the same horseshit I had to feed my people during the first briefing." He finally had Paladin's attention.

"Go ahead-classify and compartmentalize this," Gerald continued. "But my people have a right to know who killed their comrades. Morale is low. Rumors are running rampant-even among my command staff."

"All right, then. I'll conduct a briefing for you and your department heads."

Gerald recoiled a bit in surprise. "We'll need specifics, like exactly how that ship created and jumped a gravity well. We need to know what we're up against."

"I'll tell you what we know so far," Paladin said resignedly.

"One more request. For some odd reason I've been locked out of the satellite link to the Confed network. My shipboard records don't indicate which of my people are of Pilgrim ancestry. I assume you have access. I'd like that information uploaded to my personal account."

Paladin smiled-or was it a sneer? "So the witch hunt begins…"

"I have a right to any information that may compromise the safety of this ship and her crew. And it sounds to me that your department has already begun that hunt."

"Not exactly. And for the record, there are only two people aboard of Pilgrim ancestry: myself and Lieutenant Christopher Blair."

"Are you certain?"

"I examined the records myself while en route. But there may still be Pilgrims aboard who have evaded our detection."

"Has Admiral Tolwyn alerted the other line captains?"

"No. Any Confederation officer or enlisted person is still protected under Confederation law. If we alerted the captains, I'm certain that the rights of those Pilgrims would be violated. At the least, those people would be rounded up and tossed in the brig. At the most, they'd be shot. Check your history. Read up on the plight of Japanese Americans during World War Two."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"I thought you already were," Paladin said acidly. "But granted."

"Sorry, sir, but my boots are firmly planted in the present. I can't trust you. Not until this is over. You may know this group and their tactics better than anyone aboard, but as far as I'm concerned, you're more dangerous than valuable."

"I know you have an especial hatred for Pilgrims since your father's passing. And I'm sure that experience tells you that you can't let those feelings influence your judgment."

"My father wasn't just killed by you people. He was tortured first, dismembered until he bled to death. My mother found him in the backyard. Not much left. Just a pile of meat. You won't find that in my psyche ops profile or the fact that there aren't any pictures of him in my mother's apartment. My sister and I can't even mention his name. So when you say I have an especial hatred for Pilgrims, you have no idea."

"No, I guess I don't. But as I told you once before, we can't blame every citizen of Pilgrim ancestry for what a few individuals have done. Admittedly, it's fanatics like these that made me reject Pilgrim theology. You lost your father to them. So did I. Now, alert your people. We'll assemble in thirty minutes. And I'd like Lieutenant Blair there. We may need to address his heredity… and my own."

Sitting on his bunk, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Blair thought about how he felt and realized that for once he was at a loss. Sure, he felt worn out from the jump and its accompanying adrenaline rush, and deeply saddened over the loss of Second Squadron, but something else gnawed at him. His spirit glided over a black expanse, and from that expanse rose a figure in a white robe whose face he could not see, but whose arms reached out to him. He had no idea what the feeling or vision- or whatever it was-meant. He only knew that it had come on suddenly during landing and persisted.

He looked over at Maniac, clad in Skivvies and lying on his own rack. If Zarya could hear the music produced by Maniac's nostrils, her interest in him would definitely dwindle. Knowing Blair's luck, she probably had a fetish for men who snored loudly. He sighed, rose, then padded over to the latrine and stared at himself in the scored mirror. "You are one ugly bastard."

"Though I hesitate to agree since I am, in fact, a part of you, I would ultimately have to endorse that assessment." Merlin stood on the shelf above Blair's bunk, hands folded over his chest, shoulders hidden by steel-gray hair that he had unloosed from its band.

"Look who's talking. That a new hairstyle or a bug in your system?"

"I remind you that my appearance was molded after one of your father's favorite teachers, a man named Jebiah Omans who taught a class that linked particle physics to Shakespeare. Now there's a blending of art and atoms-"

"You never told me he taught that."

"Oh, yes. Particles play a vital role in human behavior, and Shakespeare was an expert in that area. Some even acknowledge him as the first particle physicist."

Blair gave the holograph a penetrating stare.

Merlin's lips finally curled. "All right, Jebiah Omans was, in fact, one of your father's teachers and the inspiration for me, but he only taught physics."

After a nod, Blair moved back to his bunk and plopped down. "No offense, but sometimes I wish my father had programmed you in his likeness. You've been with me since I was five, Merlin. But it just isn't the same."

"Your father never told me why, but he insisted against an interface that resembled him. Maybe he thought it would be too painful for you or that I could never replace him. Maybe he wanted that separation. I'm your guardian, your advisor, and my chips contain your father's protein, but he was and will always be your father. Now I suggest you get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because Lieutenant Commander Deveraux is about-"

The hatch bell sounded, and Merlin disappeared.

"I'm not waiting, Lieutenant. Be at the wardroom in ten minutes for a briefing. Tell Maniac that I'll brief him and the rest of the squadron afterward."

As he fumbled with his trousers, Blair glanced at Maniac, who remained dead to the world. "Ma'am, if you can wait another second, I'll head down with you."

"Sorry, Christopher. She's already gone," Merlin said.

He looked to the holograph. "Yeah, and I know why."

"If you'd like my advice-"

Blair lifted a finger. "We both know what happened the last time I took your advice on women."

"But Christopher, I could have hardly known that she would be allergic to Italian food."

"Yeah, but she ate it anyway to be polite. Thought maybe it wouldn't bother her for once. Wound up spending the whole night in the hospital because you went off on that Italian spiel, talking about the whole romance language thing, the food, and you talked me into it. Never again. I think of that date, and all I see is this poor girl with hives all over her face."

"Fine. I won't help. I've made some observations of Lieutenant Commander Deveraux, but I'll keep them to myself." He tipped up his nose, snapped off.

"Merlin? Wait. What observations?"

The holograph would not activate. Blair checked his watch. Just as well. He had to get dressed.

"Commander," Blair said as he approached Angel. She stood beside the wardroom's open hatch, her uniform crisp, makeup sparingly applied. It didn't take much to enhance her beauty; the gifts were already there.