Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

"That's very interesting, Vukar. Very interesting indeed," Satorshck had said upon learning of the emperor's plan to send battle groups to Ymir and Nephele. "He's simply placating the clan leaders but failing to truly act, as we suspected. The Caxki may have been the first of the noble clans to join the emperor's new imperial alliance, but we may also be the first to secede. If you find and capture that supercruiser and its new drive system, understand that it will be the property of the Caxki clan. You will not, under any circumstances, turn it over to the emperor. Do this for the hrai, Vukar, and you will reap the rewards."

"I understand, but if I fail to obey the emperor's orders, the prince will make a challenge."

"And you will accept that challenge," Satorshck said vehemently. "And if so, you will die for the hrai, for the greatest noble clan Kilrah has ever seen."

"As you wish."

Vukar switched off the recording, then leaned back and stroked his whiskers in thought. Better to toil over what to do with the hopper drive after he had it. For now, he would patch the tear in his loyalty with a newfound desire to recover that ship-not for the emperor or his clan, but for the courageous warriors who had lost their lives under his command.

The terminal beeped. "Kalralahr?"

"You have the coordinates?" Vukar asked as he hit the vid display and Makorshk appeared on the screen.

"We do. Estimates, of course. They put the supercruiser between the Lafayette and Tamayo systems."

Vukar stood. "Sound the pre-jump alarm. Plot best course to those coordinates."

"Course already plotted, my Kalralahr. I'm afraid it will take two-point-seven-five standard days to get there, providing we do not meet any resistance at the jump points. We'll have to jump at Montrose and Lafayette, both well-guarded Confederation systems. Also, I should remind you that those coordinates will place us well away from jump points and deep within Day Quadrant. That will be dangerous, but what troubles me even more is why the supercruiser would venture there in the fist place, unless it is rendezvousing with another ship."

"That may be the case. Perhaps they're taking on supplies."

"Or perhaps they require a position well away from gravitic interference. Perhaps they're testing their hopper drive."

Vukar lowered his thick brow. "Testing it? I believe it functions properly. Over two hundred Kilrathi souls will testify to that."

"Yes, but earlier I said that they could use the drive as a planet killer. Since then I've been analyzing the data and discovered that I was wrong. That drive's gravitic cloak extends for about five hundred meters and funnels down about three hundred meters. A gravity well that small would have to be placed within a planet's atmosphere to consume matter, and the supercruiser cannot operate within most atmospheres."

"Then maybe it's not as dangerous as we first thought."

"But Kalralahr, consider this: If the gravity well created by the drive could be made larger, then it could be placed beyond a planet's atmosphere and still pull it in. Imagine that supercruiser jumping into orbit around Kilrah. We surround it. There is no chance it can fire a planetary torpedo and cause damage. But, without warning, it activates its hopper drive, and the resulting gravity well instantaneously pulls in every ship and our home-world. It all happens much more quickly and efficiently than a conventional attack. The supercruiser jumps the well while everything behind it is ripped out of existence."

"All the more reason to find that ship." Vukar pawed off the terminal and left the room, stepping back onto the bridge, where Makorshk regarded him with a quick bow of the head.

"Stations report pre-jump readiness," Comm Officer Ta'kar'-ki said, switching off the gonging alarm. "PNR velocity for Tartarus jump point achieved."

"Engage jump-drive," Vukar said to the helmsman, Yil'schk. "This, I sense, will be a long hunt…"

Blair jerked awake as the high-pitched alarm for general quarters sounded. He stared at the overhead of his quarters for a second, then checked his watch: 0730 hours standard time, eighty-third day of the year. Damn, he'd forgotten what the time and date meant.

"Somebody burned breakfast," Maniac said through a yawn. He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.

"It's jump day. We're still tailing that supercruiser, remember?"

Maniac didn't answer. Blair rolled quickly out of his cot, and cussed as his bare feet connected with a glacier that looked remarkably like durasteel. "Maniac? Wake up."

"Maniac who?"

"Five minutes to stations or that'll be two more demerits. I can afford 'em. You can't. You're lucky that you're still on the roster after your little torpedo maneuver."

"I'll always be on the roster," Maniac said, removing the pillow. "It's supply and demand, Ace. And speaking of demand, my sore muscles demand that I stay right here. Tell your sweetheart I'm sick."

Blair hustled to his locker, withdrew a clean uniform and Skivvies. "She's not my sweetheart."

"I know, loser. The reg against fraternizing is the first one I break." Maniac worked himself a little deeper into his mattress, and Blair knew very well why the pilot had so much trouble waking up. Maniac had been up until the wee hours, tripping the light fantastic with Zarya in the rec. She had been teaching him an old-fashioned dance called "swing" that had him literally swinging her through the air as though she were a drum majorette's baton. The music, Blair had to admit, thrummed with an infectious rhythm punctuated by lively saxophone and guitar improvisations. The lyrics focused mainly on the dance itself, with allusions to something called "jive" and references to people as "cats." That seemed ironic to Blair, but Zarya had assured him it was all part of the fun.

After dressing quickly, tossing some warm water over his face, and wetting down his short locks, Blair looked once more at his pathetic bunkmate, then hurried out.

With thirty seconds to spare, Blair made it to the flight wing ready room and strapped into a jumpseat between Hunter and Bishop. Pilots lined the walls, chatting with each other or staring straight ahead, sleeping with their eyes open. The six squadron commanders entered from a hatch that led to the flight control room. They eyed the rows, taking silent attendance. Blair glanced at the empty seat that belonged to Maniac. Zarya sat beside the seat, her gaze focused on the entrance in anticipation of Maniac's arrival.

"Lieutenant Marshall?" Angel asked, inspecting the room to be sure she hadn't missed him.

"Uh, he's sick, ma'am," Blair said. "I think he was going to see a medic and strap in down there."

She managed to restrain most of her sneer and the rage that lay behind it. "I hope you're right," she said, then hastened to the data net terminal beside the main hatch.

Blair looked to Zarya, who mouthed, "Where is he?"

Closing his eyes, Blair tilted his head to one side to show her. When he looked up, he saw Zarya swearing to herself.

After another moment, Angel returned from the terminal, her gaze like a flamethrower. "Lieutenant Marshall is not in sickbay. And if he's in his quarters, he's not answering my call. Any ideas, Lieutenant?"

Blair shrugged.

"I wouldn't find him dancing in the rec, would I?"

He stifled a snort. "I doubt that, ma'am."

Her exaggerated sigh said it all. She turned back to confer with Jinxman and Lightning, and for a moment the ready room's lights caught her at the perfect angle. Why did he keep seeing her in the light like this? Why did she have to be so damned beautiful?

Three days ago they had eaten breakfast together. They had drawn the stares of a few officers stuffing their faces, but she had been unfazed by that. The stares had bothered him more, and for some reason he couldn't get past the notion that he should keep his distance, that when she leaned over her food to say something, bringing her lips so close that it made him dizzy, he should keep his torso rigid. Twice he had even recoiled from her advance. They had chatted about the war, about news from Earth, about a new film showing in one of the vidrooms on Deck C. While her words came out naturally, gracefully, his dialogue felt forced, ragged, shaken by nerves and thoughts of rejection.