Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

"You see her. You talk to her."

"Yeah. I mean, is it really her? Am I talking to somebody else? To a ghost? To God? Am I nuts?"

"Have you done any research on this?"

Blair frowned. "I thought this was only happening to me. Is speaking to the dead common among Pilgrims?"

"You're not talking to the dead. According to one theory, you're tapping into a script that lies in a parallel dimension. It's been suggested that the human brain isn't a device for storing information but a tool for scripting it. This other dimension, they've dubbed it the Tanque Dimension, holds the scripts for every human being that ever lived, but Pilgrims can tap into that information. That's why when you get near a quasar or pulsar or what have you, you can sense a course through it. You're actually tapping into a script written by the first Pilgrims who navigated through."

"So it's nothing mystic. It just has to do with the ability to read that information," Blair concluded.

"Yes, but explain to me how you can interact so intimately with a piece of stored information. There's no advance Al at work. I think that's when it gets mystical."

Blair thought back to his first ride with Paladin. "When we jumped Scylla, you seemed surprised that I was able to navigate through her. And if you're a Pilgrim and you can tap into these scripts like me, then why didn't you jump the well itself?"

"I could have, but I couldn't have done it as easily as you. Why do you think I have all of those Pilgrim maps back in my quarters?"

"I don't know, but you're a Pilgrim."

"We're not all the same, Blair. Some say we evolved from savants. There were 'zappers' who were experts at electrical sys-tems; 'chipheads' able to engineer flawless hardware designs; 'toolkits' who could fix things with whatever happened to be lying around; 'crunchers' who could perform complex mathematical calculations without computers; and 'rabbitfoots' who supposedly brought good luck to missions. From there, other types of abilities emerged, and one in particular is the most interesting to us: the compass. These are the Pilgrims I told you about, those with a flawless sense of direction. They were subcatego-rized into the visionary, the explorer, and the navigator."

"Which one am I?"

"From what I've seen, you're a navigator. Me, on the other hand, I'm a visionary. I can determine which systems would prove most valuable for human expansion. Visionaries can throw their minds across the galaxy, seek out new systems, and analyze their composition. You don't even need to send a ship out if you have a visionary on your team. I have to admit that my skills are pretty limited, and I've been wrong on more than one occasion. I wish I were a navigator like you."

"What about the explorers?"

"They're able to navigate through uncharted regions. Most of the Pilgrim holocartography we have today was created by explorers. Some argue that of all three subcategories, explorers are the most powerful."

"What do you think?"

"I think there's one Pilgrim who's more powerful than any individual. He's a visionary, an explorer, and a navigator, and his name's Johan McDaniel, the last living descendant of Ivar Chu McDaniel. He's kind of a legend. I met him once. Nice old man- until you cross him. We're out here now because I want you to tap into his script. It's out here somewhere."

"His script? Why would it be-" Blair answered his own question before even asking it. "He's on board the supercruiser."

"Amity knows him as well as I. She's using him as a supplement to her hopper drive. The calculations involved in creating and jumping a gravity well are sometimes too complex for the NAVCOM. McDaniel is handling that for her."

"What is she? A navigator like me?"

"No, she's an explorer." Paladin's hand went reflexively to his chest. The Pilgrim cross that hung hidden beneath his shirt had been given to him by Amity. Blair had once borrowed the cross and had read the inscription on its back. She wanted him to remember love across the cosmos, to remember her. Blair smiled bitterly as he realized that Paladin wasn't the only one who would remember her now.

Blair's nav computer chirped a warning. "We're right in the residuum now," he said, reading his screen.

"Okay, Mr. Blair. Get to work."

He gave his mentor an awkward look.

"Reach out and find that script. Learn where they're headed."

"Okay," Blair said sarcastically. "But I don't even know how to reach. When I jump a well, the feeling is there. I don't have to look for it."

"You learn something new every day. And here's today's lesson. On your feet, mister. Go the viewport. Just look out there. I mean really look out there." Paladin's voice came in a breathy lilt.

Blair stood, worked out the kinks in his legs, then went anxiously to the viewport. He tossed Paladin a worried look, earning himself an insistent, wide-eyed stare.

Stars, nothing but. Pinpoints against a void so familiar yet so alien that nothing Blair could do would ever change that. What am I supposed to see?

"Me, probably," came a voice from behind.

Whirling, Blair came face-to-face with an old man dressed in a strange white robe and dark sandals. He looked past the man to Paladin, who sat motionless and unaware at the helm.

"So, Brotur Christopher. I take it you'd like to know where we're going." The old man's hazel eyes flashed like light through a prism, and his skin held a ruddy sun glow. He stood quite erect for a man so wizened, his chest bulging like a powerlifter's beneath his robe.

"Are you part of a script? Am I accessing your data?"

He chuckled. "That's a clumsy assessment, don't you think?"

"Then what are you?"

"I'm just me. And you're just you. And here we are."

"You with Captain Aristee? Are you helping her?"

The old man's brow knit as he took offense. "Of course. Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Where are you now?"

"Why, I'm here, brotur, with you."

"Where is Amity?"

"Oh, were it that easy, young man."

"There's enough residuum here for me to estimate her destination. You can't hide that from me."

"Yes, I can. But her destination should already be quite obvious to you. If she's made a fatal mistake, this is it. Oh, I'm tired of sitting in judgment. We each have a path." He took in a long breath, sighed loudly. "Now, young Pilgrim, let me teach you about who you are, where you belong, and why life among the elect is yours."

VEGA SECTOR.DRY QUADRANT.MERCHANTMAN DILIGENT.MIDPOINT LAFAYETTE AND TAMAYO SYSTEMS.

2654.083. 0800 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME

"Mr. Blair? Mr. Blair?"

The voice rang through him, and for a moment, Blair did not recognize his own name. He discovered himself staring at Paladin instead of the old man.

"Did you find him?" the commodore asked. "I think so," Blair replied, straining to remember exactly what had happened. "He never said who he was, but I think it was McDaniel. He said he wanted to teach me about being a Pilgrim. Then someone called. I'm not sure if it was you or maybe even Aristee. And here I am."

"Where are they headed?"

Blair sighed in disappointment. "He wasn't giving that up. I didn't know he could hide the coordinates."

"That's not something the average Pilgrim can do," Paladin said, then added under his breath, "sanctimonious bastard."

"He did say that their destination should be obvious and something about Aristee making a fatal error."

Paladin set his lips together, threw his head back, and studied the conduits crisscrossing the overhead as though they were lines on a star map. All at once he snapped out of the vacant look and activated the comm console. "Mr. Z? Tell the captain to recall all fighters and set course for star number"-he leaned toward one of Blair's nav screens-"ten-two-nine-one."