Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

"Aye-aye, sir," said the Claw's comm officer.

Blair hustled back to his nav station and pulled up data on star 10-2-9-1. White dwarf. Part of the binary system called Blytheheart. He frowned. "Why is she going there, sir? No Confederation colonies. Some mines, refineries, mostly commercial operations. Is she recruiting?"

Paladin waited to answer until he had redirected the Diligent on a new vector, back toward the Tiger Claw. "Amity's not headed to Blytheheart at all, Lieutenant. We are."

Although Blair deepened his frown, the commodore focused his attention on the helm controls. Ah, yes. Paladin wanted him to figure it out for himself.

Using the nav computer, Blair quickly plotted a course from the Claw's present position to Blytheheart. He studied a three-dimensional map of the surrounding star systems and quickly realized that Blytheheart represented the jump point nearest them. Okay, so Amity wasn't headed there, but they were. Wait. She doesn't need jump points. We do. So we're going to Blytheheart to jump where? He tapped in a barrage of commands that would bring up every destination ever achieved by Confederation craft via the Blytheheart jump point. Names of star systems scrolled down the display, and one immediately caught Blair's eye: McDaniel's World, the name of a system and a planet that represented a spiritual headquarters for the Pilgrims. "Sir? I think I know what you're up to. But if she just jumped to McDaniel, then she can probably take care of business and be gone before we arrive. According to my data, it'll take the Claw just under five standard days on full impulse to reach the Blytheheart jump point. She can waste that entire planet in five minutes."

"Mr. Blair, Captain Aristee has made a grave error-and we'll take every advantage of it."

"I don't understand."

"She's not going to McDaniel to destroy it. That planet rep-resents everything she stands for. Someday she'd like to see it as the hub and governing force in the universe, much like Earth is today. Yes, if I know her, she's going to McDaniel to see somebody, a man named Protur Carver Tsu the Second."

"Protur…" Blair repeated, reaching into his memory. "That's the title of the Pilgrim elect's most powerful leader. Kind of like't he Roman Catholic church's pope or the Vegan Victorists' kreek-son."

"That's right. She's going to McDaniel to seek the protur's aid or blessing. If she can win him to her cause, she'll have the entire system behind her. The systems of Faith and Promise will quickly follow. It'll take the enclaves a bit longer, but they'll eventually fold under the pressure."

"All right, so she's there for a chat. Probably already sipping espressos with the guy. Where does that leave us?"

Magic found a home in Paladin's grin. "Yesterday, zero eight two, was the Pilgrim Holy Day of Acclivity. For seven days following the celebration, the protur has to remain in solitude. He goes to a retreat whose location is known only by him. There, he fasts and prays, and seeks communion with Ivar Chu and the others who ascended to the higher plane."

"Today's eight three, so she'll have to wait until eight nine to see the protur."

Paladin nodded. "And we'll be there on eight eight."

"Wait a minute," Blair said. "Why would she hang around there? Why not just come back when the protur returns?"

"She knows exactly what she's doing. Her request to see the protur has to be made as soon as possible. He's a busy guy. And no one leaves McDaniel after making such a request. It's a convention that plays right into our hand. And remember, that blessing is extremely important to her. She'll probably position the Olympus behind one of the moons and shuttle down to the planet. We'll dispatch our Marines to pick up her, while the Claw and the destroyers disable her ride."

"It won't be that simple."

The commodore grinned knowingly. "Of course not. But there's always theory before practice. And the shit always hits the fan…"

Within five minutes after their return to the Tiger Claw, the strike carrier made way under full impulse for the Blytheheart system.

As Blair and Paladin plodded down the Diligent's loading ramp, Blair said, "Sir? I thought Mr. Gerald would have a problem with rushing off to Blytheheart."

Paladin winked. "Who said he didn't?"

"So that's why you went to your quarters while I landed?"

"Diplomacy is one of my strong suits, but Mr. Gerald taxes me. I didn't want to embarrass you or myself. But don't get me wrong. He'll make a fine captain. He just needs to better recognize his biases. He has softened a little."

They hit the flight deck, and the raised voices, humming thrusters, and aroma from fuel Bowsers tugged on Blair like a drunken friend.

"You know, sometimes I miss this," the commodore said, acknowledging the allure as well. "Then I get smart and wake up." He winked. "We got five days to kill. What are you going to do, Lieutenant?"

"I'll probably do some work in the sim. Catch up on some reading. Pretty boring stuff."

"Were I you," Paladin began, squeezing Blair's shoulder, "I would get that kiss she owes you. Call it intuition, but I suspect she's still in debt."

Blair looked away, digging his hands into his pockets like an embarrassed schoolboy.

"I'm out of line," Paladin said, releasing his grip. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've been in your position before."

"And what did you do?"

"I caught her. Hung on for a while. Then she got away. Don't let that happen to you, son."

Still a bit fatigued from the jump and the conversation with Johan McDaniel, Blair headed back to his quarters. On his way, he stopped at a data net terminal. According to the duty roster, his shift would be over at 1400 hours. All personnel presently worked six hours on, twelve off to keep everyone well-rested and in a state of extreme readiness. The day's schedule seemed pretty loose, with nothing officially on the agenda except a Combat Assessment Meeting at 1300 hours. The meeting would focus on their engagement at Lethe and would be Angel's chance to stomp on Maniac's ego. Though the cocky pilot deserved a scolding, Blair hoped that Angel wouldn't be too hard on him. He had, after all, saved lives.

Blair left the terminal and hustled past three jump-drive specialists in white utilities who appeared exceptionally exhausted. The Claw had jumped from Mylon to Lethe to the Lafayette-Tamayo midpoint, and would now jump at Blytheheart. The ship would make more jumps in a week than it had in the past two standard months. Blair empathized with the techs; while everyone else had time to kill, they worked furiously to maintain the drive, an older system infamous for breaking down.

Two corridors later, he slipped into the lift and ascended to the pilots' quarters. This section of the ship took up three decks, began amidships, and stretched back to the environmental control room. Nameplates hung outside each hatch, and Blair's legs grew weak at the sight of Angel's door. As squadron commander, she enjoyed the luxury of private quarters. The rest of the pilots had been paired up to share quarters-not a bad arrangement unless your bunkmate happened to be Maniac. Before the Claw's refitting, twelve or more pilots had been assigned to a single cabin crammed with cots and lockers. Blair's past experiences told him to be thankful for his room and head, despite having to share them with Maniac.

"Lieutenant?"

Blair shuddered as he recognized the voice. He turned to face Gerald. "Yes, sir?"

"I was just coming down to see you."

"You were?" he asked, astounded that the man had not summoned him. Captains, interim or otherwise, didn't go waltzing around the ship in search of junior officers unless that particular junior officer was in a whole lot of trouble.

"Were you headed to your quarters?" Gerald glanced at Angel's hatch. "Or are you here to see Commander Deveraux?"