Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

Vukar spun to First Fang Jatark. "Remove him."

"No," Makorshk cried. "The apes are there, helpless against us. You deny us the honor, Kalralahr? And you shame me with this order of removal?"

Drawing on his instincts, Jatark lunged over Makorshk's tactical console and collided with the younger warrior. Both Kilrathi roared as they rolled across the deck in a death clutch. Makorshk drew back a paw, serrated claws springing out as he slashed Jatark across the cheek. The parallel wounds spewed blood onto the first fang's skin. As the sting of his lacerations finally set in, Jatark emitted a terrific howl, released his grip, and extended the claws on both of his paws.

But Makorshk exploited that moment to reach into his thigh sheath and withdraw his vorshaki dueling blade, a curved knife with a sharp notch representing each of the noble clans of Kilrah. Makorshk's hand shot up with extraordinary speed. He jammed the blade into Jatork's neck, twisted the handle forty-five degrees, then drove the knife up with a horrible crunch.

A proximity alarm chirped from Makorshk's station, and Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki shifted toward it, his gaze never leaving Makorshk as the second fang continued working his vorshaki into Jatork's head. Meanwhile, Ta'kar'ki snapped his finger on a small bell, an ancient tocsin used to beckon the entire bridge crew. "Kalralahr! The strike carrier Tiger Claw and one of her destroyers have altered course to intercept."

Another alarm blared from Radar Officer Syl'rkai's station. "Six inbound contacts. Identifying." Syl'rkai took another look at his screen, then his voice dropped to ominous depths. "Kalralahr? Contacts identified as cap ship missiles launched from the Tiger Claw. Missiles will have lock in four seconds. Estimated impact in thirty-three seconds."

"We have to launch countermeasures," Makorshk said, wrenching his blade from Jatork's neck. The second fang shoved Jatork's body away and stood, his face and arm drenched in dark gore. He bolted to his station and began skimming data that scrolled across a trio of screens.

Vukar glimpsed Jatark, whose paws jerked spasmodically and whose body began heaving a stench. The admiral advanced toward Makorshk, reaching for his own vorshaki blade and feeling the frenzy claw into in his head.

"A blood duel, of course," Makorshk said. "I knew it could come to this the day we lost those destroyers. But is this the time, Kalralahr?" The steady beep of incoming missiles punctuated the second fang's question.

" Kass'richak," Vukar shouted, the ancient curse jarring his crew almost as much as Makorshk's attack on Jatark. "Launch countermeasures." He regarded the helmsman. "All ships to assume defense positions. Continue on evasion course." He cocked his head to Makorshk. "We will not engage. That is not

our mission.

Makorshk lifted his chin high in disrespect. "Then we flee like lowborns, and your destiny lies alongside Bokoth's. Counter-measures away."

"Missiles have lock," interjected Radar Officer Syl'rkai. "Cruisers intervening."

Tearing himself free of Makorshk's bold stare, Vukar regarded the forward viewport, where the spectacle would play out before his eyes.

Missiles took form in the distance, etching their familiar and foreboding tracks across the void. Two of his Fralthi-class cruisers soared overhead and descended to provide a moderate shield for the superdreadnought's bow, while a third cruiser hugged the ship's belly and would interdict any missile fire to that region. His single Ralari-class destroyer would shift well ahead of the battle group and unleash torpedoes in salvos of eight. Turreted lasers would attempt to pick off the incoming cap ship missiles, as would the destroyer's pair of antimatter guns. The battle group's two Sivar-class dreadnoughts now lumbered into flanking positions. At over eight hundred meters and equipped with twelve torpedo tubes each, the dreadnoughts alone could take on the apes and emerge victorious. Never mind the dreadnoughts' fighter complements of over one hundred and fifty, and the tremendous meson shields that protected their streamlined, rectangular hulls. The torpedoes would be enough to gnaw away the strike carrier's shields and reduce her to a tumbling collection of gas-and-spark-laden rubbish. But as Vukar had reminded Makorshk, they should not waste time engaging. They would move as quickly as they could to the jump point.

As the dreadnoughts added their own antimatter fire to the growing defense wall, eight cone-shaped drones transmitting false electromagnetic signatures spiraled away from the Shak'Ar'Roc in an attempt to bait any missiles that might penetrate the escort defense. Vukar tracked the path of one such drone until it vanished behind a scintillating bulwark of laser fire that originated from one of his cruisers.

At the moment, the battle resembled a strange race, rounds competing with each other as they blasted away from his ships and arrowed into the distance. With all of his senses, Vukar reached out into that distance, trying as his forefathers had to get a sense, a feel, for his enemy, but the vacuum barred him from satisfying that impulse.

"Kalralahr, two squadrons of fighters inbound," said Radar Officer Syl'rkai.

Vukar lowered his snout in expectation of the attack. "We'll let the dreadnoughts handle them."

"Shall I relay the order to launch fighters?" Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki asked.

"No."

"Kalralahr, some of those fighters will penetrate point-defense systems," Makorshk said, leaving his station and pounding his way toward Vukar. "We must launch a counter-assault."

"Return to your station," Vukar growled. "Ask Sivar for forgiveness and for a swift death."

Makorshk held his unflinching gaze for a moment, then spun and trudged back. Vukar could have easily summoned a replacement tactical officer, but despite everything Makorshk had done, the second fang had more experience than any of his other tactical officers. Now, in time of combat, he wanted Makorshk at his station. After the jump, dueling blades would settle their differences.

Like szcaltal flies that swarmed the skies during summer nights on Kilrah, the Confederation fighters skimmed and flitted and spun through the glistening tangles of fire, emerging unscathed and bound for the cruisers and dreadnoughts.

"Detecting Confederation Broadsword bombers now, my Kalralahr," came the still-ominous voice of Radar Officer Syl'rkai. "Two pairs with fighter escorts. They'll reach the dreadnoughts in three-point-two-zero minutes."

"Jump calculations nearly finished," Makorshk said, reading his screen.

"Drive crews report systems nominal," the comm officer relayed. "Escorts have established jump line and order."

"Can we jump before those bombers reach the dreadnoughts?" Vukar asked Makorshk.

"We can increase thrust, overshoot them, and alter the jump line. The bombers will engage them as they attempt to jump. Or we can launch fighters to engage those bombers. Kalralahr, we may lose some of those fighters, but if we do not engage, we could lose the dreadnoughts. I believe we should have those dreadnoughts launch fighters and continue to maintain our position in the rear."

Vukar spared himself further consideration. He would cut his loses at the fighters and not sacrifice even one of his capital ships. He regarded Comm Officer Ta'kar'ki and said, "Contact our dreadnoughts. Give the order to launch counter-assault squadrons. Force should be equal in number."

Though he could easily fight off the pain of ordering loyal warriors to their certain deaths, Vukar welcomed the dark feeling as an immediate tribute to those brave souls who would die or be left behind. While in recent times the Kilrathi rarely took prisoners, the Terrans would attempt to bring in some of his pilots. Vukar trusted that they would not allow themselves to be shamed in that way.