Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

According to Joan's Ships of Known Space, an interactive database every Confed pilot worth his salt had memorized, Kilrathi cruisers routinely reached a maximum velocity of 150 KPS, while destroyers could reach 250. The numbers rarely lied. However, the cats would not be foolish enough to send out a lone destroyer; it would remain in the company of the cruisers.

"Yeah, we have problem," Maniac mimicked, "we're dead. But at least the cats will send us off instead of our own people."

Paladin lifted an index finger. "I said those cruisers and destroyer can overtake us. I didn't say they will."

"Sir, there aren't any asteroid fields or comet belts in this system," Blair said, recalling his cosmography. "Even the jump point's pretty far away. We have no cover."

"And no defense," Maniac added. "You think this ragtag bunch of fanatics can stop the Kilrathi? Shit." He rubbed his forehead. "We got a battle group out there? They got five, maybe six fighters to Aristee's one."

"Which is why you're suiting up. Mr. Marshall? You're Rapier came in redlined, but I'm told its been repaired and pre-flighted. Mr. Blair, we have a Rapier for you. Once we reach the flight deck, you'll launch and report to William Santyana, your squadron commander. He's a good man. Do what he says."

Maniac whirled toward his cell, walked back inside, then sat on his bunk. "It doesn't take much to get me in a cockpit, but if you think I'll fly for these people…"

"They die, we die," Blair said. "How do you not get that?"

"Six million killed at Mylon Three. And what about our own people? What about Second Squadron? You forgot about them already? I'd rather die than help these lunatics."

"You won't be helping them," Paladin corrected. "You'll be helping me. If we can evade this battle group, you'll buy me the time I need."

"Permission to speak candidly?" Maniac asked, throttling up the sarcasm.

"Say whatever you want, Mr. Marshall, but get off that bunk and join us."

"Sir, we've been on this ship for nearly a month. How much more time do you need?"

"Matters of diplomacy don't work on a timetable, Lieutenant."

"Well, I got a feeling the admiral won't let Aristee waltz around the sector for much longer. Maybe you can give your diplomatic efforts a boot in the ass, eh? And I have to wonder, what do you think you can accomplish? She knows you're here to stop her. She's waiting for you to make your move, and then you'll get the cell next to mine. Your strategy is a joke. Coming here was a joke. Unless you planned on joining her in the first place, which, given everything I've seen, makes more sense. I mean, you love her, right?"

Blair rushed by Paladin, stormed into Maniac's cell, and grabbed the wiry blonde's neck, fingers digging into Maniac's esophagus. "You're not just out of line, asshole. You've gone way beyond that. Unless you'd like me to tear you a new breathing hole, I suggest you come along."

Powerful hands clenched Blair's wrists and pulled him away from Maniac.

"We'll die before we settle this," Paladin said, releasing Blair. "Lieutenant Marshall, I can't force you to fly. But I can assure you that when the moment comes and you're staring at the ceiling and listening to the atmosphere whistle away through breeches in the hull, when you know in your gut that you have only a few seconds to live and you're thinking about your life and did you live it well and did it mean anything, when you realize that you're alone and helpless, that you can't fight back because you're locked behind these bars, I can assure you that you will, at that moment, wish that you had strapped yourself into a fighter, slammed on your helmet, and jammed down the trigger to fire in the face of death-because you're a Confederation fighter pilot and that's what you do. That's what's in your blood." Paladin swung toward the door. "Mr. Blair? Let's go."

VEGA SECTOR,ROBERT'S QUADRANT, LEAWING ALOYSIUS SYSTEM,CS OLYMPUS,

2654.114, 0022 HOURS CONFEDEWRATION STANDARD TIME

'Broturs and sosturs, I'm sure you know why I've asked you here." Aristee gazed intensely at the twenty-seven Pilgrims she had assembled in the Olympus's wardroom. Some of the robed elect sat in chairs around the conference table while others stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the bulkhead. Each possessed the rare gift of being able to sense and manipulate gravitic fields with their minds-a gift Aristee desperately needed them to exploit.

But many of her people were already shaking their heads, and one in particular, Karista Mullens, left her seat at the table. "Sos-tur Aristee, when we realized that you had brought so many of us on board, we suspected this day would come. But we can't do as you ask. The edicts of Ivar Chu are clear on this. To reach out and kill contradicts everything we believe in. You know that. You know the pain it causes. The cold…"

"Of course she knows," came the baritone voice of Shutaree Zimbaka, a bearded black man who threaded his way toward the front of the room. "But the Kilrathi are back there. They won't stop. And we'll die unless we do something about that. The protur has spoken. Sostur Aristee has spoken. All of us should make the sacrifice."

Zimbaka had barely finished when an impact tremor came from the supercruiser's aft quarter and passed violently through the room. Another resounded just a second later, with still a third of equal force riding hard on its heels.

"I'm with you," came another voice. Aristee watched Mishal-la Ti come forward on small, narrow legs, her stringy black hair swinging like a pendulum after the old woman.

Karista Mullens eyed the two defectors, her mouth agape. "You can't do it. You'll reach out to those Kilrathi and crush their eyes or stop their hearts, but have any of you done that before? Do you know what it feels like to rob a being of its life force? Do you know what it feels like to touch the dead?"

Four more Pilgrims elbowed their way to join Zimbaka and Ti. Three others slid up behind Mullens. Aristee's temper flared as her people continued choosing their camps. She spun away, swore, then spun back, directing her fury at Mullens. "I brought you on board with Frotur McDaniel's highest endorsement."

"An endorsement I deserve," Mullens said, her voice faltering. "I'll do anything for you. Anything but this."

"So you choose to defy me and the protur?"

"But haven't you and the new protur chosen to defy the edicts? The former protur would not have endorsed this order."

"Carver Tsu the Second is dead. Whether he would have endorsed the order or not is inconsequential." Aristee lifted her voice for all to hear. "We have a new protur. And as Brotur Zimbaka rightly pointed out, he has spoken. So have I. Anyone who chooses to disobey will be held in the brig and sentenced to the five penance."

"Is this how we'll shape our future?" Mullens asked. "By punishing people who refuse to break the edicts? We'll reward the sinners and damn the just?"

"We'll shape our future by changing our laws," Aristee countered as she began to count heads. Sixteen Pilgrims had gathered around Mullens, while only ten had complied with the order and stood near the starboard bulkhead. Aristee had failed to win over even half. She eyed the dissenters with disgust. "Be sure of your decision."

Mullens craned her head and studied the people behind her. Most stared on unflinchingly, their minds set. She faced forward and gave a solemn nod.

Aristee raised her chin at the Marine guards posted near the door and listened to the resignation in her own voice. "Take them to brig."

The Marines stepped back, allowing Mullens and the others to proceed to the hatch. Only a few gazes dared meet Aristee's. She felt sickened by the moment-but hadn't she known that some would not follow? She had, but not this many…