"I said, you got business up here?"
"I don't know. Couple Marines dragged me out of my quarters and left me here. Told me to wait for her." He tipped his head toward Amity Aristee, who climbed a steep staircase leading to the catwalk.
"You Santyana?"
"That's right."
"Heard a lot about you. Test-piloted the first B model Rapiers. You were the leading war ace for, what was it? Two consecutive years?"
"Three. But that was a while ago."
"I read they gave you quite a send-off."
"Yeah, they did. And I'm still retired."
"So you think. And what the hell were you doing on a farm anyway? Good thing we saved you from playing with dirt. Now you can put your skills to work for the elect."
"I don't plan on flying for anyone right now, whether they be divinely or militarily inspired."
"And why is that?" Aristee asked, pulling her plum-black hair into a ponytail and fastening it with a small band. Like the deck boss, she wore a Pilgrim cross that hung between the gold buttons of her dark-blue uniform, and the juxtaposition-the contradiction-awed Santyana.
"You invaded my home. Scared the hell out of my wife and daughter. We agreed to come with you. But that's it. If you think I'm going to fly for you people…"
She furrowed her brow. "You people? You're one of us, William. Your parents were both compasses, your father a visionary with the ability to find systems suitable for Pilgrim expansion, your mother an explorer with the gift to navigate through unknown environments. You, I suspect, are an explorer- just like your mother. Your record shows an unexplained jump in Douglas Quadrant about seven years ago. You found your way through a previously undiscovered gravity well. Care to comment on that?"
"No, I don't."
"I also know you've done some research on theories of parallel tonality and other scientific explanations on Pilgrim abilities. That a hobby of yours?"
"What do you care?"
"Actually, I do care. A lot. You can't deny your blood." She took a step closer, eyes widening. "I chose Mylon Three for our first attack because there's only one jump point in the system, making for a slow Confed counterassault. And I chose it because it had once been a Pilgrim settlement before MyGov sold out to the Confederation. Pilgrim descendants lived there. But what first turned my attention to Mylon was you. Captains don't leave their ships during assaults. But I went down there especially for you. You're the best Pilgrim pilot I have."
"I don't believe this. You kidnap me and my family, keep us locked up in officers quarters for days, then you drag me down here and expect me to just say, yeah, I'll fly for you? Lady, I think you've spent a little too much time communicating with the divine."
"I've just made you squadron commander, One Hundred and Twenty-first Fighter Wing, Eighth Squadron," she said, unfazed by his jibe. "And FYI: we'll preserve the Confederation chain of command and wear Confederation uniforms to avoid confusion here and create some with our enemies. But that'll change after this assault. I suggest you suit up, review your mission log, and begin your preflight checklist." She winked at the deck boss. "Mr. Towers, will you escort Brotur William to his Rapier?"
"Yes, ma'am." The boss seized Santyana's elbow.
"You can't force me to fly," he said, grinning over the absurdity. "I'll just sit there. I won't touch the controls."
"I want you to do this because your heart tells you it's right," she said. "The stars were meant for Pilgrims-not humans. They invaded our space, stole from us, murdered us. We're taking back what was once ours, and ours is a just cause."
"Conscription has nothing to do with justice."
"This isn't conscription. It's all part of the settling-in process. I don't expect you to suddenly swear your allegiance to us. That will take time and a deeper understanding of who you are."
"So what makes you think I'll fly?"
She reached up, about to stroke his cheek. He snatched her wrist. "Easy, William. You'll fly because the first time you refuse me, I'll kill your wife. And the second time, I'll torture your daughter. I won't kill the little one; she is, after all, part Pilgrim."
He cursed her through gritted teeth.
"There, now." She looked on him with transparent sympathy and spoke like a mother consoling a son with a scuffed knee. "I know it hurts. I know you hate me. That's okay. But don't doubt me. Six million souls will testify that I keep my word. And historians will record the same."
"There's already a place for you in history. See: mass murderers."
She smirked, then spun and headed for the staircase. "Good luck, William. I'm counting on you, as are Pris and Lacey. Don't let them down."
He glowered. The names of his wife and daughter had no place on her lips.
And behind all of her Pilgrim posing lay nothing but blackmail.
"Come on," the deck boss said. "Let's get you suited up."
Commodore Richard Bellegarde stared through the porthole as the troopship made its final approach toward the Concordia's aft flight deck. He would never tire of staring at the majestic super-cruiser and often found it difficult to believe that he had been assigned to her as naval operations adjunct. The largest battleship in the Confed's fleet, the Concordia was named the Confed flagship in 2654 and presently served as mobile command center for naval operations. If you closed your eyes and swept yourself back to Earth, circa World War II, you could easily place the Concordia among the old seagoing battleships of that day, her pointed bow suggesting that she could cut through salt water as easily as vacuum. And like her ancient predecessors, she had been fitted with a magnificent, cone-shaped superstructure that rose in three tiers to a bridge crowned by a complex sensor array. A quartet of immense antimatter guns sat at equidistant positions along her upper deck and attested to her staggering firepower. Presently, she traveled in the company of four supply ships, two Exeter-class destroyers, and a Bengal-class cruiser. Bellegarde noted how the destroyer Talmud had been replaced by the CS Carraway during his brief visit to Scotland.
Yes, he had gone back to Glasgow, had visited the stomping ground of his forefathers, and had thought he could rekindle his connection to the place. He had argued with Admiral Tolwyn that he was a native of the Eddings system, that Earth was not his homeworld. He did not place as much emphasis on its survival as those who had been born there, those who still had families there, those who deemed the planet the sacred birthplace of humanity. Bellegarde had wanted to forget the place and consequently forget his past. Earth's destruction would hardly strike a blow. And he had finally confessed to Tolwyn why he wanted to forget. His forefathers had systematically wiped out an entire family and had assumed their identities. Brilliant criminals one and all, they had forged a future for themselves among the stars, a future founded on bloodshed. Bellegarde was not Richard's true surname. When, at sixteen, he had learned of his family's murderous rise to prestige from an uncle whose lips had loosened from alcohol, Richard had confronted his father, but the man would neither confirm nor deny the story. And he had never revealed the family's true name. Since then, Richard had searched the databases on over a dozen worlds but had come up empty. And back at Glasgow, he had done the same and once more had found nothing.
But there had been something in the air of the old city, something that made him feel like he belonged as he stared across the tranquil waters of the Clyde River and imagined the ancient shipbuilding yards that had once thrived along its banks. He had felt a sense of why people fought so desperately to preserve the planet, that something natural, something innate, something one could never deny dwelled in both the land and the people. The link could never be broken. Tolwyn had said that he would discover a lot more in Glasgow that he had expected. While Bellegarde had not found complete reconciliation with his past, he had reached a plateau of understanding that might now put the war into perspective. It was no longer "Us versus Them" but a war to preserve the blooming of a flower, the flight of a dove, the smile of a small boy reeling in his first fish. It had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with a small place in the universe from which we could share our lives with others and never forget who we were, who we are.