"No, they're not," Angel observed stoically.
"Is Blair aboard that ship?" asked Maniac.
"I believe he is."
"Well, what is this? We sending over negotiators?"
She didn't answer, her attention stolen by her instruments. "Reading gravitic distortion. All ships clear the zone. Repeat! Clear the zone!"
Somewhere out there, far across the cosmos, a deity with a huge dislike for cocky fighter pilots looked down on Maniac's puny Rapier and thought, No, it shouldn't be so easy for this one. He's cheated fate one too many times. Now the bill has come due …
Or at least that's what Maniac thought had happened as one of the Pilgrim Rapiers returning to the supercruiser suddenly blurred by him and fired a missile that struck between his thruster cones and detonated, drop-kicking him down toward the supercruiser amid a shrieking chorus of alarms. "Shit! I just took one up the tailpipe. Got mucho damage. Thruster control is gone. Can't maneuver. I'm falling within the five-hundred-meter zone."
"Pop the top," Zarya cried.
"Lost power to the ejection system," he said, gaze frantically sweeping the right VDU's damage report. "Reactor's offline. Can't even pull the plug on this one."
"I'm coming in to get you," Zarya said.
"Negative. Fall back as ordered."
"No way!"
"Lieutenant Rolitov, you will clear the zone," Angel insisted, cutting into the channel.
"But I can get down there and tractor him in!"
"Don't do it, Zarya," he said softly. "Just go home." He heard her panting into her headset, then a slight whimper escaped her lips. "Oh, God…" The VDU went blank. His radar still operated on emergency reserves, and he watched her break back for the Claw's retreating fighters and bombers. Once her ship reached them, Maniac looked up. Bad idea. The supercruiser's starboard aft quarter rushed toward him.
11
VEGA SECTOR.DRY QUADRANT.CS OLYMPUS.MCDANIEL'S WORLD.MOON LYATTA.
2654.088.0510 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME
"I'm not dead yet," Maniac whispered as his Rapier advanced into the great shadow drawn by the Olympus's superstructure. In about ten seconds, his fighter would shatter across the supercruiser's hull with all the glory and fanfare of a mosquito spattering on a windshield. He decided to stay alive long enough to remind the deity toying with him that Lieutenant Todd "Maniac" Marshall had chutzpah and flying skills up to here, and did he really want to mess with that?
Who am I kidding? The Maniac-magic is gone, he thought as he tried for the third time to reroute power to his maneuvering jets. The cell lines had probably been severed, despite the onboard computer's failure to report the problem. The computer could at least accurately report how thoroughly screwed he was. The Rapier's nose suddenly jolted up and to starboard so that Maniac now sat parallel to the Olympus, slid sideways toward her, and had a straight view to her bow. The stars ahead had given way to the utter blackness of the Olympus's gravity well. Thousands of pieces of debris flocked toward the gaping maw, on their way to a little town known as Digestion, a town Maniac would soon visit. He laughed ironically as the brightly lit panel of his tractor system drew his eyes. He doubted the beam would be strong enough to hold him to the supercruiser.
Then again, the well had already demonstrated a healthy and forceful appetite for debris but had only slightly affected his trajectory. He now closed in on the well at nearly the same velocity as the Olympus, as though he had glided into a neutral field enveloping the ship.
Abandoning any more speculation, he fired up the tractor and launched a beam at the cruiser's hull. The Rapier shook a second, then panels groaned as he began reeling himself toward the cruiser. Twenty meters, ten, five, then a solid thump reverberated through the cockpit as the tip of his port wing bounced once off the hull, then settled onto the durasteel.
Without warning, his stomach greeted his knees and a pin-wheel of white light rose out of the well. He reached toward the canopy, feeling numb and disoriented as the pinwheel broadened into a blinding shimmer.
Though he was temporarily resigned to being two steps behind the supercruiser, Admiral Vukar nar Caxki had still clung to the false hope that once his battle group reached the midpoint between the Lafayette and Tamayo systems, they would finally meet up with the elusive Confederation ship.
But they had arrived in the sector three standard days ago and had yet to read any signs of the supercruiser's passage. No gravitic residuum. No ion emissions. Had Tactical Officer Mako-rshk relied on inaccurate data to calculate their jump? Perhaps, but for the time being Vukar would give the second fang the benefit of the doubt.
The atmosphere on the bridge had long since cooled from the boiling blood frenzy that had clutched everyone's hearts after they had learned of losing so many to the supercruiser. Vukar's officers now stared impassively at their instruments, some seeming lifeless, all wearing the tight lips of the sullen. Too many hours had passed without his warriors seeing combat. As much as they tried, it wasn't in their blood to sit and watch blinking lights and scan schematics. Pack hunters should be more in touch with their instincts, with their environment, if they were to remain strong. Vukar himself felt the tug of ancient desires. Everything his paw touched had been manufactured by Kilrathi hands; nothing natural existed on the bridge. This lack of nature troubled him, gave him no outlet in which to exercise his desires to leap and attack. Where were Kilrah's cliffs and caves? And more importantly, where was the prey?
A hiss rose from the back of his throat as he shifted away from the forward viewport and drifted back to Makorshk's tactical station. "Report?"
"Still nothing, my Kalralahr. We're simply out of emissions range. A little more time. That's all we need."
Vukar hissed more loudly. "I've given you too much time already."
"I have a theory, if you'd like to hear it." Makorshk slowly lifted his head, and the heat of the second fang's glare astonished Vukar.
In a motion so quick that it caught Makorshk completely off guard, Vukar snatched the young warrior's armored collar and wrenched him out of his seat. "Only the dying assume that look with me."
"Then strike," Makorshk said, craning his elliptical head to expose the pale folds of skin protruding from his neck. "But let me speak first."
Every bridge officer glanced nervously at them, most holding their breaths in anticipation of Vukar's next move. Control panels thrummed and beeped, otherwise an icy stillness prevailed.
Nearly tasting the tension and suddenly realizing how it darkened the spirits of his officers, Vukar slowly relaxed his grip and retracted the claws of his free paw. He abruptly thrust Makorshk back into the seat, feeling invigorated and somewhat free of the anxiety that had been coiling around him for days. Yes, the old desires had been quelled for the moment. "What is your theory?"
"That supercruiser has gone from Mylon to Lethe to out here, somewhere. I suspect it has already moved on."
"A priestess could tell me that," Vukar spat.
"Yes, but could she predict that ship's course?"
"You can?"
"A Confederation supercruiser is seized by Pilgrims. The likelihood of such an occurrence is rare, and I believe that such an act could only be carried out by Confederation officers of Pilgrim ancestry. Reconnaissance data on both the Mylon and Lethe attacks confirms that troopships were sent down to both planets. That information intrigues me."
Vukar nodded. "Why send down troopships before annihilating the planet, unless-"
"The Pilgrims planned on saving some of their own first. I don't believe they're attacking randomly. They're selecting planets that have high populations of Pilgrims."