"Interesting. Now I do have an answer." The tactical officer returned to his station and quickly buried himself in his displays.
Expecting that in a moment Makorshk would share his findings, Vukar paused at the comm station and waited.
The moment passed, but the second fang ignored Vukar and the other officers, everything save for his data.
With his blood frenzy reawakened and thoughts of initiating the challenge here and now, Vukar crossed to Makorshk's station and once more beat his fist on the control panel, jarring the tactical officer. "If you have an answer, let's hear it!"
"I've just scanned data that we recovered during the Terran-Pilgrim War. What we just saw? It's nothing new. Some Pilgrims, not many, possess a form of telekinesis that they can use as a weapon. However, their precepts rule against such use. The Confederation hunted down as many of these Pilgrims as they could, but it seems a few got away. I'm certain that's what we're dealing with now."
"We're not dealing with them. We're being slaughtered by them. But why this method now? Why not use their hopper drive? Can they still engage it?"
"I don't believe they can. I ran a multi-emission scan of the ship, searching for evidence of a reaction containment field or other controlled matter-antimatter reactions. I found none, which may mean their drive is offline, possibly for repairs. If it were not, then yes, why would they turn to their brethren for help and break their own precepts? The gravity well would kill us far more efficiently. And there's another interesting fact. The Confederation was able to capture many of these Pilgrims because once they reach out and kill a life form, they need time to recover, sometimes as long as several standard days."
"What if those Pilgrims expended most of their energy on our cruisers? That would mean…"
"Yes, Kalrahalr. Now you are the one with the answers."
Vukar repressed his reaction. No sense in letting the bridge crew see his amusement over Makorshk's compliment, perhaps the first he had ever given. Vukar shifted to the comm station and gave the order: "Dispatch our cruiser and destroyer. Launch all fighters from the dreadnought to escort. This time the Caxki clan will take her."
The command chair felt too small, and the bulkheads seemed to inch a little closer toward Amity Aristee. She bolted from her seat, her breath coming in an uneven burst. The XO, seated at the port observation station to study a tactical report, glanced back and registered his concern.
"Captain?" That from Sostur Charity, the radar officer on duty. "The Kilrathi cruiser and destroyer are breaking ahead of the battle group. Count one-eight-seven bandits in escort."
"How many?"
"One-eight-seven, ma'am. A combined force from the cruiser and dreadnought."
Aristee nearly lunged back to her command chair, slid over the comm screen mounted on a swivel arm, and dialed up the aft observation bubble. "Brotur Zimbaka?"
No response. She hit the override to engage the comm unit's camera and remote operate it from the bridge. She panned across the wide, circular room crowned by a hemisphere of Plexi, spotted the narrow columns of telescopic imaging components, then something told her to pan down.
Zimbaka and the nine others who had agreed to help lay on the floor, some shivering violently, some staring off at a cold tomb of horrors. Zimbaka himself sat up with his knees pulled into his chest. His head jittered, his eyes looked red and clouded, and his mouth hung open. Drool dripped from his chin.
"Brotur Zimbaka?"
He tilted his head a fraction to the left, as though recognizing her voice, but continued to shake, to drool, to remain lost in a labyrinth of pain.
She called again. No reaction.
Aristee banged off the comm unit and regarded Sostur Char-ity. "How long until the Kilrathi are in cannon range?"
"They're accelerating to one-five-zero. ETA to cannon range, three-point-three-one minutes."
At least the cats would only launch a limited torpedo barrage and not call upon their new Skipper missile. They clearly intended to take the ship intact. They would, as they just had, direct their fire toward the ion engines to disable the ship. And without the help of Karista Mullens and the others, the cruiser might get in close enough to deliver the crippling blow. The seventy or so Rapiers left in Aristee's complement would surely be overrun by the Dralthi, even with James's help out there. She clutched the arm of her command chair, closed her eyes, and groped for a solution. Groped again. Something now… something…
Eyes open.
Fingers tapped hard on the comm touchpad.
"Yes, Captain," Karista Mullens said, staring nervously at the camera.
"Sostur. You and I need to talk. I'm coming down."
Maniac shifted course three degrees to starboard. The targeting reticle rested squarely over the Olympus's portside ion engine. Range: four-zero-nine meters. The computer continued to flash warnings along the perimeter of his HUD, which he translated as, Hey, you're targeting your own ship. Sorry, honey, but this isn't my ship at all. "Maniac is locked on," he told Blair.
"Locked myself, but I'm picking up something right on the fringe. Can't get an ID yet. Looks big, though. Maybe we should-"
"No way. This is it. I'm making the run, with or without you. And like you said, at any second the cannon operators or other pilots will get wise."
Blair sighed in resignation. "All right. This is the right thing. This is what we have to do."
"That's right. Keep convincing yourself. I'm telling you, it's all going to work out. Let's get in just a little-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Blair cried. "Something moving into her wash. Searching… Aw, shit. It's a Rapier, alternating course between exhaust nodules."
"It'll be the memory of a Rapier in two seconds," Maniac promised.
"Break off," Paladin ordered, assuming an expression of unflappable calm as he piloted the fighter shielding the Olym-pus's engines.
Maniac scowled at the display. "No, sir. You break off. Otherwise I'll wax your ass. Sir."
"Lieutenant, you won't get that chance. The big guns'll shovel enough antimatter fire into your face to make you burst into flames before you get off a shot. Every nerve in your body will register the sensation of being burned alive. Don't believe me? Scan the ship. You're dancing in their sights."
"Like I care, Pilgrim. I'll go out doing the right thing, not selling out to the goddamned enemy. How do you live with yourself? You're supposed to be a commodore, for God's sake. All it takes is one whiff of Pilgrim poontang?"
"Sir?" Blair cut in. "I know you've done everything you can to get Aristee to stand down. But she obviously won't. It's time to act. And if we die now, well, we knew that could happen going in."
"Mr. Blair, this won't solve anything, and you'll lose your lives for nothing."
"But we can do this now," Blair implored him. "Why don't you help us? We can disable the ship and put an end to all of this."
"Yes, we'll end everything. The cats will get the ship. We'll die. Wrong ending, Lieutenant."
"What about Aristee's people, the ones with the extrakinetic thing?" Maniac asked. "Why doesn't she just let 'em loose on the cats?"
"She did. They're incapacitated now. Could be days before they recover. And gentlemen? It gets more interesting. Seems that the Kilrathi have done their homework. They've realized what we threw at them, figured out that our Pilgrims need down time, so they've launched another assault. The cruiser and the destroyer are inbound, along with nearly two hundred fighters. We have about seventy or so Rapiers to throw at them. The bombers have headed in to reload." He paused to take a long breath. "Still want to disable the ship?"