Makorshk bowed and reached to end the link. Leaning back in his meditation chair, Vukar considered what he would do if this final assault failed. Any other kalralahr would not entertain the possibility of life after such a disgrace. Vukar's duty would be to return home and commit zu'kara before the clan elders. But Makorshk's sense of independence had become infectious, and Vukar suddenly believed that failure should not cost him his life…
"After all of this, after all that's happened, we've changed nothing."
Blair sat on the edge of the cot and glanced idly around the sick bay. He had spent the past two weeks recovering with the others in the long room lined with too many bunks and filled with too many nasty smells. His body temperature had dropped five degrees and hadn't risen for nearly ten days. A non-Pilgrim might have died from such a long period at hypothermic levels, but Blair's physiology had kept him alive. Barely. He finally turned to Karista, who sat next to him and stared blankly across the room. "Did you hear what I said?"
She nodded. "Sounds like you've given up."
"What else can we do? She's getting her hopper drive ready as we speak. How are we supposed to stop that while we're under guard?" He raised his head toward the two Marines posted just outside the open hatch.
"I don't know." She stood with a sigh of frustration. "Today they're moving you back to the brig. Our esteemed captain gave me the honor of escorting you. I almost wish she had killed me. Maybe she already has. The guilt… it's a slow poison. I tossed away everything I believed in."
"No, you didn't."
"The others needed me during the attack. While I was helping you, I was also back in. Some of them were like you-they wanted to feel too much. They would've died."
"Why did you wait so long to tell me?"
"It's my problem, not yours. But I'm weak. I guess I need your help now."
"You don't need me, and you didn't do anything wrong."
"I did exactly what she wanted. I sold out." Karista crossed to the opposite cot and sat with a huff. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
Blair closed his eyes, and, reaching out with his mind, he moved beside her, slid an arm of gravity over her shoulders, and held her close. "You're someone amazing. And I am honored to have you as my pair."
Murmurs came from near the hatch, followed quickly by two distinct rounds of conventional gunfire that echoed violently through the bay. Blair opened his eyes as the two Marine guards slumped to the deck, wearing bloody jewels on their foreheads. William Santyana stepped over them, turning his pistol on a medic seated at a bank of monitors near the hatch.
"Please," the medic said, raising her hands.
"Get back," Santyana ordered, waving his pistol toward the rear of the bay.
The medic had no trouble complying.
"What are you doing?" Blair asked Santyana. "This isn't going to work. We already played this out. We get to the flight deck, launch, and they shoot us down."
"We're not going to the flight deck, Mr. Blair. The hopper drive is almost ready. We'll be jumping to Sol within the hour. Look, I never wanted this job in the first place. And I'm supposed to be retired. But I'll be damned if I sit around and let this bitch kill more people. We're going down to engineering. I want you and Karista to keep those engineers busy-give them a mental itch they can't scratch. I'll take care of the drive."
Blair looked for Karista's reaction. She looked impassive but did get to her feet.
"What are you waiting for?" Santyana asked him. "Should have your sea legs back by now."
"Yeah," Blair moaned, then tightened the sash on his Pilgrim robe, slid into his sandals, and started for the hatch to retrieve one of the Marines' rifles. He scooped up the weapon and turned to encounter a familiar, cocky grin.
"Long time, no see, Ace. Looks like push has come to shove, and we'll really see where your loyalty's at." Maniac jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Blair's chest. "Don't let me influence you in any way."
"I won't," Blair said, then slapped the barrel away. "You look like shit."
Maniac rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. "It's called being locked in a supply room for two weeks-my reward for racking up a dozen kills. They let me out to shit and shower. That's it. Believe it or not, I asked about you. They wouldn't tell me jack. I should have went back to my cell." He crossed to pick up the second Marine's rifle. He thrust it toward Karista, who kept her arms at her sides. "C'mon, sweetheart. You need some firepower. Or are you going to use that…" He fluttered his fingers near his temple.
She sneered and pushed past him.
"What'd I say?"
Blair shook his head in disgust. "She's not some carnival freak."
"With an ass like that? Of course not."
Santyana, who had skulked along the corridor to reach the first intersection, waved them forward. Maniac shouldered the second rifle and charged ahead of Blair.
"We have to get by the torpedo launch bays, pilots' quarters, environmental controls, and the aft storage area," Santyana said. "We'll drop anyone who gets in the way. Do not hesitate. Understood?"
Blair glanced back to Karista. "You don't have to-"
"It's all right," she said firmly, perhaps more for her own benefit than his.
"Coffee break's over," Maniac said. "It's not like no one else heard those shots or that medic's not going to call for help. Let's haul butt."
Santyana took point, with Blair and Maniac two meters back in flanking positions. Karista kept tightly behind Blair, and he felt the necessity of protecting her tighten his muscles. They reached a stairwell without incident and ventured down into the torpedo launch bays. Massive conduits stretched overhead, with the multicolored tubes and the loaders themselves off to their right. A young specialist lifted his head from a loader's display panel.
His last act.
The poor boy took a 2.3mm caseless projectile the hard way, and Santyana did not bat an eye. Four other specialists raised their hands from touchpads as the quartet jogged by. Maniac fired a round into one of the control units, which reacted with a sizzle and a brief puff of smoke. The specialist near it shrieked and shined the deck with her rump.
They forged on through the bay, nearly slipping on a freshly scrubbed floor and winding through narrow passages made even narrower by the intestine-like rubber ducts mounted to the bulkheads. Somewhere behind them, a klaxon rang out and wound Blair's nerves a little tighter. Another hatch leading to a stairwell came up quickly. They filed into it, beat a chaotic rhythm on the durasteel, then finally emerged into a corridor lined on both sides with hatches: the pilots' quarters.
"Here's where we catch a break," Maniac said. "This shouldn't be a secured area."
But he had spoken too soon.
Three Pilgrim Marines rounded the corner of an intersecting passage, their movements tight, deliberate.
Santyana and Maniac dove for the bulkhead to their left, while Blair dropped to one knee. "Down," he instructed Karista.
"Hold your fire!" Maniac shouted. "We surrender."
The three Marines spread out and cautiously advanced, their knees slightly bent, their rifles held high and fixed on Santyana,
Maniac, and Blair. "Weapons to the deck. Now," the lead Marine instructed, her face growing more flush by the second. Barely moving his lips, Blair whispered, "Karista, we have
"Shhh. I know. Close your eyes."
He left himself crouching on the floor, and in his thoughts glided up to the Marines with Karista at his side. She glanced at him, the pain and resignation renewed in her eyes. "We don't have to kill them. Watch." She shifted up to the lead Marine and placed a hand on the woman's chest plate. The Marine gasped, dropped her weapon, and reached for her throat even as Karista shifted to the next and repeated.