The admiral fixed Blair with a hard gaze. "Lieutenant, according to your own report, Commodore Taggart was the only one who could've programmed that hopper drive. He had locked everyone else out of the system. His orders were to seize control of that vessel and return it to the Confederation. By feeding in those jump coordinates, the commodore committed an act of treason-one for which he will be executed."
"Sir, you don't know if that was an act of treason."
"He had the opportunity to deliver the ship to us," Gregarov said with a raised finger. "He could have shut down the drive. He did not. We have no choice but to regard him as a traitor and fugitive."
"But you don't know the whole story."
Tolwyn stood. "Thank you for those thoughts, Mr. Blair. We'll need to meet with you again in the next few days. You'll be taken off your roster until our inquiry is complete. Dismissed."
Blair waited until he and Maniac were about twenty meters from the wardroom hatch, then he whirled, took Maniac's neck in his grip, dug a thumb into the bandage covering Maniac's flesh wound, then drove the skinny jock into the bulkhead. "Do you know what you just did?"
"Let… go!" Even with both hands locked around Blair's wrist, Maniac could not break free
"When they find him, they're going to execute him."
"Good," Maniac wheezed.
Tearing his hand away, Blair swore then pounded down the corridor.
"Hey, Chris? He chose the Pilgrims. Deal with it."
"We don't know that."
"You mean you don't have any doubts? Come on…"
Blair rounded a corner-and nearly ran into Angel. "I got tired of waiting around that hatch, so I went and got something to eat," she explained.
"It's your time. You didn't have to come." He leaned on the bulkhead and lowered his head. "They've made up their minds."
"They're doing what they have to do, but I know. I know." She reached to touch his chin but suddenly withdrew. "We should get back, otherwise you'll miss saying good-bye to Karista."
"Nothing happened between us."
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"I just want you to know."
"It's all right. I didn't want you to wait for me."
"But I did."
She shifted away and tossed her hair back. "They're going to interrogate Karista like you wouldn't believe. Then they'll ship her off to an interment camp. You okay with that?"
"We're talking about us."
"You two are paired."
"Whoa," he said, recoiling, then backhanding sweat from his brow. "You two comparing notes or what?"
"I could sense there was a connection between you two, so I asked her. She didn't want to tell me, but she did."
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does."
Blair closed his eyes and touched Angel's cheek with his thoughts. He moved down to her neck, feeling her bow into his touch. Then in one eager motion, he took her into his arms and kissed her deeply, fully, gently. He finally pulled back, let their lips linger a moment, then opened his eyes. "You don't know me. Not really. Give me a chance to show you."
When he opened his eyes he found her pale and astonished. "How did you-"
"The spaces between us mean nothing," he said, closing her lips with a finger. "We're fighters. Let's fight for this."
"Oh, God," Maniac said, suddenly behind them. "Why don't you two get a room?"
Angel glared. "How long have you been standing there, Lieutenant?"
He tapped his chest: Me? "Enough lollygagging. I gotta get back to see Tibby in the quartermaster's office. He's picked up a little something for Zarya that might cheer her up. She's still bummed out. It's not like no one's ever lost a fighter before. So she lost one on her first tour. So what. She's alive, right?"
"She got lucky over Triune. But her luck won't hold. It never does," Angel said. "She'll be off the duty roster for another week. And she won't be back in a Rapier until she proves herself on the simulator."
"With me as her instructor? No problemo."
Blair snickered. "I got a feeling your lessons won't involve flying."
Maniac winked. "She's a quick study. Just like you."
Amity Aristee forced herself up, out of her command chair. "Brotur Vyson?"
He read her expression. "Aye, Captain. I have the con." She left the Olympus's bridge with a deep sense of dread that slowed her pace. She barely acknowledged others in the lift and corridors as she steered herself toward her quarters. There, she regarded the hatch control as though it were a warning sign and lazily keyed in the code. The door hissed aside, and she felt her way through the shadows toward a flickering light that outlined her bedroom hatch. She took a deep breath, braced herself, then pushed in the door.
James Taggart sat up in her bed and leaned back on an ornate trioak headboard. Were it not for his scowl, he would appear almost angelic, framed by the leafy designs carved into the rare wood. A lone blue candle as thick as his wrist sat on an equally ornate nightstand, and in that poor light he had been reading hard copies of ancient star charts which now littered the deck and sheets. He acknowledged her presence with a meager glance.
"James, you've been in this bed for two days. You have to get up. You have to eat something."
"No."
"You're brooding like a child. You made your choice. You chose blood. Just like your father did. Now it's time to move on." She stepped toward the bed, then toed off her sandals.
"Move on? To what? We've lost nearly half the crew and we're operating on one ion engine. It's only a matter time before we make a wrong jump."
"If you're so certain that we're going to get caught, then why did you change your mind?"
He just looked at her, as though he didn't know himself.
She shook her head, undid her sash, and let her robe slink to the floor. She slid naked into bed and rested her head on his chest. "We can't get caught," she whispered, tracing his navel with a pearly fingernail. "And we can't die… because there's too much war left to fight."
about the author
came wet and screaming into the world over three decades ago. He received a large portion of his education in New York, spent a number of years in Los Angeles, then returned east to Florida, where he finally earned his undergraduate and graduate degrees and now teaches composition and creative writing courses at the University of Central Florida.
While out west, he tricked people into believing he was a talented screenwriter and actually worked for such television shows as In the Heat of the Night and The Legend of Prince Valiant. Once producers discovered that Telep was a novelist, they booted him and his desire for creative control out of there.
Mr. Telep's novels include the Squire Trilogy, two books based on Fox's Space: Above and Beyond television show, a trilogy of novels based on the best-selling computer game Descent, and this, the third of four books in the film-based Wing Commander series. You may e-mail him at PTelep@aol.com. But be warned. He will sucker you into writing reviews of this novel at various online bookstores.