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Maniac fell back hard against his seat as Blair's retrieval beam clutched the
pod, shifted it behind Blair's fighter, then began towing it toward the aft
flight deck's launch and landing tunnel. "Blair, when are you going to realize
that we can't trust Taggart anymore?"
"Don't write him off yet. Just give him more time."
"We've been there. How much more? A year? Two? A lifetime? This 'more time'
bullshit is just that."
"Well, this is interesting. The commodore just told me that they have another
Rapier for you. It's an old F44-A but still functional. He wants you in it and
out here ASAP."
"Proves my point what an idiot he is. Now he's going to put me back in
another Rapier? Hell, I'll just make another run at the engines."
"You're going to be a little too busy for that. Check your scope. Here they
come now."
A dense band of blips crept up from the bottom of Maniac's radar display. The
commodore had said that nearly two hundred Kilrathi fighters were inbound, but
the words hadn't seemed real.
Now the radar image provided one hell of a reality check.
"I'm sorry, Sostur, but there is no way you can make us do this. We've
already seen what it's done to Brotur Zimbaka and the rest. We won't help
under any circumstances."
Aristee stepped farther into Karista Mullens's meager quarters. Dozens of oil
paintings of scantily-clad Pilgrim dancers leaned against the bulkheads, along
with a sundry of homemade musical instruments, including the Pilgrim soultom
and soultar , variations on the ancient drum and guitar. Aristee nearly
tripped over a stack of smaller, unframed artwork piled beside a standard
issue desk chair. "I won't explain it again. I won't ask you again. You say
you and the others won't help under any circumstances? Then I'll gather you
up, take you to an airlock, and jettison you one by one. No, strike that.
That's too clumsy and slow. I'll take you down to the flight deck and have you
stroll through an energy curtain. That's quicker, and we'll have a little
audience."
Mullens, her back pressed against a hatch leading into the latrine, seemed to
expect such a threat and gave a microscopic nod. "We're prepared to die."
"Maybe you are because you've met your pair and he's not, well, he's not all
that you've dreamed of. But the others? I don't think they're ready to
die especially the younger ones and none of you are ready to watch your
broturs and sosturs lose their lives."
"You won't kill us. You need us."
"But if you won't help me, then you're worthless. Most of you lack military
training. Not one of you is a pilot except Blair and he's out there. You
consume resources and return nothing save for your artistic diversions. We can
live without them."
"But you won't live. None of us will. Maybe that is Ivar Chu's will. Maybe we
shouldn't fight it."
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"It's not his will that we die," Aristee said, nearly tasting the bitterness
and futility of the notion. "If you want to know his will, then speak with the
protur."
"We don't recognize that man as the protur." Aristee held back her snicker;
no sense in wasting any more emotion on the woman. "We're finished here. You
and the others will be taken to the flight deck." She went for the exit, then
halted under a thought. "You've assumed a position of leadership among them.
It's not easy to watch your people die. I'll be sure to kill you last, so
you'll understand exactly what I mean."
Chapter 20
Vega Sector, Robert s Quadrant
PerimeterAloysius System
CS Olympus
2654.114
0122Hours Confederation Standard Time
Blair carefully shifted the miniature joystick on the tractor retrieval
system's panel, setting down Maniac's pod on one of the aft flight deck's
circular orange pads designated for such emergency landings. With Maniac
safely grounded, Blair cut the beam and glided forward, following the deck
boss's cues until he slipped into a repair bay.
Under the shadows of two colossal durasteel braces, he kept his Rapier in a
hover as a Pilgrim crew of three performed the hazardous operation of
refueling and rearming a hot fighter. He exchanged a few words with the crew
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