Peter Telep - Pilgrim stars

VEGA SECTOR.DOWNING QUADRANT.CS TIGER CLAW. HIGH ORBIT NYLON THREE.

2654.079.1500 HOURS CONFEDERATION STANDARD TIME

Flight Captain Torshk nar Caxki drew in a long breath of nutrient gas, felt his whiskers brush annoyingly against the inside of his helmet, then shifted his head to fix tawny eyes on the void that enveloped his Dralthi fighter. Four plastisteel talons extended from the wings of his craft like burnished spikes threatening to impale any ship or sentient who dared venture into Kilrathi territory. For the moment, though, there were no trespassers, and Torshk predicted that he and the rest of Gold and Black Claw Squadrons would not engage in battle any time soon. Their task force of two Ralari-class destroyers and a Thrakhra-class ConCom ship had been ordered to break off from the Shak'Ar'Roc battle group to perform a routine border patrol. If Torshk had his way, they would be penetrating Confederation space and attacking Confederation ships, not sniveling like lowborns on their side of the fence. But Torshk knew he must obey his orders without question, focus on the strongest threat if one miraculously presented itself, and respond to any challenge. Yes, he understood the Kilrathi social constructs that dictated his behavior, but a blood frenzy simmered within, one that would soon reach a boil.

Reports had come in of Kalralahr Bokoth's death, and Torshk found it difficult to believe that the emperor had not ordered a retaliatory strike on the Confederation. Bokoth had been one of the empire's most revered admirals and a member of the imperial house. He had taken the famed super-dreadnought KIS Grist 'Ar'Roc into Vega Sector, had destroyed the Confederation's Pegasus Naval Station, and had managed to steal the station's Navcom AI, a computational system that would guide the Kil-rathi through the Charybdis Quasar and directly to Earth. According to spy satellite reports, Bokoth's ship had reached the Sol system but had been brutally ambushed by a Confederation battle group. The hairless apes had taken Bokoth's life with, it now seemed, impunity. Though Torshk did not belong to Bokoth's clan, he felt the blow just as painfully. The emperor had already begun uniting the major noble clans of Kilrah, and Tor-shk's clan, the Caxki, had been one of the first to join the new imperial alliance. Before scrambling for the patrol, Torshk had discussed his frustration with the rest of his squadron. They understood his rage and had tried to quell it by reminding him of the rumors that Bokoth's ship may have been destroyed by a gravity well and that the admiral's plan to attack Earth relied upon his trust in a human traitor, a human who belonged to an ancient and strange clan of humans called Pilgrims. Torshk refused to believe that one as highborn as Bokoth could make such an error. He shook his pale head and bared fangs as a hiss rose from his gut. No, Bokoth. You did not dishonor the imperial house. You died a warrior's death and your soul shall find solace in Sivar's hand. Swallowing a bitter tang, Torshk toggled on his tactical display as a diversion from his introspection. A schematic of the task force appeared on the screen. The two destroyers glided directly overhead, their cylindrical hulls and stubby prows affirming their battering power. Rotating sensor dishes and an array of imperial satellite link antennae crowned T-shaped superstructures whose viewports appeared as silhouettes since the ships operated in stealth mode. Above the destroyers hung the ConCom ship, a command and communications vessel with a hull design that reminded Torshk of his own Dralthi. Shoots of sharp-edged plastisteel extended amidships, curved forward, and reached well past the bow like Koractu swords. A lone portside wing jutted out and supported two hardpoints for six ship-to-planet missiles that should have been replaced by ship-to-ship missiles, but departure orders had allowed no time for that. The ConCom probed the area of operations with powerful, long-range sensors, searching for electromagnetic emissions and for sudden releases of photons and neutrinos-part of any invading ship's post-jump residuum. Torshk doubted they would pick up anything. "Gold Claw Leader to Dark Eye. Report on contacts."

The ConCom's communications officer, Sh'ahte nar Caxki, peeled back his gray lips, and the thick fold of skin on his brow lowered in fury. "Gold Claw Leader, you have disobeyed the order for silence."

Torshk narrowed his eyes and took several long breaths. "There are no contacts, are there?"

"Break transmission now."

Extending a serrated nail through a slot in his gauntlet, Torshk flicked a toggle and broke the signal. We cower here like boryangee! He summoned an image of the frail, hairy creature that often raided the garbage heaps on Kilrah, then glanced sidelong at Covum nar Caxki, a cousin two years his junior who flew the Dralthi at his wing. Covum bowed his head, but Torshk could sense that the younger warrior did not approve of his public display of frustration.

How could so many of Torshk's clan deny who they were? Descended from predators, from pack hunters, the Kilrathi people were not prone to lying in wait without a plan to attack. Were his clansmen able to suppress their instincts? He doubted that. Did they know something that he did not? He would challenge all who concealed information from him. His growl confirmed that thought.

"Dark Eye to Gold Claw leader," the comm officer began excitedly, his wide, flat nose and bulbous eyes filling a monitor. "Photon and neutrino emissions detected. Uploading coordinates now."

Torshk recoiled in a wave of surprise as quickly overcome by his tingling blood frenzy.

A Confederation attack.

It had to be.

Now he would make the hairless apes pay for Bokoth's death. His laser cannons would light the path of revenge. He studied the coordinates scrolling down his navigation display, and the grooves in his cheeks deepened. A ship had jumped into the quadrant, but it had not followed any known jump path. In fact, the coordinates placed it within striking range of the K 'n' Rek system. He looked to his cousin. "Leader to Gold Claw Two. Break off from escort."

Covum throttled up and swept under the destroyers, toward the anitgraviton flux some twelve hundred grid points ahead. Twin thrusters dimmed into the void as Torshk watched his cousin advance.

Young Covum had twice proven his bravery. He had saved Torshk's life by destroying a Confederation Rapier fighter that Torshk had been unable to outmaneuver because of thruster damage. And he had accepted a challenge from J'talc of the Kur'u'tak clan. J'talc's jealousy had flared when Covum had received the Banner of Fa'orc'al, given by the emperor himself to the most courageous pilots. J'talc had felt that he deserved the banner. The killing rage had consumed both warriors, vorshaki dueling blades had flashed, and in minutes J'talc's blood had warmed the cold flight deck. Covum regretted the incident, but he had behaved honorably.

Torshk now felt apprehensive over sending out his cousin as decoy, despite the honor Covum would garner. The strategy of using a decoy had been born of instinct, born of ancient times when Kilrathi would dispatch one warrior to lure a pack of opposing clansmen. The pack would chase the lone warrior into a designated area, where they would fall prey to an ambush. Torshk stiffened in anticipation of Covum's rapid and safe return with the enemy in his wake. He considered opening a channel but thought better of it. Patience. There seemed little honor in that act. He squinted through the canopy and remained in that position for several minutes-

Until impatience overwhelmed him. He accelerated ahead of the destroyers, along Covum's vector.

A pinpoint of reflected light birthed in the distance. Even as Torshk noted the speck, a proximity beacon wailed. The tactical display showed Covum's Dralthi headed toward him. Something huge trailed his cousin, and the targeting system had trouble identifying the contact. Fluctuating geometric patterns glowed and intertwined across the Heads Up Display. The image finally coalesced into the crimson schematic of a vessel shaped like a spearhead-a Concordia-class supercruiser. Six of its thirty point-defense missile stations had already launched ordnance in Covum's direction, while two of its tubes had opened to fire torpedoes at the ConCom ship two hundred meters above.