Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 2 - 1415 Zulu

Script

74A INT. SANSKY'S QUARTERS - TIGER CLAW

SANSKY sits at his desk -- reviewing chats of the

Ulysses corridor. On his desk is a HOLO-PIC. In it is

Sansky at his graduating class at the Naval Academy. Next

to him is a younger ADMIRAL WILSON.

JUNIOR OFFICER's VOICE

(over intercom)

You're needed in the chart room.

Sansky puts his pen down. He fondly takes the HOLO-PIC

and looks at it.

SANSKY

(over intercom)

I'll be right there.

He takes out a HIP FLASK and takes a swig. A SMALL SHAKE

in his hand is noticeable when he holds the flask. He

stands to go. Forgets something. Turns back and picks up

TOLWYN'S RING.

75 INT. TIGER CLAW - CHART ROOM

CLOSE ON: Thousands of numbers scrolling across the

screen.

CAMERA pulls back and we see a huge holographic chart. A

single blip, the Tiger Claw, flashes red on the curved

grid. In front of the Tiger Claw is a mathematical

representation of the pulsar, a pulsating, constantly

moving series of circles. Unlike a black hole (a

discrete singularity), the pulsar is a discrete

singularity with an infinite number of constantly

changing permutations, each one capable of transporting a

vessel to another part of the galaxy. Problem is, most

are dead ends. With an emphasis on dead.

Slowly, the grid begins to deform as an icicle shaped

spike pulls and distorts the grid. The icicle transforms

into a stalagmite, with a thick wide hole at its neck.

The flashing red point is poised in front of this huge

gap in the grid.

CAMERA pulls back to reveal GERALD and DEVERAUX watching

the hologram as PALADIN inputs final calculations into

the NAVCOM. Sansky comes through the hatch. Looks at the

chart with interest.

PALADIN points to the tip of the stalagmite. His hands

trace the trajectory across the wide gap in the quadrant.

PALADIN

The Ulysses Corridor...four days of

hard travel using three known jump

points. By using this pulsar, we will

be there in...

(Glances at a big digital

clock.)

...less than three minutes.

HE glances at the console, pushes a final button.

GERALD (O.S.)

If your calculations are correct.

CAMERA Pans to GERALD who's just entered the chart room

PALADIN

They're right.

GERALD

NAVCOM and the finest minds in the

Confederation couldn't plot this jump.

What makes you sure your right?

PALADIN

Because they're Pilgrim coordinates,

Mr. Gerald.

DEVERAUX reacts. CAMERA pans to BLAIR who's just

entered the chart room.

DEVERAUX

Why aren't you at your station,

Lieutenant Blair?

GERALD, already angry, turns to him.

BLAIR

Ma'am, I--

PALADIN cuts Blair off.

PALADIN

I asked Lieutenant Blair to be here.

GERALD

Why?

PALADIN ignores the question.

SANSKY

I authorized it.

PALADIN

We'll have a lovely view from the

bridge.

PALADIN leaves the chart room. Blair stares at the

gigantic spike in the holographic grid. After the others

have filed out, MERLIN appears, worried.

MERLIN

If the entry trajectory is wrong, we'll

be trapped in a moment outside of time

and space...that is until the ship

plummets into the pulsar and we become

an infinitely small part of a special

singularity. My guess is there's a

fifty seven point one percent chance

that we're doomed.

CLOSE ON BLAIR as he looks at the grid, at the

coordinates, at the fast scrolling read outs.

BLAIR

The coordinates are right.

BLAIR exits. MERLIN, interested, watches him go,

disappears.

76 INT. TIGER CLAW - PILOTS MESS

All of the pilots except Blair and Deveraux are gathered

by the large portholes, staring out at the gigantic

pulsar ahead of them, murmuring in awe.

POLANSKI

The thing is eating suns for

breakfast.

KNIGHT

What the hell are we doing, here?

HUNTER

You know what we're not doing?

FORBES

Turning around.

MANIAC

The ultimate rush!

Most of the pilots stare at Maniac like he's nuts. Forbes

just grins.

77 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

Sansky, Gerald, Deveraux, Blair and Paladin are on the

bridge along with the various officers and noncoms.

THEIR POV through bridge windows: The pulsar fills the

windows, its huge black maw sucking suns and planets into

its infinitely dense invisible core.

Suddenly, an alarm sounds. The NAVCOM AI. voice speaks

calmly.

AI VOICE

Attention! Attention. Course error.

Adjust course immediately!

PALADIN

Ignore that! Helm, hold steady as she

goes.

AI VOICE

Captain, the ship is headed into the

PNR zone of an uncharted class two

pulsar. One minute before gravitational

pull is one hundred per cent.

SANSKY

What about it, Paladin?

PALADIN

The readings are wrong. You're A.I.'s

sensors are not calibrated to the

pulsar. They've already been warped by

the gravitational field.

AI VOICE

I must insist we change course

immediately....Initiating A.I.

override.

There is a slight jerk as some course change appears to

have been made. PALADIN leaps for the helm.

PALADIN

NO.

(Throwing a switch.)

Manual override! Now... Disregard your

artificial intelligence or we're all

dead!

GERALD

Captain, I believe you should

reconsider.

SANSKY

...Steady as she goes, helm.

HELMSMAN

Aye, aye, sir.

The alarm continues to sound throughout the ship!

SC. 78 OMIT

79 INT. TIGER CLAW - MONTAGE:

The alarm has men and women sweating and tense. Sansky's

voice comes over the intercom throughout.

SANSKY (V.O.)

(over intercom)

This is the Captain. Brace for jump

point interphase. Fifteen seconds to

jump point.

Novelization

CHAPTER 12

UNITED CONFEDERATION CARRIER TIGER CLAW

MARCH 16, 2654 1415 HOURS ZULU TIME

VEGA SECTOR

ETA TO CLASS 2 PULSAR FIFTEEN MINUTES

Captain Jay Sansky sat at his desk in the welcome solitude of his

quarters. The antique clock hanging on the bulkhead above him ticked

nearly in sync with the drums and violins of a contemporary classical

theme resonating from his minidisc player. He had come here to meditate

before the jump, to gather some thoughts while pushing others away.

In truth, he had come to bury the past.

He turned once more to the holopic sitting on his desk, a framed,

three-dimensional doorway leading him through twenty-five years of

memories. He smiled wanly at the group of young men and women posed

in crisp Naval Academy uniforms, their eyes full of hope, their expressions

hard and brimming with courage. Sansky had been with them that day, a

brash officer with a thin face and full head of hair. Beside him, looking for

all the world like an accomplice in rashness, stood Bill Wilson, former

commander of Pegasus Station, now assumed dead. Bill wore his twisted

grin proudly, and he had never betrayed his rebel's heart.

Every officer in the Confederation Navy played a role. Some played

theirs better than others. But no one played his role more passionately,

more honestly than Bill Wilson. Despite navigating through years of

military corruption, Wilson had never lost sight of who he was. And he

had tried for many years to make Sansky realize the same. One day, it

simply dawned on Sansky that, like Wilson, he could reconcile with the

universe, that he could correct years of wrongdoing. A military officer

could do such a thing. A military officer wielded such power.

But Sansky still felt uncertain of his role, unsure of his future, and

guilt-stricken by his past. So many people had helped him over the years.

So many souls had given. Had he returned their generosity? Could he

ever? Was it even right to believe that he owed them? Or was that the guilt

again?

He closed his eyes tightly. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Oh, God. If I'm

right, forgive me. And if I'm wrong, forgive me even more."

"This terminal has been idle for five minutes. Do you wish to continue?"

came a computer voice.

Sansky looked at the small monitor, at the green navigation lines

superimposed on the Ulysses Corridor. He had thoroughly studied the

map, knew the region, and knew the odds of getting there. If he just had

more time to better weigh his options, but was there ever enough time?

Some said war represented the true enemy; Sansky knew otherwise.

"Computer. Shut down."

"Shutting down."

He glanced at the hard-copy map he had printed out, took up his pen,

and noted the coordinates where the Tiger Claw should appear after the

jump.

Should appear.

Lieutenant Commander Obutu's voice boomed over the intercom.

"Captain Sansky?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you, sir. You're needed in the chart room."

"On my way."

Sansky set down his pen and picked up the holopic. He stared fondly at

the two young men with their whole lives ahead of them, two young men

naive of the fire that lay in their hearts. He replaced the holopic, opened a

drawer, and lifted his hip flask. With an unsteady hand, he brought the

flask to his lips and took several swigs before stowing the whiskey. He

started for the hatch, then hurried back to the desk, where he scooped up

Tolwyn's ring.

Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn had an unspoken agreement with the universe

that allowed him to take tremendous risks while managing to emerge

triumphant and unscathed. Perhaps carrying a piece of the admiral would

allow Sansky to do the same.

* * *

As Blair stepped into the carrier's chart room, a huge holographic

display swept up his attention. Stretching from deck to overhead, the

semitransparent images drew long shadows across the walls and over the

navigation subterminal where Taggart sat, keying in numbers and gazing

trancelike at his screen.

A red blip designated by tiny letters as the Tiger Claw lay at the

holograph's center. The blip flashed as it moved toward a pulsating,

constantly moving series of circles: a mathematical representation of the

Class 2 pulsar. The data bar beside the pulsar showed thousands of

scrolling coordinates in space-time, coordinates being fed into the

carrier's NAVCOM AI by Taggart.

"They told me you were here, sir," Blair said.

"Look at it, Lieutenant," Taggart suggested, still intent on his screen.

"What do you see?"

Blair shrugged; wasn't it obvious? "That's a Class Two pulsar."

"Explain."

"Well, unlike a black hole, which is a discrete singularity, or a quasar,

which has the potential of containing thousands of discrete singularities,

this pulsar is a discrete singularity with an infinite number of constantly

changing permutations."

"Great. You remember that academy crap. Now just look at it and read

the map."

"I don't know what to say. Those permutations, they, uh, each one is

capable of taking us to another part of the galaxy. The problem is, most of

them are dead ends."

"With an emphasis on dead." Taggart swung around and cocked a

brow.

The grid surrounding the Tiger Claw began to deform as a long spike

impaled it, then gradually pulled itself inside out to form a stalagmite with

a thick, wide hole at its neck. Blair watched, fascinated, as the carrier

came to a halt, poised before the gap.

"Now, Lieutenant Christopher Blair. You've told me what the pulsar is.

Tell me how it feels."

"I don't feel anything yet."

"That's good."

"It is?"

He gave a slight nod, then resumed his work.

With a low hiss, the chart room's hatch abruptly opened. Gerald and

Lieutenant Commander Deveraux passed into the holograph's eerie glow.

Blair craned his head, wanting to dema-terialize into the shadows. Then

he cringed as he heard Deveraux's voice. "Why aren't you at your station,

Lieutenant?"

Blair faced them, their eyes like two pairs of muzzles, locked on target.

"Ma'am, I—"

"I asked Lieutenant Blair to be here," Taggart interjected.

The hatch opened again.

"Why?" Gerald asked.

"I authorized it," Captain Sansky said, entering the room and

double-timing toward Taggart. "Status?"

"Coordinates are laid in," Taggart said. "One keystroke, and the upload

will be finished." He went to holograph and pointed to the tip of the

stalagmite, letting his finger follow a trajectory across the wide gap in the

quadrant. "The Ulysses Corridor. Four days' hard travel using three known

jump points. By using the pulsar, we'll be there in"—he glanced to a digital

clock above his station—"less than three minutes."

"If your calculations are correct," Gerald said, grinding out the words.

Back at his console, Taggart touched the final key, finishing the upload.

"They're right."

Gerald steered himself toward Taggart. "NAVCOM and the finest

minds in the Confederation couldn't plot this jump. What makes you so

sure you're right?"

A flicker of a grin wiped across Taggart's lips. "Because they're Pilgrim

coordinates, Mr. Gerald."

"What?" Gerald's gaze swept back to the databar.

Taggart crossed into the big commander's line of sight. "We'll have a

lovely view from the bridge." Then he hurried toward the hatch.

Deveraux gave Blair a frosty look before following Taggart. Gerald and

Sansky left together, their voices low and tense.

Alone in the chart room, Blair stepped into the holograph and ran his

finger along the same path that Taggart had marked. He strayed toward

the data bar, his entire body now illuminated by millions of scrolling

calculations.

Merlin sparked to life and paced along the top of Taggart's console. "If

the entry trajectory is wrong, we'll be trapped in a moment outside of time

and space. That is, until the ship plummets into the pulsar and we become

an infinitely small part of a special singularity. My guess is there's a

fifty-seven-point-one percent chance that we're doomed."

Blair looked down at his chest, now scintillating with numbers. "The

coordinates are right."

* * *

"Maniac" Marshall jockeyed for a look through one of the huge

portholes outside the pilots' mess. The once black and distant mass of the

pulsar now dominated the view, its edges streaked by dying stars. The

pulsar reminded Maniac of Scylla, though it flashed brilliantly at

three-second intervals, living up to its name. The other pilots took no

pleasure in the carrier's present position. Maniac would educate them. He

drew back from the porthole, about to say something.

"This thing is eating suns for breakfast," Polanski interrupted.

Khumalo, who Maniac had learned went by the moniker of "Knight,"

turned from a porthole, a look of deep puzzlement knitting his brow. The

stocky black man had Hunter's attention. "What the hell are we doing

here?"

Hunter chewed on his cigar. "You know what we're not doing?"

"Turning around," Forbes answered.

Maniac regarded the pulsar with exaggerated awe, then addressed his

audience. "Do you know what you people are staring at? Do you have any

idea?"

With a sigh, Hunter replied, "A Class Two pulsar, mate. I've seen a lot

of 'em."

"No." He cocked his thumb toward the porthole. "That, ladies and

gentlemen, is the ultimate rush."

Sure, the others gaped at him as though he had gone off the deep end

and had returned with gray hair and strange prophecies. He could live

with that.

As long as he had Forbes smiling.

Which he did.

* * *

Blair took up a position near the back of the bridge, beside Deveraux.

She noticed him and edged away. He gave a slight snort and held his

ground.

An unsettling air pervaded the bridge, evidenced in the ashen faces of

the officers and noncoms who dutifully and nervously ran through their

prejump checklists. The casual murmuring Blair had heard during his

first visit here had shifted to terse orders and even more terse

acknowledgments.

An inverted triangle of consoles divided the forward bridge, with the

helmsman seated at the triangle's top and gripping his wheel. Sansky and

Gerald manned observation consoles at the base angles, near the bank of

viewports. Taggart stood at the helmsman's shoulder, having carefully

chosen his position.

Sansky touched a key on the shipwide intercom panel. "Ladies and

gentlemen, this is the captain. I'll put an end to the scuttlebutt by

informing you that in sixty seconds we're going to jump the Class Two

pulsar directly ahead. We've been ordered to the Ulysses Corridor, and we

need to get there quickly." Sansky went on to give a capsule summary of

the events surrounding the destruction of the Pegasus Station. When he

finished, he looked over his shoulder at everyone on the bridge, and Blair

found his own trepidation mirrored in the captain's face. "May God be

with us all." Then Sansky favored the helmsman with a nod. "Take us in."

The carrier lurched for a moment, then started for the pulsar. Anything

that wasn't battened down—and even a few things that were—began to

tremble in a cacophony that reminded Blair of the earthquakes on

Nephele. He found a nearby railing and gripped it for support. Deveraux

folded her arms over her chest and wouldn't join him.

As they glided closer to the pulsar, it better resembled Scylla, but this

Scylla, perhaps a distant cousin, had only one head and the brilliantly

flashing eye of a Cyclops. As she gobbled up stars, planets, planetoids, and

smaller debris, she forged the thunderbolts of her namesake that now

struck the Claw with massive tremors. And in her work, Blair sensed a

perfect balance, a simplicity that tingled at the base of his spine.

He felt her magnetic fields.

And, in his mind's eye, he saw an avenue through space-time itself, a

shiny black funnel of infinite mass that he sensed promised infinite

awareness.

"Lieutenant?"

With a shiver, he looked askance at Deveraux. "Yes, ma'am?"

"For a second there I thought—"

"Attention! Attention! Course error. Adjust course immediately," came

the NAVCOM's automated voice. An alarm squawked.

"Ignore that," Taggart said confidently. "Helm. Hold steady as she

goes."

"Captain," the NAVCOM began, its tone waxing persuasive. "The ship

is headed into the PNR zone of an uncharted Class Two pulsar. One

minute before gravitational pull is one hundred percent."

Sansky spun toward the helm, his voice freighted with tension. "What

about it, Taggart?"

"The readings are wrong. Your AI's sensors are not calibrated to the

pulsar. They've already been warped by the gravitational field."

"I must insist that we change course immediately," the NAV-COM said.

"Initiating AI override."

"No!" Taggart screamed.

The Tiger Claw suddenly bucked, and Deveraux came crashing forward

into the railing, near Blair. She found her grip as the ship began pulling to

port, throwing them parallel to the rail.

Taggart, who now held fast to the helmsman's console, shouldered his

way to a touchpad. "Manual override! Now! Disregard your artificial

intelligence—or we're all dead."

"Captain," Gerald said through clenched teeth. "I believe you should

reconsider."

Sansky cocked a brow. "I already have. Steady as she goes, helm."

Like a cosmic predator with talons of gravitational force, the pulsar

reached out and clutched the carrier. Fighting to stabilize the ship's pitch

and yaw, the helmsman's face locked in a grimace as the Tiger Claw

convulsed, her bulkheads writhed, and her overhead threatened to cave in.

"This is the captain," Sansky said over the intercom. "Brace for jump

point interphase. Fifteen seconds to jump point."

"Jesus…" Deveraux said as the ship released a ghoulish bellow.

But Blair scarcely heard Deveraux, scarcely saw the bridge or felt the

rail. His senses began shutting down as they had when nearing Scylla.

And the feeling, the awe-inspiring feeling, lived in him, a vital,

unstoppable force that placed the moment inside a subatomic particle, in

a universe whose boundaries he longed to explore. He glimpsed the entire

Ulysses Corridor and beyond, saw Nephele, the Sol system, whatever he

wanted to see because distances no longer held meaning. Time no longer

held meaning. He thought of his mother. And there, before him, she gave a

mild frown, her hair and complexion as smooth and dark as he

remembered. "You shouldn't do this to yourself, Christopher. You weren't

meant to see me. This is not your continuum."

"It is mine. I chose it."

"You don't have the right to choose. Only one does."

"What do you mean? There aren't any rules. I feel this. I can do what I

feel."

"Then you'll fall. Like the others."

"You're not my mother, are you?"

"I'm everything your mother was, is, and will be. I'm in every part of the

universe at once, as you are now, as you shouldn't be."

"Why?"

"I wish you could understand. I wish that more than anything. But I've

seen your path. And there's nothing I can do to change it." Her features

grew younger, more narrow, until Blair stared at Lieutenant Commander

Deveraux, who said, "Didn't you hear him, Lieutenant? Fifteen seconds to

jump. Better hang on."

He reached with trembling hands for the rail and blinked as a burst of

light shot from the pulsar.

Then he found a bewildered Taggart staring at him. Blair could only

imagine how strange he looked. He had not just seen a ghost.

He had seen the universe itself.

And the experience had left him frightened of who he was and might

become.

No warning had stunned him more.