Heart Of The Tiger by William R. Forstchen, Andrew Keith Page B
Authors: William R. Forstchen, Andrew Keith
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musical taste isn't for everyone. But I've had no complaints so far . . . until you, that is."
"I'm not complaining, Lieutenant. Just pleading for a little moderation." Blair signaled a waiter. "Can I buy you something to drink?"
"Tequila," Vaquero said. The waiter nodded, taking Blair's order for a scotch as he left. "That was quite a fight today, wasn't it, Colonel?"
Blair nodded. "I'll say. We were damned lucky."
"Yes, sir. Uh . . . thanks again for the way you bailed me out. Thought I'd played my last tune for sure."
"Are you a pilot or a musician, Lopez?"
"Oh, I'm a pilot, sir. Pretty good one, too. Check my kills; you'll see." He looked down at the table. "But my family, they made guitars for many generations. I've got one that's almost two hundred years old. The sound just gets richer as it gets older, you know?"
Blair nodded, but didn't speak. There was something in the man s eyes that made him unwilling to break his mood.
"I'm the first one from my family to go into space," Lopez went on a moment later. He sounded wistful. "The first to be a fighter instead of a craftsman or a musician. But some day I'm going to open a cantina and bring in the best to play that guitar. We need a place for old fighter jockeys like you and me, Colonel, where we can get together and swap lies about our battles and tell each other how much different things are without the war . . ."
Blair looked away. It was a pleasant dream, but he wondered if Lopez would ever really get his wish. The war had existed longer than either of them had been alive, and it didn't look like humanity was likely to end it soon. He was afraid that the only way the war would end in his lifetime was in a Kilrathi victory. More likely it would claim them all, and drag on to claim another generation's hopes and dreams. "Hope there's enough of us to keep you in business, Vaquero," he said quietly.
"Don't you worry, sir. We'll make it through. And you and I can sit at a quiet table, watch the beautiful women and listen to the music of that guitar . . ."
"You still don't sound much like a pilot, Vaquero," Blair told him.
"Don't get me wrong, sir. I do my job, whatever it takes. But some of the others, they actually like the killing. Me, I do it because I have to, but I take no pleasure from it. And when it's over, I will walk away with no regrets."
* * *
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann.
Locanda System
"My Prince, the shuttle from the Sar'hrai has arrived. With Baron Vurrig and the prisoner."
Thrakhath, Crown Prince of the Empire of Kilrah, showed his teeth. "Bring them, Melek," he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. His talons twitched reflexively in their sheaths.
A pair of Imperial Guardsmen ushered two newcomers before the lonely throne at the end of the Command Audience Hall. Here, by long tradition, the noble commander of a ship in space dispensed justice to the warriors under his command. Today Thrakhath upheld that tradition yet again.
"My Lord Prince." Khantahr Baron Vurrig nar Tsahl dropped to one knee. The other officer, hands in manacles, sank awkwardly to both knees beside the noble. "Sar'hrai is at your command, as ever."
"Indeed?" Thrakhath fixed the Baron with an icy stare. "I wanted the jump point from Orsini cut, and the Terran carrier damaged beyond capability to interfere with Operation Unseen Death. But the blockade was only partially effective and the attack on the carrier was repulsed without touching the ape ship. Is that a fair assessment of your performance?"
"Lord Prince . . ." Vurrig quailed under his stare. "Lord Prince, there were many . . . complications, especially due to the renegade. We could not press home attacks against ships he escorted without risking a breach of your orders . . ."
"This one did, or so your report claimed."
"Yes, Lord Prince. This is Flight Commander Arrak. He engaged the traitor in battle despite my specific orders to the contrary."
"But Ralgha was not harmed?"
"No, Lord
"I'm not complaining, Lieutenant. Just pleading for a little moderation." Blair signaled a waiter. "Can I buy you something to drink?"
"Tequila," Vaquero said. The waiter nodded, taking Blair's order for a scotch as he left. "That was quite a fight today, wasn't it, Colonel?"
Blair nodded. "I'll say. We were damned lucky."
"Yes, sir. Uh . . . thanks again for the way you bailed me out. Thought I'd played my last tune for sure."
"Are you a pilot or a musician, Lopez?"
"Oh, I'm a pilot, sir. Pretty good one, too. Check my kills; you'll see." He looked down at the table. "But my family, they made guitars for many generations. I've got one that's almost two hundred years old. The sound just gets richer as it gets older, you know?"
Blair nodded, but didn't speak. There was something in the man s eyes that made him unwilling to break his mood.
"I'm the first one from my family to go into space," Lopez went on a moment later. He sounded wistful. "The first to be a fighter instead of a craftsman or a musician. But some day I'm going to open a cantina and bring in the best to play that guitar. We need a place for old fighter jockeys like you and me, Colonel, where we can get together and swap lies about our battles and tell each other how much different things are without the war . . ."
Blair looked away. It was a pleasant dream, but he wondered if Lopez would ever really get his wish. The war had existed longer than either of them had been alive, and it didn't look like humanity was likely to end it soon. He was afraid that the only way the war would end in his lifetime was in a Kilrathi victory. More likely it would claim them all, and drag on to claim another generation's hopes and dreams. "Hope there's enough of us to keep you in business, Vaquero," he said quietly.
"Don't you worry, sir. We'll make it through. And you and I can sit at a quiet table, watch the beautiful women and listen to the music of that guitar . . ."
"You still don't sound much like a pilot, Vaquero," Blair told him.
"Don't get me wrong, sir. I do my job, whatever it takes. But some of the others, they actually like the killing. Me, I do it because I have to, but I take no pleasure from it. And when it's over, I will walk away with no regrets."
* * *
Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann.
Locanda System
"My Prince, the shuttle from the Sar'hrai has arrived. With Baron Vurrig and the prisoner."
Thrakhath, Crown Prince of the Empire of Kilrah, showed his teeth. "Bring them, Melek," he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. His talons twitched reflexively in their sheaths.
A pair of Imperial Guardsmen ushered two newcomers before the lonely throne at the end of the Command Audience Hall. Here, by long tradition, the noble commander of a ship in space dispensed justice to the warriors under his command. Today Thrakhath upheld that tradition yet again.
"My Lord Prince." Khantahr Baron Vurrig nar Tsahl dropped to one knee. The other officer, hands in manacles, sank awkwardly to both knees beside the noble. "Sar'hrai is at your command, as ever."
"Indeed?" Thrakhath fixed the Baron with an icy stare. "I wanted the jump point from Orsini cut, and the Terran carrier damaged beyond capability to interfere with Operation Unseen Death. But the blockade was only partially effective and the attack on the carrier was repulsed without touching the ape ship. Is that a fair assessment of your performance?"
"Lord Prince . . ." Vurrig quailed under his stare. "Lord Prince, there were many . . . complications, especially due to the renegade. We could not press home attacks against ships he escorted without risking a breach of your orders . . ."
"This one did, or so your report claimed."
"Yes, Lord Prince. This is Flight Commander Arrak. He engaged the traitor in battle despite my specific orders to the contrary."
"But Ralgha was not harmed?"
"No, Lord
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