When he arrived, he thought for a moment that he was already too late. He opened the door to a blast of raucous music just as he had at the previous celebration. But this time there were only a handful of people clustered around the bar.
An officer was sitting at the terminal controlling the sound system, one hand making tiny adjustments to the board while the other tapped to the rhythm of the music. The man slumped in his chair, his eyes closed, completely mesmerized by the sound. Blair recognized his aquiline profile. He was Lieutenant Mitchell Lopez, callsign Vaquero, the man he had assigned as wingman for Cobra in the middle of the battle.
He stood behind the man and waited for a long while, wincing a little at the loud music. When it was clear that Lopez wasn't planning to come up for air any time soon, he finally tapped the pilot on the shoulder.
'Hey, man, can't you have the decency to wait for the piece to end?' Vaquero said without opening his eyes.
'Lieutenant . . .' Blair said the word blandly, but Lopez recognized his voice at once. He was out of his chair and standing at attention in one quick movement. Blair had to fight to keep from smiling at the man's reaction.
'Uh, sorry, sir,' Lopez said, stammering a little. 'Didn't expect you here until the party, sir.'
'At ease, Lieutenant,' Blair said, smiling.
Vaquero relaxed. He caught the look Blair gave in the direction of the speakers and hastened to turn down the volume. 'Just getting the system set for tonight, sir,' he explained.
'Aren't there technical people who're supposed to do that?' Blair asked. He gestured to the seat Vaquero had vacated, and when the lieutenant was sitting, Blair took another chair nearby.
'The last guy who did this job had a tin ear and ten thumbs,' Lopez said with a grin. 'And his musical taste left a lot to be desired, too. So I just kind of took over.'
'Musical taste,' Blair repeated.
'Yes, sir. You know, music really does set the mood. Playing something with nothing but minor chords makes you want to run a suicide mission. But this is different.' He waved a hand toward the board. 'Rockero from the Celeste System. It's bright, it heats your blood, it makes you want to live a long life.'
Blair gave him a sour look. 'It makes me want to put on a flight helmet to filter out some of the noise,' he said, smiling briefly to take the sting out of the comment. 'I like something a little more soothing . . . like a bagpipe duet or a couple of cats in heat.'
The Argentine pilot laughed. 'I guess my 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.'
'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 Prince.'
'So, Arrak, you are inept as well as insubordinate, is that it?'
Arrak met Thrakhath's stare with unexpected spirit. 'In battle, Lord Prince, it is not always so easy to set conditions,' he said defiantly.
Thrakhath felt a stir of admiration. The flight commander knew he was doomed for his disobedience, so he met his fate with a warrior's pride. Baron Vurrig on the other hand, danced and dodged like prey on the run from the hunter.
'Let Arrak have a warrior's death. He may fight any champion or champions who wish the honor of dispatching him.' Thrakhath noted Arrak's nod. He was proud to the bitter end. 'As for you, Baron . . . because of you we must push back the timetable for Operation Unseen Death. We must await additional ships so that we may ensure the Terrans not intervening when we launch our strike. You will be relieved as commander of Sar'hrai . . . and suffer the penalty for your incompetence. Death . . . by isolation. The coward's end, alone, ignored, cut off until you die from thirst, starvation, or madness. See to it, Melek.'
'Lord Prince —' Vurrig began. He was grabbed by the guardsmen and dragged away, his appeals for mercy
