Heart Of The Tiger (31 page)

"For Gods sake, skipper, don't let him get to you!" That was Flint's voice. "If you take his challenge, you're stuck out there! Thrakhath'll wait . . . you'll get another chance at him!"

The words penetrated his fog, and Blair killed his forward momentum with a hard braking thrust, like a kick from a horse. Almost sobbing, he stabbed at the landing gear controls as the beams took hold. Slowly gently, the fighter dropped toward the deck and touched down.

He hardly noticed as the fighter was drawn into the hangar area. A pair of spacesuited figures released his cockpit, urging him to get out even before gravity or pressure were restored, and Blair neither helped nor resisted them. They guided him across the open space in long, low-G bounds. Pressure was restored as they reached the door, and one of them-Blair vaguely realized it was Flint, still clad in flight suit and combat helmet — helped him remove his own helmet as they guided him into the corridor. His other helper fumbled with helmet releases and finally freed the bulky headgear. It was Rachel Coriolis.

"JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED, the computer announced blandly. ONE MINUTE TO JUMP."

"You gave us a scare, skipper," Rachel said. "Thought you were gonna pull a bolter and miss the landing."

"I should have," Blair said. "I should have stayed out there and nailed that damned furball."

"That's exactly what he wanted," Flint told him. "If you had let him draw you into a fight, you'd never have made it back before we jumped. I thought you were the one who never let it get to you? Isn't that what you said when you were chewing me out?"

He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Maybe so. And maybe I was wrong when I said it." Blair looked away. "I guess I'll never know, now.

Blair brushed away their offered help as the elevator doors opened and he stepped into the cab. They followed, but he ignored them both, staring rigidly ahead at the keypad controls, unwilling to talk. Inside he felt drained, empty of everything except the knowledge that he had failed.

The knowledge that Angel remained unavenged.

An honor guard greeted Thrakhath as he disembarked from his fighter, but he ignored them all in his anger. He glared as Melek approached, bowing.

"Lord Prince, the Terran carrier has jumped. The captain of the Toor'vaas reports that the asteroid base has been breached, and Assault Marines are penetrating the station. There is no sign of further resistance anywhere."

Thrakhath gave him a dismissive gesture. "I expected none," he said, not bothering to hide the angry growl in his voice. "See to it there are no apes left alive once their base has been secured."

"But, Lord Prince, there will be many suitable slaves there." Melek looked shocked. "Surely you would not deny the Clans their right to take back captives —"

"No survivors, I said!" Thrakhath snapped.

Melek stepped back as if physically stricken. "As you wish, Lord Prince," he said, bowing again.

"We have been at war with these apes for more than a generation, Melek. But I still cannot understand them. How could any sentient creature, however lacking in honor, fail to respond to a chance for vengeance?" Thrakhath studied his retainer for a long moment. "You are sure that this Blair was truly lair-mate to the one we killed?"

"Intelligence reports claimed so, Lord Prince. Based on many interrogations of captured human pilots. The knowledge was evidently widely known in their warrior community."

Thrakhath took a moment to chain his anger and speak calmly, as befitted a Prince. "Clearly the animal humans are even less civilized than we thought. They do not even respect their lair-mates enough to fight for them." He paused. "But even if the Heart of the Tiger survives, the rest of the plan shall move forward. He cannot deflect the fate that pursues the Terrans now.

"Yes, Lord Prince."

"Order a carrier to follow the Terran ship, but wait until it has had time to get well clear of the jump point before sending it Sar'hrai would be a good choice. Give his new captain a chance to prove his worth. They are to mount a close surveillance on the enemy carrier, using stealth craft. When our agent makes his move, we must be ready." Thrakhath showed his fangs for a moment. "Our claws are at their throats, Melek. They will not escape the hunt."

Once again the flight deck was crowded with officers and crewmen gathered to bid farewell to one of their own. The neat ranks of pilots, technicians, and ship's crew . . . the honor guard with weapons held in a stiff rifle salute . . . the chaplain's service, and the empty coffin waiting by the launch tube — only the names changed, but never the trappings or the emotion.

Christopher Blair slowly stepped forward to the temporary podium. He never relished this duty, but today he hated everything about it.

"Major Jace Dillon was a reluctant warrior in the Confederation's battle against the Empire," Blair said slowly. He raised his eyes to study the front ranks, especially the pilots of Gold Squadron. For a fleeting moment he wondered what Ralgha was thinking. Did the Kilrathi renegade regret letting the young Terran pilot down in that last battle? Hobbes had certainly been withdrawn ever since. It was a feeling Blair understood entirely. "Nevertheless, Flash never turned back when the going got tough. He more than made up for his youth and inexperience by flying with vigor and courage, and he died carrying the fight to the enemy."

As he stepped back to allow the chaplain to advance and carry on with the funeral ceremony, Blair's eyes rested on the lone coffin. He wished he could have said a few words about Angel, but it would have been out of place here. Still, it wasn't Flash he was thinking about as the coffin accelerated out of the hangar deck, or as the honor guard fired their low-powered volleys. And when he bowed his head to offer up a prayer, it was Angel Devereaux who was foremost in his mind.

Blair sat alone at a table by the viewport, staring down into his empty glass as if it was a crystal ball that might give him a glimpse of another time and place. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, the other pilots and crewmen who talked, laughed and carried on with their lives, with only an occasional glance at the solitary, withdrawn figure of their wing commander.

A shadow fell across the table, and he looked into the knowing eyes of Rachel Coriolis. She put a bottle down on the table beside him. "You look like you could use a little more anesthetic," she said softly.

He poured a shot and drank, wincing a little at the bite of the cheap liquor in his mouth and throat. Rachel studied him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. Instead he refilled the glass and held it, watching the reflections dance in the amber liquid.

"Thrakhath really got to you, didn't he?" Rachel asked. "He knew all the right buttons to push."

Still Blair didn't answer. He took a longer, slower sip, then looked up at Rachel.

"I know how you feel, Colonel," she said, even softer this time. "I know what it's like, losing someone to this damned war." She hesitated a moment. "Do you want company? Or is the bottle enough?"

Those words got through his defenses at last. He looked from Rachel to the bottle, then back at her again. "Company? Yeah." He pushed the bottle away. "Yeah, I guess talking is better than drinking, but it isn't easy."

She settled into the chair across from him. "No, it isn't. But you can't run away from people, and you can't take refuge in getting drunk. Those things just postpone the inevitable."

"I knew, deep down, that she might not be coming back," he said slowly. "I was afraid she was dead. I had nightmares about it. But seeing it like that . . . and having that bastard gloating about it . . ."

"Well, kick in a bulkhead or something. Get it out somehow, okay? Don't wait until you're back in the cockpit again. If you try to take it out on the cats — look, I've been through that already, with somebody I cared about very much. I wouldn't want to go through it again."

He met her eyes. "Somebody you cared about, . . I hope you're not thinking. . . ."

Rachel looked away. "I know better than to put the moves on somebody who's just had a kick like the one you've had," she said. "Let's just say . . . Let's just say you're a man I could care about . . . if there was nothing else holding you. And I wouldn't want to see you throw your life away, no matter what."

"I'm a dangerous man to be around, Rachel," he told her. "My friends, my shipmates . . . Angel . . . they keep leaving on the last flight without me. If you're smart, you'll give me a wide berth."

"Nobody's ever accused me of being smart," she said with a ghost of a smile. "And I think it's better to take your chances than to steer clear of . . . a friend."

"All right, last item on the list," Blair said, ticking off another point on his personal data display. "Captain says we re due for a visit from some VIPs tomorrow. Thirteen hundred hours. We need to police the flight deck and hangar areas and try to get them somewhere approaching shipshape. Maniac, I'm putting you in charge of that detail."

Marshall looked up. "Me? When did I become the maid around here?"

Whittaker, Mbuto, and Captain Betz, the acting CO of Green Squadron, all chuckled. Ralgha. sitting in the corner of the office away from the others around the desk, studied his claws with an expression resembling boredom.

"Just do it, Maniac. We want to make a good impression. Now that we're back at Sector HQ, we have to pretend we're in the Navy instead of playing at being the pirate scum of the galaxy." Blair looked around the office. "Anybody have anything else to talk about?"

No one spoke, and Blair nodded sharply. "That'll be all, then." He stood up when the others did and watched them file through the door. Hobbes was the last to leave and Blair intercepted him. "Anything on your mind buddy? You've been pretty quiet, the last few days."

Ralgha shook his head ponderously. "Nothing of importance," he rumbled.

"Look, if you're upset at getting sent in after Flash bought it . . ."

"I am not," the Kilrathi said. He fixed Blair with a look the human couldn't easily fathom. "We have been friends for many years, you and I. Faced many things together. But just as you have trouble sharing your pain over Angel, I have . . . feelings I find hard to share now."

"Losing her hit you pretty hard, too, didn't it?"

The Kilrathi didn t speak for a long moment. "I fear that humans . . . have rarely been my friends. She was one of the few. I . . . regret her passing. And what it may lead to." He was watching Blair closely.

"If you're worried about me, don't," Blair said. "I had a long talk with myself the other day, after Flash's funeral. Somebody reminded me that I've got responsibilities I can't afford to let go of just because I'm hurting over her. So I won't do anything stupid."

The Kilrathi gave a very human shrug. "Your species is resilient," he said. "But. . . Colonel Devereaux's death may not be the worst thing we will see, before the end."

"I know what you mean, buddy," Blair told him. "Look you get some rest. I think this whole mess has been about as rough on you as it's been on me." He clapped Hobbes on the shoulder. "If it helps any, I want you to know that I think she d be proud, knowing you thought of her as a friend."

Before Ralgha could answer, the door buzzed, and Blair opened it. Rollins stood outside, with Cobra behind him. She gave Hobbes a disdainful look as he passed them, then followed Rollins into the office.

"What can I do for you two?" Blair asked, gesturing to the chairs by the desk and resuming his own seat.

"Colonel, we've been talking," Cobra said. "About Thrakhath's broadcast, before the battle at Delius."

Blair frowned. "What about it?"

"We're puzzled, Colonel," Rollins said. "The whole thing was pretty strange, by my way of thinking. All that effort to issue a challenge to you, and then . . . well, not much of a follow-up. I mean, he did his best to sucker you into a dogfight, but think of how poorly they handled the whole op. They gave us plenty of warning they were coming, and let us get all the way to the jump point before they put on much of an attack. Then that signal, and some bluster and threats. It doesn't add up."

"Hmmm . . ." Blair nodded slowly. "You're right. It's almost as if they wanted me, but they didn't care about the ship. If they'd come in with everything blazing while we were still at Delius station they could've had Victory for breakfast . . . and me with it. You think they wanted the ship to get away? Bad enough to let me go despite Thrakhath s challenge?"

"It could be, Colonel," Rollins said.

"The question is, why?"

Cobra leaned forward in her seat. "Colonel, there's something else that could be important here. I don't know what it was for sure, but there was something . . . familiar about that transmission."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "I can't put it into words, sir. It wasn't anything I heard. . . or saw. I just had a sense of. . . something. Something familiar. It . . . it gave me a headache, when I was watching it."

"Hobbes said something similar," Blair mused. "Rollins, can you shed any light on it?"

"Beats the hell out of me, Colonel," the communications officer said. "I want to run some checks on the recordings we made. That wasn't just an ordinary audio/video signal, you know. It was a broad-spectrum transmission that had damn near every channel blocked. At first I thought they were just trying to jam us so our comm system would crash. But it was like the whole attack. In the end, they just weren't trying very much. Otherwise they would've kept the jamming up during the battle. But I have to say this . . . if all they were trying to do was get you upset with their challenge and. . . all the rest. . . well, it was overkill. Pure and simple."