Star Wars_ MedStar 01_ Battle Surgeons - Michael Reaves [107]
Because....?
"Because to lose Zan’s music would be a real tragedy of war," he murmured. His words were low, and he doubted anyone heard him over the rumble of the thrusters. But his trusty Inner Voice evidently heard, be-cause the condemnations inside his head stopped.
Den shook his head. Yar, he was a fool. But it still felt good. At the very least, Zan owed him a drink. Several, in fact. And here was a war story he could dine out on for a long time. I ever tell you about the time my hide was saved by a quetarra...?
"Did you see that?" Tolk asked in disbelief.
"I did," Jos said, shaking his head. "I don’t believe it, but I saw it. This from the guy who swore he’d never risk his life for anything or anybody? He must have bent a drive rod."
"Carbon-based life-forms," I-Five said. "Just when you think you’ve got them figured out..."
The three of them looked at Zan. "When this war’s over," he said, "if Den wants it, he can have a position in any of my family’s companies-high enough that he’ll need an air tank to breathe-for as long as he likes. I’m forever in his debt."
"Zan," Leemoth said, "it’s just a quetarra."
"No, it isn’t. It’s much more than that. I wrote my first conserlista using it. Learned the first of the Berl-tahg Sonatas on it. It’s as much a part of me as my arm. I will never forget what Den Dhur did, not as long as I live."
Jos grinned. He’d never tell Zan, of course, but he would have missed the playing almost as much as his friend would have, even though he’d have to put up with more of that demented meewit screeching that Zan called Zabrak diaspora music-And then something smashed into the carrier, harder than an extinction-level meteor. Jos felt the vessel drop and hit the ground. He instinctively reached for Tolk to protect her, but before he made contact, the world van-ished in a red haze.
40
Jos swam up out of unconsciousness. His head hurt - hurt really wasn’t the word, but he doubted any lan-guage could describe how it felt-and his vision was blurry. He was aware of the transport listing slightly to starboard, and of Tolk kneeling next to him where he lay on the floor. She was wiping his face with a damp pad.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey, yourself."
"How do you feel?"
"Like I was fanned over by a transport. What hap-pened?"
"We got blasted by something. You hit your head on a bulkhead. We sustained some damage.
We’re slower, but still mobile. About ten klicks away from the new camp, out of range, apparently. You’ve been uncon-scious for almost an hour."
Jos tried to sit up, but a wave of stomach-churning nausea and vertigo overwhelmed him.
"You have a concussion," Tolk said. "Lie still."
"Yeah, I hear that. Everybody else okay?"
Tolk’s mouth set in a firm line. She shook her head. Tears welled then, and she blinked them away.
"Who-?"
But he knew.
Despite the vertigo and nausea that tore at his brain and gut, despite the fiery pain in his skull, Jos rolled over and struggled to his hands and knees.
"Jos, you can’t help him. He’s gone."
Jos heard the words, but they didn’t register. He crawled. Zan was only a couple of body-lengths away, lying on his back, seeming to recede and then advance in Jos’s vision.
It wasn’t until he could touch his friend’s face that he knew he’d reached him. Zan looked as if he were sleeping-there wasn’t a mark on him.
"Zan," Jos croaked. "Don’t do this, Zan. Don’t you do this. This is not right, you hear me?"
He put out a hand to touch Zan’s face again, and the effort spun the carrier around him.
He collapsed, his fingers touching the Zabrak. Still warm, a dispassionate part of his mind noted clinically. Still warm.
But Zan wasn’t there anymore.
"Zan! This isn’t funny! You always go too far, you know that? Now get up! "
Jos abruptly vomited, emptying his stomach mostly of bile and water. He managed to turn away enough so as not to splatter his friend.
His head felt slightly clearer now. "Tolk," he man-aged.