THE HELMSMAN
BY BILL BALDWIN
CHAPTER 4

    More than two Standard weeks passed before Brim's weakened body accustomed itself to its brand-new parts, but the day finally arrived when Flynn dismissed him permanently from Truculent's sick bay-with strict orders to go cautioualy until more of his strength returned. Now, only cycles after pressing the Doctor's hand in heartfelt thanks, he was at last back inside his tiny cabin, seated on the edge of his bunk and accessing the ship's message system. He cycled his pitifully small mail file three times-eight messages in all, only one sourced from "Effer'wyck@Gimmas."
    He immediately brought this one to his display, which filled with loose golden curls and a frowning smile. Margot! He thrilled while the image recited Lacerta's timeless lines in a soft, modulated voice. She'd be proud of that voice, he reflected, and wondered how he'd managed to miss it before.
    Far too soon, the little message ran its course. He played it again-and then again. He rotated the display and watched her from every angle. She might be far beyond his reach, but that didn't stop him from dreaming!
    With a sigh, be finally sent her message to his permanent storage, then selected a note from Captain Collingswood. Voice only, this requested he "drop by" her office to file a verbal report whenever he felt "up to it." He took care of that immediately, appending his name to her appointment schedule just after the next change of watch.
    The remainder of his messages, save one, were all debit notices.
    His single exception was a short communication from Borodov containing a cross-reference to the prestigious Journal of the Imperial Fleet. "A most valuable article, Will Ansor," the shifting patterns read. "You must file this with your most important documents. Good as credits in the pocket, perhaps better. (signed) A.A. Borodov."
    The Journal? With a frown, Brim fetched Borodov's reference to his display. Characteristic patterns in the style of the highly venerated publication replaced Borodov's covering message, then indexed to a small article almost lost toward the back of the issue. It was clearly little more than filler placed during a time of little important activity elsewhere, but it was there nonetheless:

    Gimnias Haefdon (Eorean Blockading Forces) 118/ 51995: Carescrian Sublieutenant Will Brim, recently graduated Helmsman assigned to Lieutenant-commander Regula Collingswood's I.F.S. Truculent. (DI) T.83, see other reports, this issue), distinguished himself recently off the Altnag'gin peripheiy during a single-handed action which resulted, in destruction of the corvette commanded by Kirsch Valentin, infamous young Prefect with five Imperial kills.

    As Borodov suggested, he carefully filed the reference on his permanent storage, grinning in spite of himself. Strange, he reflected, how much that little bit of recognition meant to him. He'd been such an outsider since he joined the Fleet under Lord Wyrood's Admiralty Reform Act. It took only this insignificant crumb of acknowledgment to make him feel a lot less like one.
    Then he busily applied himself to composing Margot's answer-no easy task, he discovered to his surprise. When he scanned his books of verse for a fitting line or two, nothing seemed to fit, though a number of the same poems seemed perfect when he first thought about them in the solitude of the sick bay. He made a second pass-then a third-before settling down for a detailed search. Shortly before his appointment with Collingswood, he had completed only two books with three-quarters of a third remaining to be studied. So far, nothing even resembled his requirements. In the end, he decided he might easily spend years without finding the proper words. Shaking his head ruefully at the time he had already wasted on the project, he quickly chose a few lines that approximated his thoughts, composed a short covering message of thanks, then sent everything on its way before he could change his mind again.
    That out of the way, he smooothed his tunic, brushed his boots on his bunk cover, and made his way forward to the captain's cabin, one level above his own.
    



    "Sit down, Wilf," Collingswood said as she relaxed in her chair. Subtle harmonies insinuated themselves from the cabin background: soft instruments blending, separating, then blending once more to form emotional tapestries of surprising beauty. He seemed to recall the same sounds from his first visit to her cabin, but they hardly registered then. "The last time I saw you," Collingswood was saying with a twinkle in her eye, "you appeared to be rather soundly asleep."
    Brim grinned. "I seem to have been doing a lot of that lately, Captain," he answered.
    "Almost a permanent condition, from what Dr. Flynn tells me," Collingswood declared, her face becoming serious. "I watched Ursis and Barbousse carry you in from the corvette. You'd been rather thoroughly worked over by Valentin and his crew-you evidently caused a bit of trouble during your short visit there."
    "I tried to, Captain," Brim said.
    Collingswood laughed quietly. "I'm quite certain you did, Lieutenant. But I shall need to know a bit more than that," she asserted. "I am required to file an official report, you know."
    Brim felt his face flush. "Sorry, Captain," he said. "I didn't understand." He stared at his boots, reflecting for a moment, then rubbed his chin. "So far as I can remember," he began, "this is what happened after we spotted that corvette..." For the next metacycle, he described what he had seen aboard the enemy warship, including his own activities when he felt they had any relevance.
    Couingswood sat relaxed in her recliner while he spoke, interjecting occasional questions or clarifying certain points. When he finished, she recrossed her legs, frowned thoughtfully, and looked him straight in the eye. "Strange," she mused, "how much like your shipmates you have become. None has mentioned Lieutenant Amherst so far-nor his part in this little adventure of yours. I wonder why."
    Brim frowned. In the seclusion of the healing coffin, he considered himself ready for questions about that part. Now all his confidence seemed to dissipate like smoke. He fumbled with a loose fastener on his tunic. "Well," he uttered, groping for something to say, "I can't speak for the others, of course. I was alone most of the time we spent aboard the corvette, Captain."
    "I see," Collingswood said, brushing aside a stray lock of hair. She studied the fingernails of her right hand. "Would you," she began, "make any further comments were I to ask you for information concerning alleged incompetence on the part of Lieutenant Ursis?"
    "In what context, Captain?" Brim asked warily, not yet willing to meet her eyes.
    "Why, in the context of his attempts to alter the control settings of the Cloud League merchantman Ruggetos, of course," Collingswood answered, her expression suddenly cold as space itself.
    Brim took a deep breath and met her gaze squarely. "In that case, Captain," he said evenly, "I should probably have a great deal more to say."
    "Would you testify, Lieutenant?" she continued, sitting well forward in her recliner, elbows firmly on the arinrests.
    "If it came to that, Captain, you can bet I would testify," Brim answered. He waited for an explosion-both she and Arnherst were clearly Imperials of no mean station, and in his experience, Carescrians didn't usually get away with taking stands, no matter who was in the right.
    As if considering her next words, Collingswood remained for a moment staring into his eyes. Then, suddenly she relaxed and sat back in her recliner, smiling broadly. "You have joined my old Truculent, haven't you, Brim?" she pronounced. "I rather thought you'd have little trouble doing that once you it started."
    Brim blinked. "Pardon?" he stammered.
    "Protecting Amherst the way you are," Collingswood explained. "You're already part of my crew." She laughed quietly. "In rather record time, too."
    Brim kept his silence, unsure of where she was leading him. "You probably wonder what I plan to do about him, don't you, Lieutenant?" she went on, holding up a graceful hand. "His part in the loss of that merchantman was easy enough for me to piece together-and caused you considerable difficulty and pain. You deserve an answer."
    Brim nodded his head noncommittedly. 'Thank you, Captain," he said simply.
    "I shall not rid the ship of him," she said with no further preamble. "Because Amherst is a powerful name throughout the Fleet-and other reasons which have nothing to do with either of you-he shall have one more chance, at least." She smiled and shook her head. "No one ever said life would be fair, Lieutenant. In spite of what Amherst might really deserve, I shall not commit political suicide to secure his punishment-though I shall attempt to insure he is never again in a position to cause so much harm should he fail a second time."
    Brim nodded again. At least she was honest.
    "And no record of Amherst's report will ever find its way into your friend Ursis' records." She glanced at her empty display, then grimaced in an unmistakable sign of dismissal.
    Brim got up to leave.
    "Your report was first rate-as were your actions, Lieutenant," she added-. "You weren't thinking of returning to bridge duty immediately, were you?"
    "Not for two more days, Captain," Brim answered.
    "Dr. Flynn knows best," Collingswood said as her display began to fill with data.
    Brim left feeling, a lot better about his future than he had ever dreamed possible. So long as the Fleet had a few Collingswoods, Carescrians still had a chance.
    



    The endless succession of days that followed were notable only by their sameness until danger and boredom became two great stones which ground Truculent and her crew alike. And all around, the larger war waxed and waned. Victories and defeats-there were still more of the latter, but one could sense an occasional ray of hope among the grim news KA'PPAed in from powerful transmitters halfway across the galaxy.
    To Brim's utter astonishment, his abbreviated answer to Margot's note established a lively-if disappointingly chaste- correspondence. During the long stretches of boredom, he often     argued with himself concerning that. After all, any kind of treatment was more than he should ever expect. She was, aside from being promised to someone else, a person of noble blood. Very noble blood. And a full military rank above his own into the bargain. What more could he expect?
    Sometimes this sort of logical approach worked. Sometimes it didn't. But most of the time, it didn't.
    And for some exasperating reason, he never did quite condition himself to the point where he could comfortably think of her in the company of Rogan LaKarn. That became painfully apparent when a chance news program pictured the two together during a leave in Avalon:

    Princess Margot Effer'wyck and Commander the Honorable Baron Rogan LaKarn share a well-deserved leave in Avalon's Courtland Plaza near the Imperial castle.. Engaged nearly two years now, the popular couple have postponed their nuptials while they work to defend the Empire from its enemies.

    Somehow, the sight of them holding hands in that manicured garden tied his heart in a knot. He gritted his teeth and felt his cheeks burns hoping against hope nobody in the wardroom noticed his helpless discomfort--he a Carescrian worked up over an Effer'wyck. What a joke that was!
    In private, he railed at himself. He could claim no part of her life. How she chose to spend her leave was certainly none of his business. He meant nothing special to her-and she meant nothing to him.
    But he really didn't believe the second part.
    That night, as he fitfully dozed, his mind was torn by weird, wildly erotic dreams. He pictured her beckoning to him through a soft, warm fog. But when he reached to touch her, Rogan LaKarn interposed. And each time, Brim awoke to find himself alone in his tiny cabin, sweating and frustrated, the rumble of the generators no longer comforting to his ears.
    In a foul mood, he dressed and made his way up to the bridge, where be spent the remainder of his free Watch tutoring Jubal Theada for a battery of upcoming tests. Even that kind of frustration was better than fighting his own imagination!
    



    For the next three months, Collingswood's aggressive blockading techniques eroded both Truculent and her crew. Space off the Altnag'gin Complex at Trax was a busy crossroads of the League's commerce. Always there was another "runner" to be Pursued--or a pursuing Cloud League warship determined to rid the space lanes of Imperial blockaders. Borodov and Ursis constantly rushed through Truculent's battered hull patching battle damage or repairing components worn to uselessness from constant duty at maximum settings.
    Flynn was similarly busy patching burned and blasted bodies-carelessness caused by advanced fatigue was at least as deadly an enemy as the League itself. Yet no relief was forthcoming, and everyone knew why. The Imperial Fleet was stretched so thin that every ship and every crew member served past all reasonable limit. No alternative existed-everyone was well aware of Triannic's vow to "punish" the Imperial Fleet "to its last man."
    Only continuing success made any of it bearable. Collingswood was an extraordinary tactician, and Truculent sent a steady stream of prizes off toward Avalon-often seriously shorting the crew complement for weeks at a time. Everyone was now accruing Imperial credits in individual accounts, and even Brim found himself debt free one day-for the first time he could remember.
    Following still another stormy month of desperate fighting and wearing fatigue, Truculent was even more patched and dented than before. Many of her less critical mechanisms were by now completely inoperative-the crew worked around these when possible, but mostly did without. Some of the important systems were little better than these, and operated only marginally-when they worked at all. Often, Brim looked over the battered decks from his position high on the bridge and wondered if anyone back in the Imperial Client States had any idea at all what it really took to keep Triannic from their gates. A small part of him wanted desperately to believe they did. The remainder doubted many of them had any idea what was going on at all.
    



    Only when Borodov managed to convince his Sodeskayan superiors at the Admiralty that Truculent could no longer be patched enough to fight and win did Flight Operations deign to send their replacement, and by then it was nearly too late.
    The Drive itself failed three times on the way home and fully half the Atmospheric Controller Modules consumed themselves in a cloud of sour-smelling vapor and sparks before they were two days en route. The nearly desperate crew completed their return with most of the ship's environment simulating the worst elements of a steamy Crennelean Narr jungle.
    One way or another, they made it. Gimmas Haefdon was a sizable disk in the Hyperscreens ahead when Brim heard the Drive finally eased all the way back to idle. He and Theada occupied observers' seats while Gallsworthy and Fourier flew the approach. "You may prepare us for landfall, Lieutenant Gallsworthy," Collingswood said, her voice loud in the unaccustomed silence.
    "Aye, aye, Captain," Gallsworthy growled. Immediately, Brim heard distant alarms go off below in the ship, and docking crews began to fill the bridge.
    Fourier signaled to Ursis, and a few moments later the generators shivered to life.
    "Finished with the xaxtdamned Drive," Gallsworthy rumbled.
    "I think it's finished with us anyway," Collingswood said grumpily.
    "Drive deactivated," Borodov chuckled. Astern, the flowing green of the Drive plume flickered and disappeared.
    "Drive shutters closed," Ursis said.
    "LightSpeed point zero," Fourier called out as Gandom's 've effect went into full flare and the Hyperscreens stopped translating. Gradually, the view cleared as the speed dropped below the critical mark. Applewood contacted Gimmas Approach soon afterward, and within a few metacycles they were in a holding pattern for clearance at the Lox'Sands control ring-this time in zone green. Traffic was light during that watch, and presently Truculent was on final, thundering down through Gimmas Haefdon's cloudy turbulence.
    With a sense of weary excitement, Brim waited impatiently for Truculent to break out of the overcast. So far, all he could see were regular flashes of the beacon reflected back from the streaming haze outside and the occasional glow of KA'PPA rings expanding outward as Applewood talked to Approach Control. The sound of the generators was now moderated to a burbling grumble, and the muted drones and thumps of imminent landfall were well under way. Gallsworthy banked to port, revealing glimpses of gray, fog-strewn seascape wrinkled by the thickly sluggish patterns of frigid-looking swells and jagged ice fragments everyone associated with the base.
    As they returned to level flight, Brim spied two or three lamp-studded causeways below like the thin spokes of some great wheel converging at an unseen hub somewhere far off to port, but the haze swallowed them completely in damp-looking muzziness before he could distinguish any details. As usual, there was no real difference between land and sky aloft on Gimrnas Haefdon-no horizon, only fog and clouds and occasionally the wrinkled blackness of the inhospitable sea below.
    Another turn to port, generators roaring momentarily, then Truculent settled gently onto her forward gradient and churned over the icy rollers that shone dully in the landing lights twenty-five irals below her stained and dented hull. Through a chance break in the fog, Brim saw they were now running parallel to another causeway. He watched giant waves batter themselves to wind-blown spume against its rocky bulwarks. A beacon flashed indistinctly in their direction. Ahead, fog-shrouded blue and red lights marked the opening to the Eorean section. He smiled to himself. The last time through here, he'd been considerably more occupied than he was now, sitting at his leisure in an observer's seat. Beyond, a forest of KA'PPA masts jutted from the starwharves themselves.
    With Fourier at the controls, Truculent changed course smoothly, slid through the entrance, and in a few moments glided to a halt above a gently glowing gravity pool. Thick mooring beams leaped from lenses in the seawalls and Brim's nausea made itself felt when the umbilical arm connected, switching Truculent back to local gravity. Gallsworthy raised his hand silently and their gravity generators spun down and stopped-the unaccustomed silence after nearly six months of one kind of propulsion system or another was almost physical. A tentative "Hurrah!" sounded from the back of the bridge. Then another, and another-in a moment, the whole ship was gone wild in a paroxysm of cheering. Even the normally reserved Collingswood could be seen pounding Gallsworthy on the back.
    Theada grasped Brim's hand. "We made it!" he gasped joyfully. "We actually made it!"
    "Yeah," Brim said- himself overcome with a strange sort of relief. He was going to live for at least a few weeks more. It was a strange feeling. He hadn't encountered that kind of confidence since their departure.
    Truculent was home.
    



    With little to occupy him at the moment, Brim forsook the noisy throng exiting from the bridge. A traditional homecoming celebration was scheduled shortly for the wardroom, but according to wartime rules crew members joined only after completing a session with someone from a debriefing team-and with his lack of seniority, Brim appeared next to last on the schedule of officers. He looked out through the Hyperscreens at the gray landscape-another of Gimmas Haefdon's long, drab evenings was beginning in a driving snowstorm as the Harbor Master's peculiar vehicle scuttled off down the snow-hazed road. A large group of utility skimmers in various sizes was already parked near the breakwater, and below the bridge he watched a line of figures leaning into the wind-driven blizzard as they trudged across the brow toward the ship. One particularly heavy gust momentarily freed a shock of golden hair from beneath a parka before its owner hurried out of his sight. It made him laugh at himself. Nearly anything was sufficient to remind him of Margot Effer'wyck these days! He shook his head. Beyond all reason, and he knew it.
    Nearly three metacycles passed before he was finally summoned for his debriefing-in Amherst's cabin, of all places. Somewhere in the Universe there was irony in that, he chuckled as he knocked on the door.
    "Come in," a familiar voice called out from the other side.
    Brim frowned as he pushed the door open. Where had be heard that? His heart skipped a beat.
    "Wilf Brim," Margot exclaimed, brushing a soft blond curl aside. "I have surely saved the best for last."
    He stopped short in the doorway when he felt his face flush. His breath had suddenly gone short, his ears burned, and be felt like a foolish schoolboy with his first serious crush. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The image in her message didn't begin to do her justice at all! "M-Margot," he stammered, then his eyes went to the full lieutenant's insignia on the left shoulder of her cape. "I mean, 'Lieutenant."'
    She smiled warmly. "'Margot' is fine, Wilf," she said. "And we shall never get to the wardroom if you don't come in and let me start your debriefing."
    Somehow, those words brought him around. "Sorry," he said, regaining at least some of his composure and breaking into his own smile of honest pleasure. He shook his head. "I guess I never expected to see you here," he said.
    "Some ships get special treatment, Wilf," she said. "Ones that carry special people."
    Brim looked at her hands, smooth and shapely and perfectly manicured, as she set up the keyboard of Amherst's Communicator. He listened to the sounds of the cooling hull, the raucous celebration in the wardroom. "Thank you" was all he could think to say. She was disconcertingly beautiful. Then he lost all track of time while she probed his mind with professionalism and skill that nearly took his breath away. He was first surprised and then fascinated by her deep understanding of the technology of warfare, and especially starflight mechanics. She posed questions that led to others and to others still-forced him to recall details that he had forgotten as unimportant but which were decidedly the opposite, from her viewpoint.
    "The triggering gear you saw in the corvette's central globe, Wilf, was it in the upper firing room only-or was it in both?"
    "Both, I think," he answered.
    "Then, were they the same?" she asked, blue eyes searching his very soul. "Could both disruptors be operated from the same firing room if the other was shot out?"
    He thought for a moment. "Yes," he answered finally, "because the power cables went to both firing rooms."
    Every word he uttered seemed to have some value. He had never met anyone like this before-never a woman both so beautiful and so talented all at once. When she finished, he found himself dazed with mental fatigue. They had worked without interruption for nearly three metacycles.
    "You have quite a memory, Wilf Brim," she said, fatigue slowing her own voice, "which has provided me a great deal of material for study." She smiled comfortably. "Now I shall claim the further pleasure of sharing some meem from your wardroom. How does that sound?"
    "Wonderful," Brim said, looking at her softness. "Just wonderful." Then other words suddenly crept into his mind. He grinned. "'Oh weary lady Geraldine,/I pray you drink this crystal wine,'" he recited, gesturing dramatically.
    Margot closed her eyes for a moment and frowned. Then she laughed, a look of pleasure spreading from her lips. She pointed a finger at him. "'It is a wine of virtuous powers;/My mother made it of wild flowers.' There! Something out of Leoline's 'Silver Lamp,' isn't it? You've yet to stump me, Wilf Brim. Even when you choose some of the very worst poetry in the whole Universe!"
    They both laughed at that, then she deactivated Amherst's Communicator and they made their way to the wardroom.
    



    They were late to the party-much of which was by now moved off to other ships and wardrooms across the sprawling base. Truculent's badly depleted meem supplies would be better stocked for the next round of celebrations. The wardroom was still well populated, but the early frenetic energy was now worn into a comfortable hum of conversation, and the musical clink of goblets. Most of the lights were dimmed, and here and there couples shared the privacy of shadowed tables. A gathering of Bears talked quietly at one end of the room; Ursis signaled "hello" from a seat close to a slim female whose eyes never strayed from his face. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume and hogge'poa. Two other female Bears talked animatedly with Borodov while a number of other furry couples toasted in the Sodeskayan manner-goblets raised empty and upside down while they chanted the age-old drinking litany, "To ice, to snow, to Sodeskaya we go!"
    Margot nodded toward Borodov. "He's everybody's darling," she said with her husky laugh. 'The sly old Bear."
    Brim smiled and nodded. "I didn't realize so many of their females had joined the Fleet," he commented.
    "More of them arrive from Lo'Sodeskaya all the time," Margot continued as he helped her into a chair at a dark table. "Bears can't get along without them any more than men Can," she laughed softly. "Professionally, that is."
    "The Logish meem you ordered, Lieutenant," Steward Grimsby said, materializing cadaverously from the smoky darkness.
    Startled, Brim looked up as the ancient steward placed two goblets before them. "I didn't order..." His eyes met Margot's-they were laughing and sleepy all at the same time.
    "It's a fine choice, Wilf," she said as Grimsby half filled her goblet.
    "Thank you, Lieutenant, ma'am," Grimsby said to Margot. He poured Brim's with total aplomb. "My compliments, Lieutenant Brim," he said. "I can only agree with Princess Effer'wyck. It is a fine choice. Saved for a special occasion. Then, quickly as he appeared, he was gone again.
    Margot shrugged and raised her goblet. "To you, Wilf," she said, "and to old Truculent here-and to Nergol Triannic's slipping on a ca'omba peel."
    He lifted his goblet and touched hers with a tiny musical sound. "I'd duel a dozen Nergol Triannics-ripe ca'ombas at ten paces-if you would promise to debrief me each time I got home." The meem was like silver fire in his throat. He bad never experienced such fine vintage.
    "One Nergol Triannic is quite sufficient for this war," Margot said with a wink, "in spite of what I am sure are your very formidable talents throwing ripe ca'ombas."
    As the cycles slipped by, they talked of poetry, Gimmas, and the endless duty watches. She clearly had the broader picture of their war, and by the time Grimsby materialized with a second bottle of the same rare Logish meem, Brim had a confused impression that her mysterious Technology Division was actually beginning to grasp some of the enemy's meter, that Count Rogan LaKam didn't find his way to Gimnias Haefdon as often as she thought he should, and that even when he did, her own work schedule took its toll of an already abbreviated love life. Somehow Brim found nothing unusual about her last comment. She was that sort of person. Besides, he reminded himself, this was simply a social occasion shared between two professionals. But, oh, how he wished he could satisfy that particular area of her needs!
    He savored her oval face, her loose curls, her sulky eyes- now even sulkier as fatigue and the meem took effect. And he drew her out, learned what be could of her life, her family, her loves-from her days as a little girl. She spoke freely, clearly relishing the memories of carefree dalliances before the war. Brim smiled with her, but somehow the words were bittersweet in his ears.
    Then, suddenly she looked about the wardroom. His eyes followed. Except for Grimsby's spectral presence in the pantry, they were alone. Margot glanced down at her timepiece and shut her eyes. "Oh, Universe, Wilf," she whispered. "I'm oh duty in less than five metacycles. I've got to go-now!" She touched his hand and drew his eyes to hers. "Thank you for a beautiful break ma long tour of duty," she whispered. "'Rarely, rarely, comest thou,/Spirit of Delight!/Wherefore host thou left me now/Many a day and night?'"
    As he helped her into her Fleet Cloak, Brim found his mind a poetic blank. "All I can think of right now are my own words," he stammered. "But I need to tell you that-that this evening has made some of the tough parts of my life suddenly well worth living through." For a few moments of absolute unreality, he stood so close he nearly touched her. And found his carefully nurtured professional attitude was rapidly evaporating with each passing cycle.
    Then, from nowhere, Grimsby appeared again, this time with Brim's own Fleet Cloak. It broke the spell.
    "M-Many thanks, Grimsby," the Carescrian stammered, looking perplexedly at the strange little man.
    "Yes," Grimsby agreed with a warm smile. "She is lovely, isn't she, sir?" Then he saluted and scuttled off toward the pantry.
    Margot looked at him and smiled sleepily. "I shouldn't begin to question him, were I you, Wilf," she giggled. "This old Universe has always contained its share of magic.--Grimsby's clearly a part of that."
    "So are you, Margot," Brim whispered as he followed her into the companionway.
    "What was that?" she asked.
    "Nothing," Brim replied. "Just saying good night to (3rimsby."
    Outside, the wind had abated somewhat, but the cold nearly deprived Brim of his breath while they picked their way over the icy brow. In the snow-strewn mist at the breakwater, they stopped outside her little skimmer.
    "I'm glad I scheduled you last, Wilf," she said-almost disconcertedly.
    "You did that on purpose?" he asked.
    Margot smiled. "My professional secret," she said. "But aside from missing all the important data I took from you, I might also have missed the pleasure of these last few metacycles with you, mightn't I?"
    Brim looked down at his boots. "Yes," he admitted. "I would never have dared to even ask you to drink with me." He shook his head and shrugged. "So many other officers must want..."
    She put a gloved finger to his lips. "The Universe doesn't have many Wilf Brims to offer," she said. "Let me choose my friends. All right?"
    "All right," Brim agreed with a smile. He opened the door to her skimmer in a shower of tiny snowflakes that tingled against his face and flashed in the dim light of Truculent's battle lanterns.
    She slid into the seat, then looked him in the eye once more. "We don't have many people here who recite poetry, either, so don't be a stranger, Wilf." She tilted her head slightly. "Soon," she added, then shut the door.
    "I promise," he said.
    Moments later, the little machine trembled into life and shook itself of snow. Then it rose and skimmed off over the drifts, lights beaming through the tendrils of fog. Brim stared silently at the point where it disappeared a long time before he trudged thoughtfully back to the starship. A bloody real princess-and he didn't even care.
    A fitful night ensued as Brim tossed endlessly in his narrow bunk while his timepiece metered away the early morning watch. When occasionally he could trick himself into something resembling sleep, he was beset by further dream sequences with Margot-whose beauty remained frustratingly untouchable (for one reason or another), but who was at least now unencumbered by Baron Rogan LaKarn. When more commonly he couldn't sleep at all, he lay staring at the dark ceiling attempting to convince himself his impossible relationship with this beautiful young noblewoman was nothing more than a friendship growing naturally out of some shared professionalism.
    "Shared professionalism." The term pleased him-a good foundation for a friendship, even with a royal princess so far above his station she ought rightly to be completely out of sight. It explained everything. Made it all right.
    Eventually, he did succumb to a deeper sleep, but it lasted only in to the first portion of the morning watch: two metacycles at most-then chimes woke him, directing his attention to his. message frame, which announced a wardroom meeting for officers in twenty cycles. Sleepily, he pulled on his uniform. "Shared professionalism," he thought while he polished his boots. Well, if that's what it was, then it was clearly his turn to get them together. Muzzily, he combed the knots from his thick black hair. What did one do with royalty? He shook his head and chuckled. This time, he'd have to improvise as he went because the average Carescrian simply wasn't outfitted with that kind of knowledge, at least as standard equipment. Then he smiled.
    Yet...
    



    "I shall detain you only a few moments," a smiling Collingswood called out from the head of the table. "I know everyone is as anxious to be about their business..." the merest blush of color rose high in her cheeks, "as am I."
    A joshing kind of rustle swept the table, punctuated by, "Hear, Hear!" and, "Good on you, Captain!" Brim looked down the table while the small stir settled. Nik sat to his right, outfitted in his usual finery, the heel of one expensive-looking boot hooked to the front of his chair, hands folded across a sturdy Bear ankle. At the opposite end of the table from Collingswood, Amherst sat imperiously looking neither right nor left, and to his left Gallsworthy already swayed drunkenly in his seat. Next to him, and closest to the door, a tired-looking Sophia Pym slouched in loose-jointed comfort, her red-rimmed eyes dreamily focused somewhere a long way from Truculent.
    "We have a whole lot of repairs to put to rights this trip," Collmgswood was saying, "as all of you know so well." More laughs and comments punctuated that. "Well, they're going to make it worthwhile for us, too. This time, people, I have been notified we shall be in port for one full month-starting today. And we shall be processing applications for leave directly lowing this meeting."
    At this, the wardroom fairly erupted in cheers and applause. Nik pounded his fists on the table, great diamonds flashing in his fangs. Fourier and Pym slapped each other on the back, and Borodov nudged Flynn in the side with a wicked look on his furry face. Only Gallsworthy seemed not to notice-a momentary cloud of sadness passed over his face. Then it was gone, replaced by the impenetrable mask of drunken indifference.
    Collingswood completed her presentation quickly after that finishing with the usual port announcements, duty-roster requirements (to be satisfied before any leave applications we be processed), and official Fleet notices. One of these had to do with a call for volunteers-a special mission of one or another, but Brim missed most of it in the chorus of hoots and general disparagement which followed the word "volunteer." Something about a converted starliner registered in the back of his mind. I.F.S. Prosperous was it? If memory served him, a ship by that name was among the fastest in the peacetime fleet. Then the meeting was over and everyone was suddenly fighting over the duty roster.
    Brim walked quickly past the happy throng signing up leave. He had none coming-nor anyplace to spend it if did. Alone in his cabin, he sat before the Communicator reported in to the Base's general-availability roster for the duration of Truculent's stay in port. Dutifully removing one the Fleet's ubiquitous personal transponders from his cabin he sent in its serial number, activated power for one stand month, then swallowed the tiny device and waited.
    "Recorded and verified, Lieutenant Brim," the Communicator said. "We shall be in touch if necessary." So much for that.
    



    Within the metacycle, Brim was on Truculent's bridge once again, watching a husky, broad-shouldered tug materialize out of a thick fog to tow the destroyer to one of the inland repair pools. Collingswood had long since signed her over to the base repair organizations and would not return for at least two weeks. For that matter, nearly all the rest of the officers were gone, too. Only Ursis remained with the ship to rum the in center gravity generator while the ship was towed-and even he was scheduled to depart with Borodov when that was done. The Bear watched approvingly while the tug's crew grappled on to Truculent's hull with the huge mooring beams the little ships seemed to use whether they needed them or not.
    "One would think we displaced as much as Benwell," the Bear chuckled as Truculent was eased backward off her gravity pool.
    "So long as he drives us to the repair pool and not me," Brim laughed, "he can use real rope for all I care-I can't keep track of the silly rules they've got for overland running."
    In no time at all, their original mooring was swallowed in the fog. Brim watched in silence from the bridge as occasional buoys passed below in the swirling wake of the generator's footprint on the water. Then they slowed and passed between two great, age-blackened stone pylons, and the ice-filled water of the basin was abruptly replaced by grimy, dirt-tracked shipyard snow.
    The tug was soon towing them over a pair of glowing rails, for the kind Brim had followed on his arrival at the base. And he Gimmas Haefdon had meanwhile transformed itself into a disjoint parade of weathered buildings, suddenly looming gantries, and dismantled starships, which appeared and faded in the grayness as the destroyer glided backward in the swirling mists. Here and there, they saw trackside parties of grinning, heavily bundled workmen who alternately held their ears and waved as the ships rumbled past, cheering soundlessly outside the destroyer's bridge.
    Finally, Truculent jolted to a stop on a pool surrounded by a forest of towering cranes and dozens of new umbilicals to sustain the ship's logic systems while her main power supply was shunted elsewhere for diagnostics.
    Ursis no sooner shut down the center generator than a monstrous brow gently latched aboard, and presently the bridge filled with a rowdy gaggle of rough-hewn shipyard engineers tad and technicians.
    "I shall offer my farewell here, Wilf Ansor," Ursis said gravely. "I would remain, but I am sure you understand one takes leave when he can." He solemnly raised a long finger. "'Dark snow and thrice-frozen lamps beckon old Bears and cubs alike to caves in the Great Vastness,' as the saying goes," he observed.
    Brim smiled and put his hand on the Bear's shoulder. "I think I understand, Nik," he said. "And thanks for the thought."
    Ursis bowed formally. "Besides," he said, "Borodov and I have a. . ." he frowned, 'feeling, shall we say, that you will not lack for companionship if last night is indication."
    "Last night?"
    The Bear merely laughed as he peered through the Hyperscreens, then nodded toward the breakwater where an elegant chauffeur-driven skimmer had drawn up opposite the gate. "Borodov," he pronounced, grinning now. "We shall talk again, eh?" He clapped Brim on his arm. "Enjoy Princess Effer'wyck, my good friend. She is known among Bears as a fine young woman-in spite of her royal blood." Then he was gone. In a few cycles, Brim watched him stride across the brow toward the waiting skimmer, six great traveling cases bobbing along in his wake.
    Soon after Borodov's massive skimmer disappeared into a new snowstorm, Truculent's bridge became a confused mass of incomprehensible voices and engineering babble until Brim could stand it no more and escaped to the relative tranquillity of his cabin. While these crews were on the jab, Truculent, or at least the Truculent he knew, would cease to exist.
    With little to occupy his normally busy mind, his thoughts returned quickly to Margot-and the promise he had made her. He frowned. Well, why not? He reached for the Communicator-then shook his head, suddenly unsure of himself: wardroom parties were one thing, but right now, he didn't even have the prospect of a wardroom, much less another party. What would he say to her? One didn't just invite someone to visit a gravity pool! And he knew nothing about the rest of Gimmas Haefdon-or bow to entertain a full-blooded princess.
    He laughed. He didn't have to know anything about either, for Macgot Effer'wyck did. She'd been around the bloody base for years now! Screwing up his courage once more, he activated the COMM. switched his way around the Threat Assessment Division (Universe, but they were secure!). At some length, her face appeared in the display.
    "Wilf" she said, brushing aside a stray curl. "How nice. I hoped I'd hear from you."
    The warmth of her smile managed to calm him before her physical beauty made a gawking schoolboy of him again. He laughed. "I hoped you'd hope," he quipped. "Now, all I have to do is find something to say next."
    Margot grinned. "Hmm," she said. "Perhaps I can help. What was it you had in mind?"
    "Actually," Brim answered, "I had you in mind."
    "Well," Margot said with a look of mock thoughtfulness, "you have come to the right person, then."
    "I thought so," Brim said. "Perhaps, then, you can tell me how I might suggest another evening together."
    Margot smiled again, her heavy-lidded eyes alive with warmth and humor. "That's not difficult," she said. "You could ask me to supper-I'm quite available for something like that." She winked. "Including tonight."
    Brim felt his heart skip a beat.
    "Universe," he stammered, "I'd love that-but I have no idea where."
    "I see," Margot said in mock seriousness. "Well, were such an invitation tendered, I should be glad to take care of the other details-including transportation."
    Brim laughed. "I was going to cross the transportation bridge when I got to it," he admitted.
    "Gets cold around here for a lot of Walking," Margot asserted. "But, then, I haven't been invited anywhere, either."
    "You did say tonight, didn't you?" Brim asked, hardly willing to believe his ears.
    "Well, I am free."
    "Would you. . .?"
    "Wilf, I swear I thought you'd never ask."
    "Universe."
    "Pick you up right after the third watch-does that sound all right?" she asked. -
    "Rebuild pool 581," Brim answered, regaining some control of himself.
    "I know," she said. "Bring an appetite." Then she was gone.
    Grinning to himself, Brim shook his head happily. Whatever else she might turn out to be, Margot Effer'wyck was also a whole new set of rules. He looked forward to learning as many as he could.
    



    By precisely the end of the third watch, Brim had carefully picked his way over the icy surface of the repair pool's monster brow and now stood impatiently on a platform before the mail gate. Light snow was falling, and for the first time he could recall, the wind was still. Even Gimmas Haefdon had its peaceful moments-but not many.
    She arrived only slightly late-Brim was checking his timepiece for the ten-thousandth time when headlights glowed softly down the road. Moments later, her well-used little skimmer was hovering at the platform.
    "Hungry?" she asked when he settled into the seat beside her.
    He nodded. With the hood of her cape back over her shoulders, she looked tired, relaxed, and ravishing. Brim felt his breath quicken. "Where are you taking me?" he asked in mock-frightened innocence.
    She looked his way for a moment. "A favorite place of mine," she answered. "1 think you'll like it, too-and it's not too far, either." They were soon off the main highway and climbing a gentle grade over what Brim guessed was once a country road, now buried irals deep in Gimmas Haefdon's everlasting snow. On either side, tall, tangled forms of ancient trees wound themselves into a sinuous wall of bare branches draped by garlands of snow-mute reminders of summers now lost forever as the dimming star Gimmas continued its long march toward ultimate death. Ahead, at the summit, soft lights shone in glittering circles through the gentle snowfall.
    "It must have been beautiful once," Brim pronounced, looking out at the dark landscape.
    "It still has its beauty, Wilf," she said quietly. "You've got to look for it, though." She smiled. "'Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of time/it is most hard, with an untroubled ear/Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear!'" They glided through an ornate metal gate set in a high stone arch-a huge lantern at its center illuminated the swept cobblestones of a spacious courtyard. She brought the skimmer to a halt before a mossy stone building with a great vaulted entrance whose dark wooden doors were covered by intricate carvings. Over these, a ponderous sign hung from stout chains below an age-bleached yardarm set into the stone. "MERMAID TAVERN," it read, "ESTABLISHED 51690"-nearly three hundred of Gimmas Haefdon's long years in the past.
    "Universe," Brim whispered in a hushed voice as he peered up at the snow-covered jumble of steep peaked roofs and tall stone chimneys. Huge wooden beams appeared everywhere, in every architectural capacity imaginable, each carved in bas-relief with shapes of strange animals and birds. Translucent first-floor windows glowed warmly in the darkness; here and there, a softer light emanated from the upper floors.
    "Like it?" Margot asked softly, her voice soft in the stillness of the tiny passenger compartment.
    Brim could only nod emotionally.
    "Wait till you see the inside," she said, smiling.
    Still shaking his head, Brim opened the door and stepped into cold air scented with the sharp spice of wood smoke. Snow tingling on his nose and cheeks, he held the opposite door -while she stepped out, a long, shapely leg escaping from her slit skirt in a giddy flash of white. Brim felt himself blush as his breath caught in his throat. Then all too soon she was on her feet, Fleet cape wrapped demurely around her.
    She smiled impishly. "Did that pass inspection?" she asked, eyes sparkling with good humor.
    Brim felt his face flush anew-thanking providence for the darkness. "I suppose I'm sorry I stared," he stammered in embarrassment. "I'd forgotten the uniform included anything like a dress gown." Then he chuckled. "And, yes," he admitted, "you certainly pass any inspection I'll ever give."
    "In that case, I shall take it as a compliment," she said, wrinkling her nose and smiling. "I always did have great legs." Then she started for the entrance, Brim trailing in utter disarray.
    He opened one of the huge wooden doors-it moved silently on massive hinges so perfectly balanced he thought for a moment it might be servo-activated. Then he smiled to himself as he helped her over the high stone stoop. No automatics here. In a place like the Mermaid Tavern, servomechanisms would be an intrusion.
    Inside, with the doors closed, the spicy odor of burning wood was much stronger-an impossible luxury here on Gimmas Haefdon, where the last tree must have died a hundred years in-the past. They were standing in a dark room with a low, beamed ceiling and rough-textured walls decorated with ancient landscapes mounted in massive frames. Flickering candelabra softly illuminated stout wooden furniture, richly patterned carpets, and a gleaming stone floor. Liveried domestics in long, ornate coats with oversized golden cuffs and collars materialized from nowhere and quietly helped them from their Fleet capes, then disappeared into one of many doorways leading from the room in all directions. -
    "Good evening, Princess Effer'wyck, Lieutenant Brim," a voice' said softly from beside a high wooden desk half hidden in the darkness. "We are most gratified you have chosen the Mermaid Tavern." Brim frowned as he turned to face the speaker.
    Like the domestics of his employ, the steward of the Mermaid Tavern wore a long red coat with oversized cuffs and collar. There however, resemblance ended. If by no other means, he was utterly distinguished by an explosion of curly white hair that reached all the way to his shoulders. A veritable landslide of ruffled lace separated lavishly embroidered lapels, and his silken breeches were white as his hair. Huge golden buckles decorated his gleaming shoes. He spoke with the guarded, inexpressive mien of those used to dealing with wealth and power-no trace of subservience, only a practiced grace and an unerring precognition of what people expected. - -
    Brim nodded silently when the man offered his arm to Margot. The place made him remotely uncomfortable-though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. He had the feeling it had more to do with his Carescrian background than anything else. He followed -them through another of the many doors into a second candle-lit room with a low ceiling and exquisitely carved beams. The tables were placed on islands of rich-looking carpet where shadowed couples sat close by each other in the soft warmth-here and there, he glimpsed badges of unimaginable rank. Eight formal musicians in black ruffles played quietly from a raised dais in the center of the room. They made a sound of such exquisite elegance Brim was reminded of his visits to Collingswood's cabin. Perhaps the same music-or composer? He listened, enraptured. Another kind of poetry, he guessed. It would bear study someday-if he survived the war.
    The shadow of Valentin's face suddenly intruded in his mind, and his skin prickled with remembered agony. .He gritted his teeth. Before he might involve himself in anything so beautiful as music, he would first have to deal with that evil zukeed and a lot more like him. Then he grimaced to himself and forced the anger from his mind. Tonight... Tonight, there was Margot. And he didn't intend to share her with anyone in any way-especially Leaguers!
    The quiet music blended with the murmur of intimate conversation and the gentle, ringing assonance of goblets. At the far end of the room, huge growing logs blazed in a high stone fireplace. Delicate odors of spice and rich perfume blended with the smooth effervescence of meem, hogge'poa, and burning wood, the whole muzzy atmosphere creating an aura of absolute luxury Brim found difficult to believe.
    The steward assisted Margot into a high-backed chair at a table close to the warmth of the fireplace-the other was placed so the table's occupants were compelled to sit together facing the fire. Somehow, the whole arrangement gave an illusion of privacy. Once they were seated, it was almost as if they occupied a warm, spice-laden room all their own. In the softly flickering firelight, Margot's lovely oval face seemed even more beautiful than ever-her moist red lips and sleepy eyes more desirable than any he could remember, or imagine.
    "You're quiet, Wilf," she said with her smiling frown. "Is there something wrong?"
    "No," Brim answered bemusedly. "Nothing's wrong at all. It's more like nothing has ever been quite so right."
    'That's good," she said, closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. "It's awfully nice for me, too." She smiled. "'All precious things discover'd late,/To those who seek them issue forth.'"
    Brim nodded. "'For life in sequel works with fate,/And flings the veil from hidden worth' Latmos the Elder always did write your kind of verse, you know," he added.
    Margot kissed her fingertips in admiration. "My kind?" she asked.
    "Well," Brim said, "so much of you as I know."
    She blushed. "I'm terribly honored," she said.
    "You should be," be commented, watching a domestic serve from a dust-covered bottle of Logish meem. "He wrote for no one else but you-and did so more than five hundred years before you were born. Makes you quite social, you know."
    She laughed. "You're pretty special yourself, Lieutenant Brim. And you don't even need Latmos."
    "Me?"
    "You," Margot affirmed. She frowned. "You know, Wilf, I haven't beard a word from you about what you really went through out there-only the technical detail." She raised her eyebrows and moved her face close to his. "Anybody else would still be crowing about how brave be was."
    Brim snorted. "Nothing much to brag about," he said. 'They beat me up same, and we lost the merchantman we went after in the first place."
    "You did have something to do with stopping the corvette, though."
    "Well," Brim admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "Yes, I suppose I did. But anyone could probably have done the same. The brave ones were Ursis and Barbousse-they started the commotion that let me get away."
    She laughed-a wonderful, honest laugh Brim wished he could somehow keep going for the rest of his life. "Wilf Brim," she declared, "you are impossible. Nothing to it, eh?"
    Now it was Brim's turn to laugh. "Well," he said, "I had to let one of them shoot me, if I remember correctly."
    Her face was suddenly serious, and she brought her face close to his again. "That's what I mean," she said. "You are special. Do you have any idea how many people wear the Fleet uniform-call themselves Blue Capes-and never even hear a shot fired. People like me, Wilf."
    "Wait a cycle," Brim protested suddenly. "Getting shot at or not getting shot at has little to do with much of anything. It just turns out that I fly starships pretty well. And people naturally shoot at starships-big targets." He shrugged, looking her in her sleepy eyes. "If I could do something else better, they'd probably have me doing that."
    Macgot sighed. "I stand by my words, Mr. Brim," she said. "You are impossible." She smiled sleepily, her face soft in the firelight. "Given sufficient impossible people, we might even win this awful war."
    Later, they dined sumptuously on food Brim recently thought be would never live to savor again. And they talked-about starships, the war, poetry, and love. But as the evening passed, they settled more on matters of love. For a while, Margot drew him out, listening to his words with a faraway look in her eyes. Later, she spoke of her own first lover. "I was terribly fortunate," she told him, her eyes focused across unbridgeable gulfs of space and time. "He had so much love to give. So gentle..."
    Brim felt a thickness in his throat. He knew he would carry her words to the end of his days-and an irrational jealousy be would never manage to overcome. Without thinking, he took her hand-'then panicked when he realized what he had done. To his surprise, she responded with her own hand, then looked silently into his eyes.
    It was suddenly difficult to breathe in the tropical wash of her perfume. She was speaking as she squeezed his hand. She bad a confused look in her sleepy eyes. "I hardly know you, Wilf," she was saying hesitantly. "What's the matter with me?" Then she closed her eyes and shook her head-but kept her tight grip on his hand. In a moment, she seemed to regain herself and took a deep breath. "Hello, Lieutenant Brim," she said huskily as she opened her eyes.
    "Hello;" Brim answered. He took her other hand, oblivious to anyone else in the room, then abruptly threw caution to. the winds. "I noticed they have rooms upstairs," be said. "Should people find themselves, ah..."
    "0-Overcome... ." she stammered.
    "Yes. By, ah, whatever," Brim finished.
    She laughed suddenly. "'Whatever,"' she repeated. "I hate that terrible word, Wilf. My mother used it when she wanted to avoid me." She drained her goblet. "And, yes," she said, bringing her face close to his. "They do have rooms upstairs." Then she looked at her hands as if she were afraid to say the rest.
    Brim never wanted anyone the way he wanted Margot Effer'wyck now-ever in his life. He squeezed her hand, took a film grip on his fast eroding emotions. "Th-Then..." he stammered shakily, "then, would you... ?" Before he could finish, he was stopped in midsentence by a hand on his shoulder, and taken completely by surprise, he turned in the seat, heart pounding, to confront the tavern's white-haired steward.
    "A thousand pardons, Lieutenant Brim," the man whispered. "Your transponder."
    "Sweet thraggling Universe," Brim swore fiercely under his breath. The thrice-xaxtdamned personal transponder he'd swallowed! He closed his eyes in total and absolute defeat. "Wry -well," he said with resignation. "Let's have the bad news."
    The steward handed him a tiny message packet, which he authenticated with a fingerprint and placed in his ear.
    "You are summoned immediately to I.F.S. Prosperous," it said, "at emergency priority. Your kit is already packed and delivered from Truculent."
    "I deeply regret the intrusion, Princess Effer'wyck," the -steward said as he turned to leave. "We had no choice."
    'I understand," Margot answered with a wry look. Then she turned to Brim. "What?" she asked.
    "I.F.S. Prosperous," Brim whispered. "I've been summoned."
    With an incredulous look in her eyes, Margot suddenly dissolved into giggles. "A transponder?" she asked incredulously. "You really swallowed one of those things, didn't you?"
    "Yeah," Brim admitted, cheeks burning from sudden embarrassment.
    "Oh, Wilf," she exclaimed. "Didn't anybody tell you?"
    "No," be admitted. "I haven't been around long enough to learn much of anything that's not in a textbook."
    She shook her head. "Well," she said, "you've just had lesson one." She smiled sadly. 'There's no getting out of priority emergency. At least none I know." She squeezed his hand for a moment more, then gently withdrew. "I can probably save you a few steps in my skimmer. We Assessment types get cleared for all sorts of strange places."
    They were on their way back down the tree-lined road in a matter of cycles.
    



    No sooner had Margot swung onto the causeway than the Mermaid Tavern, the fire, everything but the woman herself quickly faded to an aura of unreality. Even with shared expenses, he'd never before spent so much for a single meal- nor been in a position where be could. He had no illusions about why everything bad gone so well. The name Effer'wyck was well known-often feared-all over the galaxy and beyond. But she'd never mentioned it. He smiled to himself. This beautiful young woman had no need to try to impress anyone; she simply did.
    The wind had picked up considerably since the third watch, and she drove skillfully in the gusts, picking her way among rapidly forming snowdrifts. Now, it was she who was strangely silent when they quit the main thoroughfare, this time for a side road crowded with heavily loaded vehicles of all kinds. She drew to a stop before one of a dozen heavily guarded sentry booths and offered her ID card. It flashed an unusual color passing through their reader (which it did, Brim noticed, with singular ease). "I'm delivering Lieutenant Brim," she said simply as she handed his card through the window after her own. Both were returned with a half-heard, 'Thank you, Princess," then they were waved through into the milling confusion of the loading complex.
    "It's been a wonderful evening, Margot," Brim said lamely as she drove carefully through, the crowded system of ramps leading to the 'midships brow. Beyond, a mammoth liner floated on a gravity pool of truly heroic proportions-easily five or six times the size of those in the Eorean starwharves. The
    Fleet's ebony hullmetal could by no means hide her thoroughbred lines. She was Prosperous, all right. More than 950 graceful irals of blue riband starliner-with speed and power in her gigantic bull to outrun all but the fastest warships.
    Margot stopped the skimmer short of the orderly mob passing through the gate, then turned his way, face softly lighted by the instruments. Her heavy-lidded eyes were moist, and she had a serious appearance that Brim had never seen before.
    "It was a wonderful evening, Wilf," she said. She blew her nose softly on a lace handkerchief. "And I think I owe you an apology. I'm afraid I let things get way out of band back there."
    "We both did," Brim agreed. "But then, nothing really came of it, either."
    "No," she said quietly. "But you don't understand..."
    "I don't want to understand anything," Brim asserted suddenly, surprised at the force of his own voice. "I want your lips, Margot-after that, we can reset and start over again. But I want a kiss from you more than anything else in the Universe."
    Without a word, she was in his arms, her lips pushing eagerly against his, wet and open-and hungry. Her breath was sweet in his nostrils as she clung to him, big in his arms; an ample woman. Their teeth touched for an instant, and be opened his eyes-hers opened too, blurred out of focus before they gently closed again. He felt her tremble, then her grip suddenly loosened. She took a great gulp of air, and he released her.
    They sat in panting silence for a moment, Brim's heart pounding all out of control.
    "I th-think I'd better go right now, Wilf," Margot said in a shaken voice. "My 'reset' is going to be difficult enough as it is."
    Opening the door of the skimmer to the noisy bustle and confusion outside, be nodded wordlessly and jumped to the snow, touching his fingers to his lips. She returned the salute as be gently pressed the door closed, then moved off in a cloud of snow and was quickly lost in the throng of vehicles.
    With an unaccountably heavy heart, Brim pushed his way through the crowd toward the guard shack where someone who looked very much like Utrillo Barbousse waited with a familiar battered traveling case.
    "Barbousse?"
    The huge starman saluted as Brim stepped into the lighted area at the entrance to the brow. "Lieutenant (3allsworthy thought you might need some assistance, Lieutenant, sir," he shouted above the noise of the big ship's generators. "An' I hadn't made plans for the layover, so I took the liberty of signing on the cruise with you." He handed Brim the side-action blaster.
    "It's the kind of mission you might be needin' this."
    Brim shook his head and grinned with honest appreciation. He clapped the big starman on the shoulder (which felt like Octillian shore granite). "Let's be on our way, then, Barbousse, my friend," he said. "It's becoming very clear I have an awful lot to learn about the Fleet-and everything else as well."

Baldwin, Bill - The Helmsman Chapter 5