THE HELMSMAN
BY BILL BALDWIN
CHAPTER 9
Margot reached Brim amid murmured admiration from the gathered revelers, took his hands, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Wilf," she whispered with a breathless smile, "I knew you'd manage it tonight-'Fresh evening winds have blown away all fear/From my glad bosom ,-now from gloominess/I mount forever."'
Stunned for a moment, he could only stare at her blue eyes, moist lips, and perfect teeth. Never had he seen so much of her shoulders-the swell of her small breasts. He felt his heart rush. "Margot," he said in a whispered croak. "How wonderfully beautiful you are."
She laughed. "I suppose I am a little more presentable than the last time you saw me," she said, her voice mellow and the beautiful over the sparkling background of music and conversation. She touched the A'zurnian medal on his tunic and smiled, looking him directly in the eye. "I'm very proud of you, Wilf," she whispered.
Somewhere far away, detached words announced the arrival of someone named Godelle, but Brim hardly noticed. He wanted nothing in the Universe more than taking Margot Effer'wyck in his arms and holding her tightly. It was as if they were alone in the room.
Abruptly, she seemed to read his mind. She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "Not yet, Wilf," she breathed almost inaudibly. "I have additional functions I must perform with my new assignment on Avalon-and we shall have to share each other for a while tonight." She gently guided him toward the lights and music, pressing his arm-her perfume was the very soul of seduction.
The dance floor! Brim almost froze. He'd learned exactly enough about social dancing to minimally satisfy his infrequent social commitments at the Academy-and nothing more. Helmsmen especially had little time for anything else but flying. "Margot..." he warned, but he was already far too late. Abruptly, he found her in his arms-and they were moving, she flowing with the music, he stiff and suddenly a little frightened.
"Universe, Wilf," she laughed in his ear, "you are a horrible dancer, aren't you?"
"I know," he agreed. "Maybe we ought to..."
"Won't work," she laughed. "You'll have to finish this set with me no matter what." She nearly touched his nose with hers, looking deeply in his eyes and smiling. "Oh, Wilf, relax," she said. "Here, hold me like...this. Yes. That's better."
Brim suddenly found her fitted comfortably against him, her soft cheek pressing his. And it was easier. He felt her body-her breasts. He breathed her perfume, felt his movements become one with hers. He held her tighter.
And the music stopped.
In a rush, the world returned while she slowly released him. He held her hands, desperately trying to stop time's headlong rush. "I don't want to let go, Margot," he heard his voice say-his heart was beating all out of control.
She shook her head and placed a gloved finger to his lips.
"Our time is later, Wilf," she said. "Trust me. For we shall finish the evening together-pretending it is the Mermaid Tavern again."
Then Brim felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to confront a beaming Prince Onrad.
"We meet again, Lieutenant," the nobleman said warmly. "May I interrupt your reunion with my blond cousin?"
Brim bowed. "My liege," he said, gritting his teeth in spite of himself.
"Cousin Onrad," Margot said with an abbreviated curtsy. "What a pleasure."
Onrad laughed with a twinkle in his eye as the music began. "I shall interpose myself only temporarily, Brim," he said mischievously. "We princes seldom venture into hopeless contests-especially those that are clearly lost before the play begins." Then he bowed to Margot, took her in his arms, and they were instantly swept into the rush of dancers.
Brim soon found himself with another goblet of meem as he listened to the music and watched couples whirl by on the dance floor. His eyes strayed momentarily to a lovely oval face framed in a halo of soft brown hair. He looked away in embarrassment, but his gaze was drawn back like iron to a magnet.
And her eyes were waiting. She smiled and met his glance.
Brim found himself moving through the crowd.
"Lieutenant Brim," she said with a curtsy when he stepped to her side. "I hoped I should meet you tonight."
Brim bowed. "I am honored, ma'am," he said. "But I didn't catch..."
"Cintha," she said. "Cintha Onleon." She had enormous eyelashes, a tiny nose, and perfectly shaped lips. Her tightly fitting gown was tawny gold and reminded Brim of nothing so much as a large flower bud whose petals were just beginning to open. Like Margot's, her skirt was also slit high along one side, but the overall accent was clearly on bosom-white, stunning bosom.
And while they talked and drank, it became amply clear to Brim that neither he nor she had anything remotely interesting or important to say to each other-only empty, hackneyed words. He was mostly fascinated by her ample sensuousness-she (at least by her conversation) in his battle experience-and later a shared bed.
It was not enough. He actually welcomed the Army officer (with large, red-veined ears); who noisily foisted himself upon them and provided opportunity for escape to another part of room-alone.
In this manner, much of his evening passed: a tall, slim Marshia in revealing black lace followed Cintha-and was herself followed by a petite Beatrice scantily dressed in ruffled pink. Each was fascinating in her own way-and most probably available for much more serious dalliance. But none was Margot Effer'wyck. He discovered to his surprise that good looks and willingness-long his primary standards-were no longer nearly enough to satisfy the person whom he had lately -become. Now he also required fascinating conversation, professional accomplishment, even a bit of elitism. He shook his head. Carescria was a long way off, indeed!
Now and again, he caught sight of Margot dancing with (he assumed) important guests-always someone different, always someone of considerable rank. And each partner appeared to be completely enthralled as she laughed and talked and danced. Often, he saw her standing centered in groups of admirers, constantly smiling and drinking with apparent girlish abandon.
Twice, she returned to him for a single-wonderful--dance set when she placed her cheek against his and he never even noticed if he was dancing or not. The second time, her eyes were even more heavily lidded than usual. Her cheeks had a pinkish tinge, and she held him tighter than ever before. "Voot's beard, Wilf," she whispered in his ear, "I've never seen so much good Logish meem-Uncle Wyrood's certainly opened his best cellars for us tonight." She giggled musically, then hugged him closely for a moment as the music ended-and as he was beginning to feel embarrassing sensations in his loins.
Finally, after what seemed like an age of eternities, the crowd began to thin and Margot returned to his arms to stay. "The time of sharing is past, Wilf," she whispered. "Now I shall have you all to myself." They strolled into the coolness of the plaza-almost empty now-and made their way under the panthon trees to the fountain he had watched from his room. She brushed a dusting of tiny glowing blossoms from his hair and stared into his eyes, smiling enigmatically. "'Night sublime, Oh night of love,"' she recited in a whisper, "'Oh smile on our caressing;/Moons and stars keep watch above/Our splendorous night of love'"'
Fervently, Brim completed the stanza, written more than a thousand years in the past by the ancient composer Giulietta. "'Cycles fly, and ne'er return,/Our joys, Alas! are fleeting. /OnIy memory's flame will burn/For spells that ne'er return'"
Avalon seemed to fade completely, the half-heard orchestra now played from at least a galaxy away, and the gentle rush of the fountain wrapped them in a warbling cloak of privacy. Above the dark gables of Lordglen, Avalon's twin moons- both glowing at full disk-flooded the plaza with a golden shadow of magic. They stood silently for a moment before he drew her toward him-eyes closed and arms around his neck. And his whole Universe became two wet and pouted lips. Brim felt his body trembling as he held her and breathed in the sensuous fragrance of her perfume. He opened his eyes. Hers were open, too, and he read in them all he needed to know. "Margot," he whispered while their lips still touched. "I want..." He swallowed and shook his head. "No," he said, "I need to make love to you. And I need to now."
Her eyes continued to look into his, but the heavy lids became heavier still. "Finally," she breathed with a sleepy smile. "For a moment, I was afraid I might have to ask you." Then her eyes closed and she covered his lips with hers, pressing herself against him for a long time before, arm in arm, they made their way back indoors again.
"I have a room upstairs," Brim suggested in the privacy of the music-filled room. "We could be alone there in a matter of cycles."
She laughed quietly as they made their way through the dancers to the great ebony doors. "Nothing would give my dear cousin Onrad more pleasure than to watch me rutting in bed with you," she said in a low voice. "Which he surely would-from all angles-were we to make our tryst here in Lordglen." She shook her head. "No, Wilf, I think we shall take our pleasure elsewhere-where no one will dare invade our privacy."
Brim raised an eyebrow.
"At the Effer'ian Embassy," Margot said firmly. "I live there now. And believe me, Wilf, no recorders invade the privacy of Princess Effer'wyck, at least not in her own bedroom."
Aboard Margot's chauffeured limousine skimmer, Brim struggled to maintain his decorum. It was evident she was troubled by problems of the same nature, for she shifted position every few ticks and squeezed his hand nervously a number of times. At last, the great vehicle glided to a halt beneath a small, dimly lighted portico. "The servants' entrance, WiIf," she explained with a wry smile as a huge green-livened footman with eyes politely averted opened the door of the limousine. "I hope you understand."
Brim laughed quietly. "I know any man at the ball would gladly kill if he could trade places with me at this servants' door right now," he said, kissing her hand. He helped her to the pavement, then followed as she led through the portico doorway, along a narrow corridor (also clearly made for servants-Brim knew that part of the Empire well!), and into a service lift. Less than a cycle later, he stood inside her softly lighted bedroom. Peripherally, he could sense an aura of incredible luxury, but none of it held any importance-only Margot mattered now. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he half heard the door latch shut-and she was in his arms, her breathing as rapid and urgent as his own. She teased his mouth with her lips and tongue.
And suddenly her arms were no longer around him. He opened his eyes just in time to watch her reach for something behind her neck. She smiled happily, gently arched her back, then drew the crossed halves of her bodice from the pointed whiteness of her breasts. A moment later, the skirt and sash too lay in a heap around her ankles. She wore nothing underneath. Heart pounding all out of control, Brim stared down at the knobby pink aureoles of her swollen nipples, the half-sensed network of delicate veins in the creamy skin beyond. He felt his arms begin to shake uncontrollably, looked deeply in her heavy eyes.
"Hurry, Wilf," she whispered as he fumbled out of his own clothes. "Please..."
Naked, he pulled her trembling shoulders close to him again, gently kissed her open lips while his thoughts went whirling to all corners of the Universe. Then they stumbled off toward the huge canopied bed.
Long before dawn, Brim sat on the edge of the bed, breathing her pungent scent on his face and stroking the damp golden thatch beneath her stomach. She sighed and shivered as his fingers moved upward over the firm mound of her abdomen, strayed for a moment at her buried navel.
And he thought of his hands. They were soft-Helmsmen didn't dare grow calluses. But nine or ten years earlier, they wouldn't have pleasured her so. Then, those same hands were hard as any other Carescnan miner's. He forced himself to dwell on them for a moment-it never hurt to remember one's origins, especially in the middle of such unbelievable luxury and intense pleasure.
"Wilf," she whispered at length, guiding his face down to her own. "What am I going to do about Rogan?"
Brim shrugged and bit his lip. "I suppose I should feel a little guilty about him," he said tonelessly. "I know you two are in love."
She shook her head. "'We seldom are as that we seem,'" she recited pensively; "'Truth has its little masquerades./Appearance dot/i protect the dream.'"
He moved closer to her on the bed and sat quietly while she sorted her thoughts.
"What the Empire can't know-what you can't know," she continued after a considerable lapse of time, "is that I never have loved him." She looked at him and smiled in resignation. "Oh, he comes here with me. I'm not fool enough to hope you'd believe he doesn't. Not after what you've seen of me tonight. But aside from that, we're little more than close friends-locked into a rather dismal little courtship based on nothing more interesting than political necessity." She smiled ironically at him. "Our child will eventually rule both the whole Effer Cluster and the five industrial centers of the Torond." She laughed. "Shrewd old Greyffin IV saw that quickly enough-soon as my father produced a female. He set the whole thing up on the day of my birth. When Rogan had passed fifteen natal anniversaries."
"Does LaKarn love you?" Wilf asked when she was finished, suddenly afraid of her answer.
She smiled and shook her head, staring up at the ceiling.
"Sometimes when we are here, be says be does-for a few cycles. But aside from those moments, he appears to be much more interested in his career at the Admiralty."
Brim laughed quietly. "I seem to remember recently bleating earnest protestations of love myself," he said. "Probably at about the same emotional juncture as he."
"Did you mean them?" she asked, suddenly sitting up to face him.
He met her gaze evenly. "I meant every word I said, Margot," -he pronounced carefully. "Then and now."
She drew his face to hers, kissed him lightly on the lips.
"I believe you, Wilf," she said. "As I believed you then."
"And?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "Honestly."
'Brim snorted. "In any case," be pronounced in mock seriousness, "1 now have an everlasting quarrel with my Emperor."
"You needn't," she said with unexpected concern. "I told you Rogan is usually a great deal more concerned about his career than anything I have to offer." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Sometimes, it gets pretty lonely."
Brim shook his head helplessly. "I'm sorry," he said. Surprisingly, he found he actually meant it.
"Don't be sorry," she said. "It's helped bring us together, I suppose."
"Us?"
"Well," she said, her eyes sparkling with impish humor, you've probably guessed I have little desire to exist as a blushing virgin."
Brim grinned. "After tonight, it would be difficult for you claim anything like that," be said. "Blushing or otherwise." She laughed. "We did take care of any lingering doubts,
didn't we? But it still proves my point."
"Which is?"
"Well, just about the time you returned from your first mission, he hadn't been by for a couple of months. And..." She shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed by her own words. "You're cute, Wilf. Sexy. And I was, well, you know...."
"I think I have the picture," Brim said, feeling himself blush, too, in spite of the present circumstances.
"Anyway," Margot went on quickly, "I didn't think I'd have much problem. Girls with legs like these never do. Except.
"Except?"
"Except you quickly got to mean far too much. I've suspected I love you since we were in the Mermaid Tavern. I'd have gladly shared anywhere with you that night. A broom closet would have been fine. And that's awful."
"I don't understand."
"You're going to have to understand," she said, suddenly serious again. "Because I can't shirk my duty as a princess, Wilf. This thing with Rogan is a lot bigger than anything I am now or ever will be. It won't just go away by itself. In fact," she said seriously, "it may never go away."
"Universe," Brim said, gritting his teeth.
"And how you fit into the scheme of things is something I'm going to have to work out," she said presently. "By myself. I find I can't think very intelligently when you're around like this."
Brim grimaced, guessing what was coming next. "I hope you're not going to ask me to-"
"Yes, I am, Wilf," she interrupted firmly. "Until I come up with some acceptable answers, you've got to stay out of my life. Probably, it'll be harder on me than it is on you. But the politics of this little triangle in which I seem to find myself affects too many people-worlds."
"What if you find I don't fit?" Brim asked. "Do I have any rights? After all, this thing is pretty important to me, too."
Margot smiled sadly. "First, I've got to satisfy my obligations as a princess. Then we can start working out some sort of relationship between ourselves-if, indeed, one can really exist."
Brim closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "All right, Margot," he said, running his fingers through her golden curls. "After today, I'll wait until you work things out-as long as wish, I suppose. I may not like it much, but I'll do it. '1 wish what you desire-/Our wishes reconciling./Your whims I suit admire,/And wish to keep you smiling."'
She kissed him softly on the lips-he felt the stirring in his loins.
"But today is only today," he reminded her, "and I know I'm going to need you again before I go."
Margot glanced momentarily into his lap-and grinned. "Wanton," she chided in mock reproach. Then she kissed his nose playfully and lay back on the rumpled satin bedclothes, smiling happily. "You've already had so much of me you couldn't finish the last time-but, oh how I want you to try at least once more."
Considerably later, with early morning sunlight filtering in at the sides of the heavy draperies, Brim quietly left the warmth of Margot's bed and dressed himself in his badly wrinkled formal uniform, most of which still littered the floor. He looked down at her as she slept, face framed in yellow ringlets, then gently pulled a sheet over her shoulder. Brushing her cheeks with his lips, he gathered the meem-colored gown from where it lay, placed it neatly over a chair, then silently exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. He stood for a moment in the early morning silence of the ornate hallway- reflecting that he might well have already spent the most beautiful, exciting night he would ever experience in his life. He wondered when-or indeed if-he would ever sample the same pleasures again, then shook his head. One paid a high price, he observed, when trading the relative simplicity of Carescrian hopelessness for the complex life in which he now found himself embroiled. Those days, he would never have so much as dreamed of a first night with such a woman, much less worry about others that might follow! Then he shrugged. Were it possible to undo everything since his entrance to the Academy, he would change nothing. Margot was clearly worth any effort. But the emotional price of hope was high, indeed.
He was met at the bottom of the lift by the same liveried chauffeur who delivered them to the servants' entrance the night before-this time, the man was dressed in a light gray uniform instead of the distinctive green habit peculiar to the House of Effer. He was tall and powerful looking, with a huge, square chin and piercing gray eyes. "Good morrow, Lieutenant," he said in a rich bass voice.
"Good morrow, Freeman"," Brim replied, returning the man's rural Effer'ian greeting in kind.
The chauffeur beamed. "What are your wishes this morning, Lieutenant?" he asked. "I am at your service."
"I'll gladly settle for a ride to the Lordglen House," Brim replied.
"No more than that, Lieutenant? Perhaps we could tidy up your uniform while you breakfast?"
"A ride will be more than sufficient," Brim said.
"You'll have it, then," the man replied with an approving nod. "I shall fetch the skimmer."
Within a metacycle, another limousine-this one unmarked-deposited Brim under the glowing portico of the Lordglen House, and before midday he found himself again at the Quentian Portal of Avalon's Grand Imperial Terminal. As luck would have it, he arrived too late for the Proteus shuttle-by no more than five cycles. The next was scheduled three metacycles hence. He spent more than two of them regaining some of his lost sleep, then started on his way through the terminal toward the shuttle's departure gate.
Shortly after he stepped onto blue Concourse 991, his eyes were drawn to a bright red dress and golden curls below as the walkway moved across orange 55. Heart racing, he peered over the glowing azure balustrade. It was Margot-no mistaking her ever again. She was arm in arm with a highly decorated commander. No mistaking him, either. Rogan LaKam. Brim felt his spirits plummet to despair. Gritting his teeth in jealous anger, he stepped back to the center of the moving concourse and continued on without looking back. He bit his lip as his mind's eye peevishly tortured him with imagined scenes in Margot's bedroom-the one he had left no more than a few metacycles before!
Then he snorted in the midst of his hopeless frustration. If nothing else, his recent efforts would certainly serve to dull the edge of LaKarn's bedtime pleasures. He laughed a little to himself about that. It helped some. But not enough.
"'Civilization Lixor,'" Theada read aloud in Truculent's nearly deserted bridge as he stared into a display. "'Number of Planets: twelve (one habitable); Total Population (Census of 51995): 8,206,800; Capital: Tandor-Ra; Monetary Unit: Arbera.'" He slouched in the right-hand Helmsman's station with his feet propped comfortably on the center console perusing The Galactic Almanac (And Handy Encyclopedia) for 51997. "Don't ya just love it?" he asked grumpily, waiting for a test routine to terminate.
"Yeah. I love it," Brim snorted while his own diagnostic routine splashed vibrant colors across the left-hand console before him. He idly brought the same information to a more convenient display and continued to read for himself:
Lixor is the only habitable planet among 12 satellites orbiting Hagath-37 (binary red and green star of eclipsing separation 3.0o) occupying a strategic location in the 91st Province astride three cross-galaxy trade routes (R-99183, C.48-E-7, and 948.RJT) that skirt massive and treacherous asteroid shoals extending for hundreds of c'lenyts in all directions. Twice the size of Proteus, this planet orbits with an Arias-19 type of synchronous rotation that perpetually directs the same hemisphere toward its star. Nearly 100% of the population inhabits this hemisphere, tropical at that portion nearest the light, temperate at the zone of transition ("Lands of Shadows"). The dark hemisphere is little used except for starship landing facilities. Inguer and Vatthan are the largest star ports. ...
Outside in the perpetual nighttide of a military dockyard near Inguer, the dim, fog-shrouded world almost bashfully revealed itself in the feeble glow of three reddish-blue moons. Now and again, a restless breeze shredded the flowing mist enough that Brim could see a few irals of Truculent's frost-caked deck. Occasionally, there were glimpses of the glowing gravity pool below and sometimes the dark outlines of capable-looking patrol vessels berthed nearby, including a compact battleship of unique Lixorian design. He shook his, head. For all practical purposes, this end of the crazy world made even Gimmas Haefdon seem like a tropical paradise in comparison.
Five standard months-a lifetime, almost-had passed since Avalon and the luxury of the Lordglen House of State. Even the heady pleasures of Margot's bedroom dimmed in the pitiless, grinding confusion of all-out blockade warfare. The Princess herself had become a magnificent chimera, especially now that her messages had ceased to arrive again.
Theada completed his suite of checkouts, then, smiling wearily, he started aft toward the bridge exit (and the wardroom). Brim initiated still another long diagnostic routine on the master console and listlessly returned his gaze to the Almanac.
Resources and Industries
Although half of the habitable land mass is forested, Lixor contains much productive land on which Lixorians have attained high efficiency in agriculture. Of the total land area, 9.9% is cultivated, 2.5% pasture. Chief agriculture outputs include grains, vegetable oils, fibers, and logus products.
Main natural resources are forests, a vast asteroid belt containing rich deposits of metal, and solar power. Other forms of energy are imported. Commerce (including a thriving armaments industry) employs 35% of the work population, agriculture 7%. Lixonan hullmetal is of special value for reaction-chamber vessels. Other ores produced are metallic zar'cinium, lead, copper...
Metallic zar'clinium, hullmetal, and a "thriving armaments industry": commerce indeed, Brim laughed grimly to himself. Everybody desperately needed Lixorian goods -Imperials and Leaguers alike (Truculent's own reaction chambers were encased in superb Lixorian hullmetal). He continued to read.
History and Politics
Lixor is a parliamentary democracy with a king as head of state and a prime minister as principal operating officer....
The Government holds permanent memberships in the Trans-galaxian Educational Cooperative, LANN, EC, and United Independent Trading Council. During the present hostilities, the nation remains neutral, maintaining time-limited, renewable trade agreements with all major powers. Approximately .1% of its Gross Product (GP) is distributed in aid to developing civilizations.
The Almanac, as usual, used polite words to describe what Brim (and disdaining people all over the galaxy) regarded as distinctly unpolite situation. The avaricious Lixorians sold everything and anything they could manufacture to both sides of the great galactic struggle with no compunction whatso-ever-even while pontificating vociferously about their abhorrence of war. Brim shook his head. Lixorians had it all their way, it seemed. Playing both sides against the middle they kept the major combatants constantly reminded of a (very real) need to "protect" irreplaceable Lixorian industries. So long as both sides depended on Lixorian output, neither dare to destroy it. And Lixorian coffers swelled accordingly-in conjunction with their small but expensive military space fleet which included ten very powerful space forts on "formed" asteroids placed strategically in orbits around their planet.
Defense
Full mobilizable strength exceeds 750,000. Military service is compulsory. A sphere of ten powerful, permanently manned forts constructed from large asteroids and towed into place protects the single inhabited planet. Each fort is armed with enormous disruptors of special Lixorian manufacture. The starfleet is powerful considering the size of the civilization it protects but is mostly limited to numerous small craft (mainly LightSpeed-limited torpedo and cannon-armed patrol craft) optimized in the direction of high acceleration and maneuverability for synergism with the space forts. Three small area-defense battleships of the Reneken class complete this efficient defense organization.
The right to buy Lixorian goods was negotiated by treaty every two Standard years, when prices were raised to the threshold of outright economic pain, then a few arberas more- all of which had to do with Truculent's arrival on the strange planet hardly more than a Standard day earlier.
With the present treaty only weeks from expiration, the Lixorian Prime Minister had at last "permitted" Greyffin IV's Imperial Government to petition for new terms. Truculent (out-bound from battle-damage patching) was fortuitously available at the time and comandeered by the Admiralty to carry a team of economic negotiators who would hammer out details of the new agreement-but not sign it. That task was reserved far more impressive diplomats traveling aboard a powerful battle-cruiser squadron with a highly classified arrival schedule.
Shortly after planetfall, Gallsworthy and Pym had taken one of the launches to fly Collingswood, Amherst, and the negotiators into a resort area near Tandor-Ra where bargaining sessions were scheduled to begin on the morrow. Now the destroyer and her crew awaited return of their principal members and the launch before returning to the blockade zone.
At last finished with his final set of diagnostic routines, Brim wearily pulled himself from his recliner and started aft toward the chart room and the bridge exit-the end of another seemingly endless watch.
He never made it from the bridge.
"Lieutenant Brim," Applewood called from the COMM console. "A KA'PPA for you marked, 'Most urgent emergency priority.'"
Brim raised an eyebrow and turned toward the signal rating-one whole section of his console was flashing the bright blue of a top-priority transmission.
"Overrode the bloody mail and Admiralty messages, it did, Lieutenant," Applewood grumped. "Have to restart the whole sequence now."
"For me?" Brim asked, ignoring the other's complaints.
"From the Captain," Applewood replied, his bald head shining in the strange moonlight. "Funny stuff goin' on, Lieutenant. COMM bands are full of craziness. Noise and strange talk-like Leaguer jargon, kind of. All over..."
Thoughts of rest forgotten, Brim hurried to the COMM console. "Let's have the message," he said, frowning.
Applewood generated a text globe. "MOST URGENT EMERGENCY PRIORITY FOR WILF BRIM @ TRUCULENT FROM COLLINGS WOOD @ TANDOR-RA," the message began. "CONFERENCE AREA UNDER HEAVY AIR BOMBARDMENT BY THREE LEAGUE DESTROYERS', (BELIEVE TYPE NF-1 10). LAUNCH DESTROYED." The transmission stopped abruptly with the words, "YOU ARE IN COMMAND."
"Is that all?" Brim demanded.
"Don't think so, somehow," Applewood grunted as he busily tried to pick up more transmissions. "But my readouts indicate a time-out on the data stream. I think maybe they lost their KA'PPA, or..." He stopped in midsentence. "Here, Lieutenant," he said abruptly. "Here's somethin' else now. Broadcast in the clear-audio and video. Look." He activated a display globe:
Citizens of Tandor-Ra: The League is aware your mediators are about to negotiate a new economic treaty with the Universal scum from the Empire. Heed this personal warning from Nergol Trianmc delivered by units of His mighty starfleets:
"We shall tolerate no special terms for the crawling spawn of Greyffln IV. Keep in mind it is only by Our good will that you continue to do business with this filth from Avalon. 'Should you grant favorable terms at this or subsequent meetings,
We shall know and you will mark Our anger well."
My ships will return in a few cycles to administer a second warning. Note carefully that we do not attack Lixor or Lixorians. Therefore, we shall consider it an act of war should any Lixorian forces take hostile action against us. (signed) K. L. Valentin, Overprefect, S.M.S. Grothor.
Valentin! Narrowing his eyes, Brim lost no more than a few ticks as he made up his mind. "Mr. Chairman," he ordered quietly, "pull Collingswood's message up on every ship's console so people don't waste time asking questions, then sound 'Action Stations.' By authority of the Captain's orders, I am taking immediate command of this ship."
"Acknowledged, Lieutenant," the Chairman intoned.
Brim retraced his way forward among the consoles amid alarms sounding from the companionway. Valentin! The same Valentin, possibly? He shrugged, already too busy to give the matter more than passing thought. Less than a cycle later, the first of Truculent's flight crew began galloping onto the bridge and into their battle suits.
"Rig ship for immediate lift-off, Jubal," Brim yelled as the younger Helmsman activated the right-hand console. "Nik! I'll need full military power soon as you get the antigravs on stream."
Without a word, Ursis smashed off the main power limiters, then dump-started both generators at the same time. Brim had never been aboard a starship-anywhere-when the power drain was enough to dim the bridge lights. Truculent's nearly went out. But the consoles held their function, and with the deck shuddering violently beneath his feet, he listened as the big machines began spinning up.
"Anastasia," he shouted over the rising sound, "I'm going to need every weapons system you've got! Disruptors. Mines. Torpedoes. The whole toot and stumble."
"How about a couple of rocks?" Fourier quipped from a display.
"Great idea," Brim laughed. "If you got some, keep 'em handy. You never know."
"Generators are running and ready at standby," Ursis reported from a display.
Stunned, Brim looked at his own instruments. "Universe," he gulped, "you did that in four cycles."
"I am in a personal hurry to see who this Valentin is," Ursis said with tooth stones flashing.
'Thanks, Nik," Brim said. He meant it. Outside through the swirling fog, he saw the base had suddenly come alive. Everywhere lamps were doused, but moonlight revealed heavy traffic on the access roads as crews raced for their vessels. Soon mooring beams began to wink out-but not a ship moved from its gravity pool.
"Tandor-Ra's broadcast orders that none of the ships outside are to lift, Lieutenant," Applewood reported momentarily. "Sent the best part of the message in the clear, they did. And nobody who's already up is to interfere in any way."
'The bastards," Brim snarled through clenched teeth. "The xaxtdamned, credit-grabbing, Lixorian bastards are going to let those Leaguers get away with this." He pounded his fist on the arm of his recliner, watching analogs feverishly stowing loose equipment on his own frosty decks below.
"One does not anger customers when one's business is minding a store," Ursis growled without looking up from his console.
Wash from idling generators all over the pool area had cleared the air, and the whole group of ships was now centered at the bottom of a great open-topped cylinder whose walls were made of swirling tendrils of fog. "Special-duty starmen close up for takeoff, Mr. Chairman," Brim ordered.
"At your command, Lieutenant," the Chairman answered. More alarms went off below and the mooring cupolas lighted.
"Testing alarm systems," Maldive's voice sounded from the chart room, and the bridge jolted as the Chairman verified functioning of Truculent's steering engine. "Thrusts in all sectors, Lieutenant."
"Very well," Brim said. He raced through the remaining pretaxi checks, then turned to Theada. "Jubal," he ordered, "you finish the rest of the preflighting with the Chairman while I taxi her out-because if she'll fly at all, we're going up."
Theada nodded silently. He knew....
"Mr. Chairman," Brim ordered next, "have the men in the cupolas single up all moorings-then switch to internal gravity."
"Aye, Lieutenant."
"Stand by for internal gravity!" Maldive warned from her console. The sickening transition passed quickly-Brim was nearly too busy to notice as he watched mooring beams wink out all around the ship. "I'll speak to the Harbor Master now," he said.
Nearly a full cycle passed before an ashen-faced Lixorian ground controller appeared in one of Brim's displays. "Ground to Imperial DD T.83," she said in a shocked voice. "We...we are u-under attack near Tandor-Ra, and they won't let us-."
"Imperial DD T.83 to Ground," Brim interrupted. "I've already heard. I am about to taxi out for immediate takeoff on Becton tube 195.8."
"Ground to T.83: you are cleared to taxi," the Controller said. "No traffic in the pattern."
"T.83 to Ground," Brim replied evenly. "I intend to shoot any traffic I find in the pattern, so you will clear no one until after I'm gone. Do you understand?"
"Ground to Imperial DD T.83: we understand. You are cleared to Becton tube 195.8 for immediate takeoff; wind five forty-five at thirty-eight."
"Imperial T.83 copies," Brim answered, then peered at Theada. "How's the old rustbucket checkout, Jubal?" he asked.
"She'll taxi, Wilf," Theada said, "but I'm not done with the lift-off checks yet."
Brim smiled. "Don't let me keep you, then," he said and turned back to his COMM display. "Imperial T.83 to Ground" he continued as he peered into the fog. "Proceeding to Becton tube 195.8 for immediate takeoff."
"Helm's at dead center," the Chairman prompted.
"Stand by to move ship," Brim-warned on the interCOMM as be checked his readouts and control settings. "Let go all mooring beams, Mr. Chairman. Dead slow ahead both, Nik."
"All mooring beams extinguished," the Chairman reported.
"Dead slow ahead both," Ursis acknowledged. Truculent moved smoothly off the gravity pool.
"I'll take the helm now, Mr. Chairman," Brim ordered steering a course for the Becton tube.
"You have the helm," the Chairman acknowledged.
"Lift-off check's complete, Wilf," Theada reported presently. "Chairman claims she'll fly."
Brim nodded and continued picking his way through the foggy maze of dark taxiways. No border lights guided his part this morning, only hints of direction from the bleakness beyond the Hyperscreens and the glowing instruments before him When he finally reached the tube, he immediately pivoted the ship into line and locked the brakes. "Full military ahead, Nik, be shouted. All other noise on the bridge was quickly drowned by the sudden rush of the generators.
"Ground to Imperial DD T.83: Becton tube is active-go get the bastards, Truculent!"
"Imperial T.83 to Ground: we'll do our best," Brim promised, watching the brake indicators go out on his console-a once, the powerful destroyer began its astonishing acceleration along the tube. Airborne in a matter of ticks, Brim maintained a nearly vertical climb through 960,000 irals before he nosed over and headed straight for the horizon, still under maximum acceleration.
What're you doing, Wilf?" Theada asked with a concerned frown. "We just got to this altitude-now you're down again?'
"Relax, Jubal," Brim answered without turning around. "It' only a relative altitude. I'm going to skim the horizon. It's an old smuggler's trick I picked up at the mines years ago. We're now heading straight for the opposite hemisphere-the on closest to Hogath-37, where the Leaguers are trying to tear ibo our Tandor-Ra conference. What I'm doing is getting a good running start while I keep as much of the planet between them and us as I can."
"A smuggler!" Theada exclaimed, pointing across the center console in mock horror. "I knew it!"
Brim laughed. "Too true, Jubal, my friend," he said. "We Carescrians just naturally get mixed up in all sorts of evil stuff!'
"Incoming coded KA'PPA, Lieutenant," Applewood interrupted from a display. "From Cap'n Collingswood."
"I'll have the KA'PPAs as they come," Brim answered.
"Aye, sir," Applewood said. "'Collingswood to Brim: Lost KA'PPA COMM temporarily,"' he read. "'Hear you have taken off without my orders: good man. Good hunting! Imperial battlecnrisers due to arrive in one to one point five metacycles should you require assist. Of interest to you and a few others: that Overprefect Valentin probably has a familiar face. Message ends."'
Brim turned to nod at Ursis.
The Bear grinned back. "Possible. . ." He kissed his fingertips. "Even with poor odds, I personally welcome the opportunity to find out."
An image of Barbousse suddenly materialized in a nearby display. The big rating silently grinned for a moment, then I kissed his fingertips, too.
Brim smiled grimly watching Truculent's apparent altitude diminish with perceptible speed. "We'll make a bit of trouble for the bastard, no matter who he is," he growled into the displays as the destroyer surged forward through increasingly dense atmospheric layers. Livid orange tongues of plasma streamed from every protuberance on the hull. Aft, the whole ship trailed a fiery wake of disturbed atoms.
"Stand by all weapons systems," Fourier warned on the interCOMM.
"Standing by," a chorus of voices answered.
"How much ground clearance are we going to have?" Theada asked nervously from the side of his mouth as he stared in fascination through the forward Hyperscreens.
Brim chuckled. "Not much, Jubal," he replied. "How close, Mr. Chairman?"
"On this heading," the Chairman replied presently, "Truculent will clear the ground by a minimum seventeen hundred fifty irals."
"Oh, plenty of room," Theada said a little breathlessly.
Their actual perihelion occurred so quickly Brim only sensed an instantaneous transition from apparent, descent to ascent, although Truculent's control settings remained unchanged. Off to port, he'd glimpsed a city for a moment-no crystal in the windows there anymore. Probably caved in a few roofs, too-time to worry about paying for that damage later.
"I see 'em!" somebody exclaimed. "Six points to port and low to the horizon."
"We're tracking," another voice said quietly. "NF-110s all right. Long-range destroyers."
"You've never seen one of those, have you, Wilf?" Fourier asked.
"Only read about 'em," Brim admitted.
"Xaxtdamned fine ships. They can outmaneuver a scalded skarsatt."
"I'll keep that in mind," Brim said, lowering Truculent's bow until he could see three irregular shapes against the starry background. They were arranged along a staggered line formation and returning for their second attack on an arrogantly steady heading-clearly expecting no more opposition than their first pass received from fort or starship. The Carescrian smiled with grim satisfaction. This time, Overprefect Valentin was in for a nasty surprise-whoever he might turn out to be. In his display, he watched the firing crews at their Director consoles, listened to their familiar litany of deflection and ranges. We'll take them in order, Anastasia," he said quietly as he adjusted course toward the leading enemy ship. "Closest first."
"All disruptors prepare to engage forward," Fourier said. "Target bearing red for five."
"Range ninety-one hundred and closing rapidly."
"Steady..."
This enemy ship was long and cylindrical, built as a single hull instead of independent modules on a K tube. She had a high, thin bridge and nine turrets distributed evenly forward, 'midships, and aft in triads circling the hull. Brim wondered if he might be looking at his special adversary as he scanned the distant vessel. There was quite a score to settle.
"Shoot!"
Truculent's deck bucked violently as all seven disruptors went off in a blinding eruption that lit space around the enemy destroyer like a tiny nova. A flame glowed for a moment abaft her bridge, then abruptly winked out.
"Got 'im, first shot!" somebody yelled gleefully as Fourier poured salvo after salvo at the enemy ship, starting a number of fires and blasting a large piece of debris into the wake.
None of the three attackers was fighting back yet, Brim noted. His tactics of surprise had served him well. He imagined the chaos Fourier's seven big 144s must be causing in the lead ship and wondered what the reaction would be in the two nearby asteroid forts whose big disruptors-quiet so far-nonetheless bore directly on his present position.
Finally, ragged return fire began to flash outside from the enemy ships. "It's mainly from the second one," Brim yelled to Fourier. "We'll give them a bit of trouble next." He put the helm over and hauled the ship on to a collision course with the next enemy destroyer.
Fourier nodded. "I see him," she said.
"Beating orange nine forty-six."
"Up a hundred."
Brim watched the forward turret index a few degrees to port, rise slightly, then lower. Unseen, he knew the others were retracking to the same target.
"Steady... "
"Shoot!" Truculent was closer to this one, and the targeting was accurate. Great pieces of flaming wreckage began to fly off the enemy ship.
The first and third destroyers were now recovering from their initial surprise-to starboard, space erupted in a ragged welter of return fire. Truculent's deck kicked with the first a long-range bits from the third enemy ship, but the effort was far too late for Brim's intended victim. A shattering explosion suddenly sent the second raider skidding off course to nadir, all but one of its turrets paralyzed or blasted to silence "Looks like he's had it," somebody observed.
"I'll have a spread of torpedoes into him, Anastasia," Brim ordered. In a matter of ticks, a salvo of five big Mark-19 torpedoes flashed past the bridge from the launcher, leaving a trail of blinding ruby fire in the starry darkness.
"Torpedoes running," Barbousse's deep voice intoned on the voice circuit.
Brim immediately canted Truculent round toward the third attacker. "Give him everything we've got!" he yelled to Anastasia over the bellowing generators.
"New target bearing blue four forty-one at eleven ninety-two."
"Shoot!"
Again, Truculent's powerful battery turned space into a concussive inferno, this time around the third enemy ship. Then the whole Universe lit from aft. Startled, Brim swung in his recliner, gritting his teeth. Were the Lixorian forts finally joining the fray? On whose side? He was immediately relieved to see what remained of the second League destroyer melt completely into a roiling cloud of livid energy from his torpedoes. Every port gleamed like a fiery eye along the hull before the ship burst again into a stupendous flowerlike pattern of flame and debris. He watched an entire turret assembly fly off into space like a runaway holiday rocket.
"That got the Leaguer bastards!" somebody yelled jubilantly.
"Universe," another whispered aloud, "look at that burn."
Suddenly, Brim was nearly knocked senseless against his seat restraints as a stunning explosion went off just abaft Truculent's bridge and caved in a corner of the chart room. The cabin atmosphere blew out in a single, tremendous draft that took two navigation consoles with it and filled the bridge with whirling shards of jagged hullmetal and Hyperscreen crystal. Chaos ruled momentarily as agonized screams filled the voice circuits and half a dozen consoles disappeared in great sparking eruptions of energy. The Carescrian felt a heavy weight bounce off the back of his recliner-his faceplate was suddenly covered with a spray of redness, which smeared as he tried to wipe it away. He turned in time to see a headless corpse crumple in a greasy red puddle beside him, belly ripped from crotch to the shredded stump of a neck. Its severed head bounced like a child's toy at Theada's feet as the gravity pulsed in the shock waves.
Truculent's hull jolted and vibrated as more hits came aboard from the third enemy destroyer. One particularly powerful blast burst amidships, took the port launch with it, and opened the hull at the officers' quarters with a fiery plume. Brim knew instinctively he had just lost all he owned-his sister's picture in its little charred frame passed his mind's eye for an instant, then he snapped himself back to reality and hauled the destroyer around in a hard turn to port amid a howl of strikes from small weapons that shattered what remained of the aft Hyperscreens and filled the bridge with more jagged pieces of flying crystal. In the corner of his eye, he saw someone crawling along the main corridor bubbling blood from a dozen holes in a barely recognizable battle suit. Suddenly, one of the larger rents unsealed in a red mist that sprayed nearby consoles a dark, sticky-looking crimson. Whoever it was stopped crawling and spasmodically reared upward before crumpling onto a tattered, blackened shred of star chart. Brim read the word "MALDIVE" on the name tag.
He bit his lip. At least he wasn't worried about the forts anymore. The Lixorians were clearly following orders and staying out of the action. He turned to watch the first destroyer they had encountered. Fourier had just redirected two of Truculent's ventral turrets at her. Burning in three or four locations along her hull, the NF-110 was returning the fire, but only intermittently-clearly, hits had been scored on critical control centers, though the ship's propulsion systems appeared to be undamaged. At least, Brim noted with satisfaction, the Leaguers were making no attempt to continue their attack on Tandor-Ra below.
Off to starboard, the third destroyer was turning with them. Two of her turrets were out, of commission, with disruptors pointed at useless angles. The other seven, however, were firing rapidly and accurately, matching Truculent shot for shot. Brim wondered if she might be the ship carrying Valentin- then decided at the moment he had no time to care.
Soon the two ships were racing parallel courses across the bright disk of Lixor-Truculent silhouetted against the light, her opponent in the much more enviable position of blending with the darkness of space-at least so she appeared from Brim's console. Below, his decks were a ruin, littered with debris and punctured in at least a hundred locations. Fires were reported in three damage-control zones. A nearby display presented the heavily armored sick bay crowded with more than twenty bloody bodies waiting for healing machines that were already full. Flynn could be seen feverishly rushing to this one and that, trying to staunch the cries of pain-and the screaming. He was a fine doctor-Brim knew that from experience. But a lot of Truculents were going to die before this day was over, despite all the man could do.
He didn't opt for a closer look in the sick bay since the bridge itself was beginning to fill with acrid black smoke from fires raging in what was left of Collingswood's cabin. Metal fires, for certain, he noted. Nothing burned like metal once it caught.
Another explosion jarred the deck-this one in the Communications cabin joining A turret to the lower part of the bridge. Miraculously, the voice circuits held, but the deck buckled dangerously beneath his boots. And soon the smoke was worse than ever.
"I'll have a square pattern of five torpedoes," Fourier ordered. Moments later, five torpedoes flashed from the launcher: two high, two low, one in the center.
"Torpedoes running," Barbousse intoned.
"That ought to show them!" somebody yelled in the ruby glow.
"And how!" another started.
"Oh, no!" a third voice exclaimed in dismay as the enemy destroyer reacted with unbelievable speed, executing a series of tight maneuvers that cleanly evaded four of the speeding missiles. The fifth torpedo-evidently unexpected in a square salvo-excised a small deckhouse from the hull just aft of her small superstructure in a cloud of flying debris. It did not, however, encounter anything sufficiently solid in the framework to set off its charge, and continued on into space without inflicting any important damage.
"Afraid of that," Fourier snapped angrily. "Still, it didn't hurt to try."
Another welter of shots erupted close to the starboard bow, smashing the forward docking cupola and sending jagged hull-metal splinters whizzing through the Hyperscreens in a dozen places.
"Voof!" Ursis roared through clenched teeth as he grabbed his left forearm. Brim could see his battle suit sealing off a ragged wound in a spray of blood. The Bear pounded his console in high dudgeon. "Now," he pronounced solemnly, "that bastard Triannic is really in trouble!"
"Look out!" somebody else yelled. "Jubal's caught it...."
Brim glanced to his right in time to see Theada slump facedown onto shards of crystal littering his console-the Hyperscreens shattered in front of his station. Blood flowed freely from somewhere beneath his head and dripped in a puddle at his feet. "Somebody get a pressure patch up here!" the Carescrian yelled, then cranked Truculent around in a climbing turn as the first ship desperately took evasive action to escape his attack. The Leaguers acted only just in time. The space they would have occupied erupted in a deadly salvo of closely spaced blasts as Fourier growled in displeasure.
On the bridge aft, Brim glimpsed a crew with laser axes and power pries fighting three smoky radiation fires in what was left of the chart room and trying to free somebody pinned to the deck by a fallen support. Deep in the hull, he scanned a generator room turned to near chaos. Huge, charred holes had been opened by hits on either side of the keel-but miraculously, Borodov kept the oversized Admiralty N types churning out their enormous output of raw antigravity waves. Truculent's speed was a major reason she was still in one piece now that the enemy ships had at last joined forces. Near one shattered power console, part of a rating still sat in the recliner, burned completely away from the waist up. Beside one of the blast holes, a leaking body hung limply impaled by three long needles of hullmetal, melted then thrust inward at the time of impact.
While two blood-covered medical ratings gently eased Theada from his console, Brim watched the second enemy ship turning toward him again. Fourier's disruptor crews wasted no time in blanketing it with a barrage of shock and radiation. The Leaguer's KA'PPA tower went in a blinding flash of light and a shattered launch sailed straight down from its mountings-only irals from a direct hit beneath the bridge. Brim smiled grimly. They'd felt those salvos, all right.
Then, with a blinding flash, Truculent's spaceframe again heaved convulsively, gravity pulsed, and loose debris bounced around the interior of the wrecked bridge like a swarm of heavy insects. A second explosion followed on its heels-this one all the way forward in the hull. It spun the destroyer like a toy. Brim fought the controls with all the skill he could muster. Flames and angry sparking radiation obscured the bow and boiled into their wake. When it cleared, Truculent's A turret was replaced by a jagged, blackened hole from which clouds of radiation swirled along the top decks. No hope for that crew, Brim thought as he followed the deadly billowing mist aft where it passed the wreckage of W turret-still apparently intact except for an innocuous-looking hole near the slot for the disruptor-which pointed uselessly off to port.
Then a third tremendous hit battered the ship. Brim grabbed his console as the gravity pulsed again and more loose debris cascaded across the wrinkling deck plates. This time, the steady thunder of the generators began to fade into hoarse, staccato rasping. He glanced around the decks through the Hyperscreens-no new damage topside, at least none he could recognize. The hit was on Truculent's bottom. And it didn't require much imagination to understand she'd taken serious damage. Fresh radiation was already curling into the wake from below-and their speed was beginning to fall!
Everybody seemed to be shouting on the voice circuits. All over the smoldering bridge, damage-control teams were desperately clearing debris. Smashed figures desiccating in torn battle suits were stacked like cordwood in the shredded remains of the chart room.
Instinctively, Brim ducked as more violent explosions went off close overhead, lighting the shattered wreckage on the decks below with a dazzling glare. He scanned Borodov's power exchange in a nearby display. Heavy clouds of radiation billowed overhead and in the background, actual flames fed on some source of combustion from another wrecked systems console. Borodov's soot-covered helmet appeared in the display. "How bad is it, Chief?" the Carescrian asked.
The old Bear shrugged and considered a moment. "Trucculent has seen better days," he pronounced slowly. "The last hit destroyed important control logic for the starboard generator-it runs pretty much out of control now. But it runs."
"And...?" Brim asked.
"And," Borodov went on, "we can still steer and run full speed. But doing the latter will quickly destroy the damaged generator."
Brim felt the speed drop noticeably. He watched the third enemy ship again turning toward him. Moments later, the first ship also turned. Both Leaguers could see he was in trouble. "Full speed, if you please, Lieutenant Borodov," he said quietly.
Borodov shrugged. "Full speed it is, Wilf Ansor," he said, busying himself at his console.
Fourier urged her disruptor crews to even more exertion, and somehow the rate of firing did increase-with telling effect. Bright flashes winked all over the enemy hulls. Additional metal fires began to belch clouds of sparks on the third enemy ship, but she continued to employ her disruptors with the same deadly accuracy. Return fire sprayed Truculent everywhere; her hull jumped and pounded as they burst aboard.
Somebody started screaming over the voice circuits again-but a long time passed before the bloodcurdling sound registered in Brim's mind above the general pandemonium. He turned in his seat to confront a medical team pulling Fourier from her console. Her suit was horribly burned at the neck, and her hands desperately tore at the shredded hole in her shoulder. One of the medical ratings placed a pressure patch over the opening while two others held her arms. The screaming abruptly turned to a liquid gargle, then stopped altogether. Brim turned back to his controls, gritting his teeth as the team dragged her limp figure aft toward the chart room.
"Starboard generator will fail within three cycles, Wilf Ansor," Borodov reported from below. Brim glanced at Ursis.
The Bear nodded confirmation.
"I suppose it will have to fail then, Chief," Brim said. "Keep it going as long as you can."
Borodov smiled broadly. "Give 'em great grief, Wilf Ansor" he yelled over the din as he returned to his readouts.
In the corner of his eye, Brim caught Ursis grinning, too. His thumb was raised in the Universal human sign of approval.
Then there was little time to notice anything except the battle; "Stand by to concentrate all fire on the number-three ship!" Brim yelled at Fourier's replacement. He noticed the man's gloves were almost instantly soaked in blood from the console. "Let's go, then!" he yelled. "One last try!" He skidded Truculent into a tight descending spiral, then suddenly hauled back on the helm until he was flying on a collision course- with all remaining turrets firing as fast as their crews could recharge the 144s.
This unexpected attack once again took the enemy ship by surprise. The Leaguer captain instinctively put up his helm and attempted to climb out of Truculent's way-it was the worst thing he could do. Brim's remaining 144s all concentrated their fire on the enemy's steering gear just forward of the Drive openings. Pieces of hullmetal blasted loose as the big disruptors tore at her hull. Suddenly, a terrific explosion ripped the enemy's midsection-followed immediately by a second and a third. A deckhouse blew off in a shower of sparks and glowing clouds of radiation. Then, slowly but inexorably, the ship began to shear off course.
"Get another spread of torpedoes in there!" Brim yelled, skidding Truculent to open a clear line of fire for the torpedo launcher-which fired as soon as it bore on the target. Five ruby sparks flashed past the bridge from aft-Brim watched them on their way, noting that this time, his scalded skarsatt had done the outmaneuvering. Then the target was obliterated in a stunning ball of flame that pulsed rapidly four times before it defined itself into a roiling cloud of livid energy that consumed what remained of the enemy ship like a minute star.
Brim put his helm over only just in time to avoid the cloud of debris, then aimed the ship once again toward the first enemy vessel. "Give 'em everything we've got left!" he yelled-just as the damaged port generator gave out with a thunderous rumble that shook Truculent's starframe to its very keel.
In spite of his struggles with the controls, the destroyer slewed around out of control, stars sliding across the Hyperscreens like a billion speeding comets on parallel tracks. Brim almost had to bring the ship to a halt before the steering gear would accept its new offset parameters.
"B turret seems to be jammed," someone reported.
"An' we've no power to the torpedo flat," Barbousse added. "That last salvo did it for my part of the power exchange."
Brim nodded to himself as he carefully eased Truculent around to face his final opponent, now warily closing in for the kill. Seriously afire in a number of places, the NF-110 was not in much better shape than her Imperial adversary, but with propulsion systems evidently intact, she now had an insurmountable advantage. Brim shrugged grimly and continued to fly as best he could-if nothing else, he'd stopped the raid on Tandor-Ra. Perhaps that might make up for what was in store for the destroyer under his very temporary command.
He suddenly remembered Collingswood's mention of Imperial battlecruisers and glanced at his timepiece. He'd been fighting for more than a metacycle and certainly needed the "assist" she mentioned. The big ships were due any cycle now.
He gritted his teeth. If he could just buy himself a little more time... Then he laughed ironically. Last-moment rescues only happened in fables to princes and kings. In all probability Carescrians simply didn't qualify.
Outside, the enemy destroyer approached on an asymptotic curve, always toward the port side where Truculent bad no operational disruptors to bear. Brim tried to turn with it for a forward shot, but to no avail. When he tightened up on the port helm, the steering engine created intense interference patterns with the operational generator and actually opened the effective radius. Helplessly, he stood by as the enemy ship positioned itseIf, watched the turrets index around to point directly at his bridge.
"Message from the enemy ship," somebody yelled above the confusion. "Full video an' all, if you please!"
Brim cleared a display. "I'll take it at this station," he growled, guessing who was on the other end. The globe flashed, glowed, then manifested the image of a handsome masculine face-blue eyes, blond hair, dimpled chin. The Carescrian grimly nodded to himself. The Valentin.
"Ah, Brim," the elegant visage hissed, peering out of the display with a look of amused surprise. "I thought it might be you from the first transmission."
"Well, hab'thall?" Brim snarled as be kicked the steering engine. It was just sufficient to surprise the opposite Helmsmen and get in a brief volley from C turret. Three shots landed with bright explosions-Valentin's port-side launch arched away in a series of tight loops trailing flame like a small comet. The Overprefect's image jumped wildly in the display.
"That foul trick, Brim," Valentin snarled, "was the last-lucky-gasp of your contemptible existence." He glowered from the display in high dudgeon. "Today, I shall finish what I started more than two years ago. For Dame Fortune has finally deserted you, Carescrian-and your thrice-damned ship!"
Brim kicked the steering engine once more, but the Leaguer a Helmsman was wary this time. Now there were no more tricks left from the Carescrian mines. With Valentin's execrable laughter ringing in his ears, he desperately scoured his mind for a way to prolong things until the battlecruisers arrived. "Well, hab'thall," he commented derisively, "I see they demoted you after your last blunder."
Valentin's eyebrows shot upward. "Demoted?" he protested. "You would have done well to study League Fleet ranks, fool." He pointed proudly to the ornate device embroidered in metallic thread on his perfectly tailored cuff. "I," he pronounced, "have been made an overprefect-promoted, Brim. Not demoted! The same rank as your full commanders-Lieutenant."
"Is that right?" Brim said derisively. "Old Triannic must xaxtadamned well be scraping the bottom of his bedchamber slops bucket if he's forced to promote the likes of you-Voot's beard, Valentin, you've never been able to complete a mission when I'm around." He peered into the display with mock concentration, wrinkling his nose. "Something about me sets you on edge, doesn't it, hab'thall?"
"Capcloth! Carescrian scum!" Valentin raged in a high, choked voice. "I shall show you what it means to be on edge." He turned to someone outside the display and nodded. "Carefully, though," he panted. "I want this to be slow. Make certain our Imperial friends have plenty of time to savor their agony. He laughed nervously. "Yes," be hissed in clear anticipation, "so they enjoy every shot!" Then he raised his hand and Brim's display went blank.
"Apparent end of transmission, Lieutenant," a rating reported.
Brim nodded. "Very well," be said to himself. He turned to face the enemy ship and waited grimly, wishing he had even some of Fourier's rocks to throw. They would have been every bit as effective as his disruptors now, and a thousand times more satisfying!
He glanced around Truculent's battered bridge, littered with bodies and Hyperscreen shards. Not many of the old crew alive now-only Ursis and a few scattered ratings waited defiantly at their consoles, staring into the enemy disruptors. Clearly Valentin was keeping his promise to draw things out-enjoying his moment of triumph. Brim nodded. Let him! The battle.cruisers were on their way, and even if he were not around to see it, the Overprefect's predilection for torture might cost him dearly.
As he sat watching the enemy ship, he thought about the Lixorian forts. In Truculent's present position, at least three of them could bring their big disruptors to bear-save the ship doing a job they were built to accomplish. But all were silent, watching as the Leaguers prepared to cut his now helpless destroyer to pieces. He took a deep breath. Though he would soon be blasted all over the Universe, he would die with disdain for every preening businessman who sucked sustenance from the troubles of others. Much as he hated the black-suited Leaguer Controllers, he could easily generate more respect for them than for the rapacious bastards who lived on the planet below. At least Controllers had moral fortitude to cleave to some cause other than pure avarice.
Across the emptiness, a single disruptor flashed. Truculent's deck-jumped as the bolt of energy crashed home just forward of the bridge in a shower of sparks. A second flash, and the 'midships deckhouse erupted in a cloud of radiation. Through a display, Brim scanned the glowing wreckage of the wardroom. Most of it was now open to space-great starry holes yawned where Greyffin IV's picture used to hang. He wondered momentarily about the fate of old Grimsby, but couldn't see the pantry in his display-and the damage-control sensors there seemed to have lost any ability to function. In the long, shocked silence that followed, be thought of Margot-his mind's eye saw her as she was the night they met in that same wardroom. And their only night together on Avalon. Then the softness of that memory was blown away by a stunning jar as a bolt landed in the petty officers' mess directly below his feet. More Hyperscreens shattered beside him-splinters tweaked his battle suit in a dozen places. A sharp pain burned his arm. He looked down to watch a charred hole sealing itself on his right forearm. The deck bucked again as three direct hits destroyed the torpedo launcher behind him.
"Sorry, Nik," he yelled to the Bear. "I did the best I could."
Ursis shrugged and smiled fatalistically. "I am not troubled by impending death, Wilf Ansor," he growled. "I only regret I did not tear that hab'thall from limb to limb when I had the chance."
"Universe!" somebody exclaimed in a trembling voice, "why doesn't he get it over with?"
"Do not attempt to speed Lady Fate," Ursis laughed over the voice circuits. "She often requires time for her miracles-which we need, as the Universe knows."
"I can't stand any more of this!" somebody else shrieked, but her voice stopped abruptly, interrupted by a blinding light that erupted just aft of Valentin's ship. The spreading burst of raw energy sent the enemy destroyer tumbling out of control like a child's toy and laid Truculent on her beam ends. Terrorized screams filled the voice circuits-many of the Imperials no longer had visual access to the outside. Stunned, Brim automatically eased the destroyer back on to her original orientation-just in time to watch the NF-110 hesitate in its flight for a moment, then angle off into space at top acceleration amid a whole barrage of the huge flare-ups-the battlecruisers had finally arrived.
It was about xaxtdamned time!