The Helmsman

The team was confined in the cabin for more than two Standard days—during which time the sound of the Drive never slackened from its original setting. They finally transferred to a large, curiously rust-colored shuttle craft when the Narcastle had driven deep into a very empty-looking portion of the galaxy.

Their mysterious destination turned out to be a barren, irregular chunk of red-oxide rock orbiting an isolated gas giant where none of the star formations looked familiar to Brim. A flattened, bubble-shaped structure perhaps one hundred irals in circumference clung to a reasonably "level" section of the rock-colored to blend into the background. As the shuttle dove toward landfall, a worried-looking Amherst nudged the pilot and pointed below. Outside the bubble, three mean-looking starship torpedo scout craft hovered in the stillness at the end of short mooring beams. All three were League ships and all looked heavily armed.

"Don't let our STSs bother you," the pilot drawled through a reddish mustache as he turned onto final approach. "All three of those little tubs down there belong to us." Oddly, his name was Blue, though his hair was red, crested to a remarkable degree, and his complexion a chalk-like white. He had a narrow face with a thin nose and long freckled hands. He wore no battle suit (strictly against Imperial regulations in a shuttle), only a rumpled fatigue uniform with soft, casually scuffed boots that looked far more comfortable than military. He also handled the big shuttle as if he had been born at its controls.

Brim chuckled to himself with a strong suspicion that Blue and he would have much in common, as backgrounds went, but elected to keep his silence. The subject of pasts wasn't one of his favorites, either. He peered down at the enemy scouts—clearly Collingswood's "little starships"—and felt his curiosity piqued again. What now?

Inside, the bubble structure was divided into a warren of "rooms" by partitions that did not quite touch the curviform top. Everything about the structure looked ready to be dismantled at a moment's notice.

Military gray prevailed nearly everywhere, though occasional areas were finished in more humane colors.

The air was uniformly dry and almost unappetizingly without odor—an attribute of all such tiny, self-contained way stations which recycled the same limited set of atoms to sustain life in the midst of the lonely void.

After a squat, gruff-looking woman with Mechanic's blazes on her collar took charge of Barbousse and his ratings, the officers followed Blue into a narrow companionway. This ended in a severe cubicle containing a few display cabinets and a circle of uninviting field chairs—clearly some sort of conference room. Before they could sit, a door opened at the rear. "Gentlemen," Blue announced, "Colonel Dark."

Long-legged, slim, and graceful, Colonel Dark was dressed in the sleek blue coveralls of Lord Wyrood's Imperial Intelligence Service. On her, the tight uniform revealed a great deal more than it concealed. Her complexion was almost chalky white and she wore long jet-black hair in a braid that coiled all the way to her knees. Her eyes were large, almond shaped, intelligent, and hard. As she spoke, she fingered a curiously shaped obsidian fragment that could only be a splinter of hullmetal—some grim personal reminder, Brim considered, and decided he wanted to know nothing more about it—ever.

"Special-duty crew from I.F.S. Truculent reporting, Colonel;" Amherst began importantly. "I am Lieutenant—"

"We are aware of everyone's identity, Lieutenant Amherst," Dark interrupted in a soft, husky voice—nearly ignoring his salute. "While you are here on Red Rock 9, we shall have little time for amenities of any kind." She bit her lip as she unconsciously worked the hullmetal fragment between long, well-manicured fingers. "Sit down and listen carefully," she said "You have approximately two days to qualify for the mission."

As he took his seat, Brim glanced quickly at Amherst. An ill-concealed look of astonishment had taken root on the First Lieutenant's face. (He was clearly unprepared for military conduct outside the strict rules of Fleet protocol.)

"If you prove to us you can master an STS, the operation's 'go' and you'll have all the details you want.

If you can't, we'll scrub the whole thing and send you back home with our thanks for making the try.

But..." She paused significantly in the midsentence to look at each officer squarely in the eye.

Brim felt his eyebrows raise.

"But," Dark repeated, "a surprise attack mounted by the Leaguers on another starbase—it doesn't matter which one—deprived us last night of your backup crew. So if you don't make it, the mission won't happen at all, and a very important person will probably die. Additionally, the Empire will lose a lot of information it vitally needs for its survival."

Amherst suddenly looked concerned—frightened. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak.

Dark held up a warning hand. "Don't ask questions, Lieutenant, until after your crew masters operation of the Leaguer STS. Before you have accomplished that, I have nothing more to say."

Brim and Theada spent the next half day buried in a captured STS simulator while the others learned what they could about the scout's systems makeup from Imperial data bases. Then, following a short rest period, the entire team donned battle suits and pulled themselves along zero-grav lifelines to the ships themselves.

"Apparently, they want us to use the one marked 'E6O7,'" Amherst said on the suit circuit, pointing to the rightmost of the three docked starships. "They say they keep the others here for spare parts."

Closer inspection proved this to be true. Two of the scouts were clearly missing important components, with hatches opened to the emptiness of space and holes yawning blindly in the control cabins in place of Hyperscreen panels.

E607, however, was ready to fly—a deadly wedge of raw destruction. Overall, its sharply angular sixty irals described nothing so much as a narrow, single-edged ax head turned on its side with a small control cabin located midway along the length of its upper surface. On either beam, angular outriggers extended forward from the squared-off stern, each virtually filled with a powerful Klaipper-Hiss type-41 antigravity generator. The ship's wide, keen-edged bow was deeply notched on port and starboard extremes to accommodate torpedo-tube doors in the beam ends of the hull. Between these, a squat, dome-shaped turret housed a 60-mmi rapid-fire disruptor. Aft of the rakish control cabin, a spacious well deck extended to the stern, bounded on port and starboard by the breech ends of the torpedo launch tubes and storage for the single reload carried for each. Offset a few irals from the center of the well deck, a row of twelve repulsion rings ran over the stern from a squat autoloader. These marked the little ship's limited capability to strew star mines in its path. Her flat bottom was clear from bow to stem except for an oversized weapons dome housing a powerful 91-mmi disruptor. Within the crowded hull a single Drive crystal provided thrust for Hyperlight dashes and occasional long-distance cruising.

Inside, the cramped control cabin was laid out in a conventional half circle with the two Helmsman's positions facing the forward Hyperscreens. Along the starboard side, a systems console extended to the air lock in the aft bulkhead—and, curiously, included activators for firing the big 91-mmi in the ship's belly turret. Miscellaneous controls, including those for the torpedo tubes and repulsion rings, were built into a neatly organized collection of panels that made up the port control array. The rapid-firing disruptor forward was operated directly from either of the Helmsman's consoles.

Once Ursis stabilized the ship's power, Brim doffed his battle helmet and sniffed the cabin's thin, stale air, taking stock of the uncomfortable seats and drab, strictly functional decor around him. "Grim" was probably a good characterization, he thought. Leaguers built fighting ships with only three real abilities; flying, fighting, and surviving. Everything else was sacrificed to the minimum necessary for operational reliability—including crew facilities. Two small cabins composed the single acquiescence to living occupancy. They were crammed under the forward deck between the torpedo tubes: a two-bunk cabin for officers, a four-bunk cabin for ratings. It wasn't merely uncomfortable—it was xaxtdamned near to being unacceptable. He shrugged. Only tough, dedicated crews survived on these grim little ships. "Fire up the generators, Nik," he said, nodding to the Bear as he perched his bulk atop an undersized recliner.

"Let's get this bucket out in space."

Ursis nodded, and the big generators shuddered into life, filling the crowded cabin with a savage, uneven thunder that shook the hull with brutish power. The Bear busied himself with various displays and controls for a few moments until the uneven tumult quieted to a steady rumble and the deck ceased to tremble. "Both generators are standing by, Wilf," he announced with a thumb in the air. The hull rang with vents clanging shut, and the air lock rattled.

Brim checked his own readouts, then looked at Amherst from the left Helmsman's seat. "The ship is ready when you are, Lieutenant," he announced.

"You may proceed," the First Lieutenant sniffed, nodding conspicuously down his nose. But his manner failed to hide the sweat standing out on his forehead—in the coolness of a battle helmet he had yet to remove.

"Aye, sir," Brim said squelching one more flash of anger. As the power director came up on forward thrust, he nodded to Barbousse. "Cast off, fore and aft," he ordered.

"Aye, sir," the big rating said, and spoke into a small personal communicator.

Outside, balanced on the decks, four of Truculent's borrowed ratings wearing huge reflective mittens to protect their hands extinguished the ship's mooring beams, then dogged down protective hatches over the optical cleats and raced across the deck to the control cabin. He waited until the men were inside, then watched for his signal from the bubble house aft. Presently, a ruby-colored beacon began to strobe in the darkness at the far end of the asteroid.

"Safe takeoff vector dead ahead," Theada reported.

"Got it," Brim acknowledged. He entered the course manually on the flight director (small starships seldom carried Chairman systems), then called for full military power and stood on the gravity brakes.

Again, the cabin filled with the brutish sound of surging generators, and the deck began to vibrate beneath his feet. He glanced at Ursis, who grinned and yanked his thumb in the air.

"Let's go, Wilf Ansor," the Bear growled in a huge voice.

Brim winked and returned his attention to the controls. He no sooner released the gravity brakes when the beacon—and all of Red Rock 9—instantly vanished astern in a bellowing surge of power from the generators. Zero-gravity takeoffs all tended to be rapid, but the captured STS was in a class by itself! He grinned—he hadn't had so much fun since he'd flown the little JD-981s at the Academy.

During their next two watches, the team worked tirelessly, exercising each of the ship's flight systems at high speeds, first in free space, then through a crowded asteroid reef orbiting the gas giant at a slightly lower altitude. After two close brushes with disaster (the last of which badly pitted a quadrant of the ship's unprotected Hyperscreens), Brim began to get the hang of things.

"Voof!" Ursis exclaimed admiringly as the Carescrian completed a particularly complex course. "'Wind and cold seek lakes and trees, but Bears claim only wolves,' as they say on the Mother Planets. Wilf Ansor, my friend, you exceed yourself!"

Brim laughed and cranked the skittish-little ship into a vertical turn across the reef, huge rock clusters scorching past on the port side in an avalanche of riotous color. "Once you do something like that on a Carescrian ore barge," he yelled over the thundering generators, "it seems pretty easy in anything else."

"You will concentrate on flying, not talking, Lieutenant Brim," Amherst warned through tight lips.

"Have you forgotten quickly what you did to the Hyperscreens?"

Brim glanced up at the pockmarked screens. "I haven't forgotten, Lieutenant," he acknowledged, biting his lip to control his voice. At the same time, he noticed that sweat was now running freely from Amherst's face. The man was afraid! On his way back to Red Rock 9, he fairly skimmed the surface of a particularly jagged asteroid—and smiled with satisfaction as he watched Amherst squeeze his eyes shut.

The Universe kindly provided more than one way of extracting life's little dollops of revenge, he noted with silent satisfaction.

The eleven Truculents passed a second set of watches exercising the ship's weapons systems (during which, Barbousse accurately torpedoed a ship-sized asteroid), then invested a short period in Hyperspace running on the Drive crystal. When they finally returned to Red Rock 9, an abrupt message recalled them—immediately—to a meeting with Colonel Dark.

"Welcome, gentlemen," the almond-eyed woman said as the tired crew clambered into the conference room still dressed in battle suits. "It seems my call for assistance from the Fleet was answered this time with reasonably competent Blue Capes."

She smiled—for the first time that Brim could recall. "Sometimes we get the best," she continued,

"often the worst. It depends on the captains involved, I suppose. Regula Collingswood has done us proud."

"You mean we qualify for the mission?" Amherst asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.

"The team has indeed qualified, Lieutenant," Dark answered, "but only in the merest nick of time. At that, I have been forced to delay your departure until commencement of the second watch tomorrow my ground crew needs additional time to replace Hyperscreen panels damaged by the initial sloppiness of your Helmsman, Lieutenant Brim," she said pointedly.

The Carescrian felt color rise in his cheeks as he mentally braced for more criticism. Instead, for the second time he watched Dark's face break into a smile as she turned to face him. "Don't take the

'sloppiness' too much to heart, Brim," she laughed suddenly. "No one expected you could do what you've done at all—and you've triumphed." Then her face darkened. "But it also means you now have the actual job to accomplish. And when your crewmates hear all the details, they may wish your Helmsman's talents ran more toward singing or sculpting, perhaps, than piloting a small starship.

At that moment, Brim noticed Theada and Ursis glance uneasily toward Amherst—he followed their gaze. The First Lieutenant had again broken into profuse sweating—though Dark kept temperatures low in her conference room. The Carescrian winced to himself. Somehow, trouble was coming—and he was reasonably sure the least of it would be with the League. But before he could fret about the situation, Dark began her final briefing, and no time remained for anything but the mission.

During the remainder of that watch and well into the next, Dark described their task in detail: flying the STS to the very heart of Triannic's League—almost within sight of the great capital planet of Tarrott itself—executing a tricky landfall on a barren mining planet to board an important Imperial spy, then retracing their steps to a rendezvous with an Imperial warship. "On the surface, it sounds simple," she said. "We've set up three time windows for the pickup. You determine which one to use after you arrive on the basis of safety—yours and the operative's." She fingered her hullmetal fragment absently and frowned, staring bleakly across the room. "Unfortunately," she continued, "I have only described the easy part—your mission as originally planned was quite straightforward and relatively free from risk.

However, recent developments have made the job somewhat more symmetrical in that it now involves a difficult part, too."

Brim looked at Ursis and grinned in spite of himself. The Bear silently rolled his eyes to the bubble ceiling. "First, you must be there and back in a little more than three Standard days' time," Dark continued. "That's when the Leaguers will discover these STSs of ours are missing from their inventory."

She paused a moment, then shrugged. "We acquired them in a rather unusual fashion we'd rather you didn't know about," she added. "Just in case you find yourselves guests of our black-suited friends, the Controllers."

Amherst abruptly excused himself from the room.

"The second unknown is the real reason we have set up this operation in such a hurry," Dark explained, ignoring the First Lieutenant's hurried exit as if he never existed. "We very much suspect our agent has been compromised," she said, "and I am sure you understand what this means to you. If it is true, they'll be waiting with open arms and give you a very special reception, one with every trick they can muster."

Early in the first morning watch, Dark resummoned Amherst, Ursis, Brim and Theada, this time to her office—which was just as cramped as Collingswood's aboard Truculent. E607 was moored just outside a transparent wall section behind a console. "You're scheduled out today, gentlemen," she began when the scuffling of chairs ceased. "And I have a few last-moment items you'll need to complete your mission." She smiled, caressing the hullmetal fragment with her fingers. "First," she said, turning to point to the ship, "see if you can find anything different about your Leaguer scout since you last saw her. I'll even provide a hint—concentrate on the control cabin."

Brim peered at the raked-back structure, taking in every detail he could see, naming every appurtenance and protrusion. Nothing looked different or even out of place. He turned to Ursis—who met his eyes, frowned, and shrugged in resignation. From the corner of his eye, he disapprovingly watched Amherst studying Dark herself instead of the ship, then scanned the control cabin one more time before he finally gave up. When he looked, the Colonel's eyes were directly on him.

"Well, Lieutenant?" she queried.

Brim gulped and shook his head. "Whatever it is you've done, Colonel," he said with a resigned smile, "you have certainly hidden it well from me.

Grinning with obvious satisfaction, Dark swiveled her chair to face the room. "Good," she declared,

"because if you haven't spotted it when you're sitting right on top of it, then the Leaguers certainly won't notice out in space." She directed their attention to the ship again with a flick of her head. "Look at the KA'PPA tower, gentlemen," she said, "right under the globe. What do you see there?"

Again, Brim peered out at E607. He followed the KA'PPA tower to the transmitting globe, squinted, then snapped his fingers. "Universe!" he exclaimed. "I missed that completely. You've got two beta feeds on the A input, don't you?"

Dark laughed. "Right you are, Brim," she said. "And only one of them is real."

"Voof!" exclaimed Ursis. "A beautiful job, Colonel Dark."

"Good as Sodeskayan engineering, Lieutenant?" Dark asked with a grin.

"Well," the Bear said with a shrug and a twinkle in his eye, "perhaps not that good—but good enough to fool this Bear!"

"Ha, ha! Excellent answer, Ursis," Dark said. "Now let me tell you what the left beta feed really is, because you are definitely not looking at two of the same device." She smiled almost proudly. "It's what the boffins call a BURST attachment—operates with your regular COMM gear. I don't have any idea how it works, but it does—sends a whole bloody message in less than a billionth of a tick. On anybody else's COMM gear, it's automatically filtered out—with all the other static spikes in space. This one can recognize a BURST message and translate it."

"How easy is it to use, Colonel?" Ursis asked.

"Like slipping on a ca'omba peel," Dark quipped. "We've got yours wired in—you'll find a couple of extra goodies on your COMM cabinet. No voice or video. Works just like a KA'PPA, in that sense—symbolic output only."

The Bear nodded. "It sounds fine to me, Colonel" he said.

"Unfortunately," Dark continued, "we haven't had much luck with another important portion of that COMM cabinet—your authentication key."

Brim mentally winced. That was not good at all. Every military starship in the Universe carried some kind of device to return a properly coded "authenticator" signal when "challenged" by similar equipment aboard another vessel. The coded authentications were changed on a random—but regular—basis, and if E607 didn't have an up-to-date authenticator then the fact that the little scout was an authentic Leaguer ship would have little effect at all.

Dark grimaced from her recliner. "Oh, we've got one for to use," she said. "But it's just about expired: We simply don't think it will hold out all the way through your mission—especially if you must use the last of your three time windows." She laughed humorlessly. "The League has selfishly failed to send us the next one in the series for E607, so you'll be op your own if you're in enemy territory when the one you have wears out." After a few more words, she wished each of them good fortune, pressed their bands one by one, then sent them on their way.

Within the metacycle, Red Rock 9 again vanished in the aft hyperscreens, and E607 was running Hyperspace, on course for a destination deep within the next League. A final message came from Dark about three-quarters through the next watch. It arrived as their first BURST interception: "'Closing this base immediately,'" Barbousse read from the COMM cabinet. "'After pickup, fly course 794 by 819 on 6153E. Imperial warship will: (1) intercept your course, (2) assume care and feeding of spy, (3) complete your orders. Good fortune to all.'"

Through it, Amherst sat in his command recliner in stony silence, his eyes unfocused, as if he had abandoned reality for some safer, more acceptable existence within. To Brim, the man seemed to be deep in some sort of shock. He shook his head uneasily. A critical juncture was imminent—and he sensed he would be deeply involved when it came.

In the metacycles that followed, the First Lieutenant began to find his tongue again, but by now, he had undergone a profound change. Vanished was the arrogant Puvis Amherst Brim had known. He was replaced by the withdrawn, sweat-soaked stranger who had first shown himself on the League starship Ruggetos just before its recapture by Prefect Valentin.

At first, Brim attempted to ignore the behavior—as did the others—with inconsequential small talk.

But constant interruptions as to "How much farther?" and, "Are you sure the authenticator is in place?"

finally broke through their common restraint.

"What's the matter with him, Wilf?" Theada whispered from the side of his mouth. "He's acting crazy."

Brim shook his head and frowned. "I don't know," he admitted as the ship veered suddenly toward a space hole off to port. He carefully eased the helm back on course. "Maybe Nothing," he ventured.

"Nothing?" Theada protested. "Don't try to hand me that, Wilf Brim. Universe, it doesn't take a bloody genius to..."

"What is this talk about?" Amherst demanded anxiously. "What's the matter?"

"Change over on the power supply, Lieutenant," Brim lied over his shoulder in a soothing voice.

"Perfectly routine."

"Very well," Amherst said uneasily.

Brim turned to watch the man more closely. So did Ursis.

"Perhaps the mission risks too much," Amherst said, silhouetted against the steady glare of the flowing Drive plume aft. "A crew of eleven and a valuable starship for one spy is not a good bargain in my estimate." He turned in his seat. "Is this not so, Barbousse?"

The big Torpedoman jumped as if he were bitten. "I, ah—" he started.

"Not so much of a risk as all that, Lieutenant," Brim interposed. "A simple pickup is all. We've been in much more danger in Truculent, you know."

"That is not the point, you...Carescrian," Amherst snapped, biting his lip.

"Then what is the point, Lieutenant?" Brim asked gently. "It's...it's..." Suddenly, Amherst's eyes narrowed. His face contorted in a paroxysm of hate. "Oh, no!" he hissed. "You'll not do that to me. You and the rest of the low-life scum—Bears and ratings. And that brazen whore Dark. Trash! That's what you are. Trash!" He jerked himself around in the recliner and pointed toward the right-hand Helmsman's seat. "And you'd better watch yourself, Theada—they'll drag you down with them!"

In the shocked silence that followed, Ursis checked his readouts, then rose to his feet and moved slowly to Amherst's side, where he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Lieutenant Amherst?" he asked in a gentle growl.

"Take your filthy paw from my uniform—animal!" Amherst grunted, his eyes suddenly clearing. "How dare you touch my person? Remember that I am still your commander!"

Ursis removed his hand, looked at it a moment, then nodded to himself. "You are still in command, Lieutenant Amherst?" he asked gravely.

"Of course I am still in command," Amherst said as he got to his feet and strode toward the sleeping cabins as if nothing unusual had occurred. "What could have made you ask that question?"

"We may yet discuss such a subject, Lieutenant," Ursis growled after him, then returned to his console and the power systems. Save for the steady rumble of their Drive, the remainder of the watch passed in near silence.

A few metacycles prior to the first time window, Brim eased the little ship out of Hyperspace and proceeded toward Typro on generators alone. Now deep within League territory, he openly followed a main spaceway as if the STS were part of a normal, everyday mission. The authentication key on the COMM console chimed now and again as passing ships challenged their identity, and the mission appeared to be running a normal course, as planned. During the last metacycle, however, something had begun to gnaw at his peace of mind, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Something about their approach was ever so slightly out of kilter, and it worried him. Any rock hauler knew it was the little details that do you in, and he scoured his mind for them—to no avail.

Far below and to port, an outbound freighter saluted them. Barbousse returned it promptly—his KA'PPA reply was not even complete before the authenticator chimed.

Brim watched the lights as the key reset, then checked his flight instruments, initiated a long systems self-test sequence, and lined up the navigation follower—it was a hair out of alignment. He was feeding in a series of adjustments from the master console when it finally hit him. The authenticator! Why was a merchant ship challenging him?

"That was a merchant ship a few moments ago?" he asked Theada suddenly.

'Th-That's what the salute said," Theada answered vaguely as he concentrated on a diagnostic logic run.

"A merchantman?" Ursis asked, turning from his console.

"What was a merchantman?"

"The starship that just passed us," Theada answered, this time looking up to see what was so suddenly interesting. "Said he was a merchantman."

"I see," Ursis said. "And he used an authentication key?"

"That seems to be the case, Nik," Brim acknowledged.

"Merchantmen don't use authentication keys," Ursis growled.

"You noticed also," Brim said with a chuckle.

"What is all this talk about?" Amherst demanded from the companionway.

"The merchantman we just passed, Lieutenant," Brim answered, peering at a red light blinking suddenly on his overhead panel.

"What about the merchantman?"

"Someone aboard used an authentication key on us, sir," Brim explained over his shoulder as he switched to a backup cooling system for the steering gear. The red light extinguished.

"So?" Amherst said. "Is there anything wrong with the authentication key?"

"Well, sir," Brim said, "most merchantmen don't carry an authenticator. It's a piece of specialized military gear, more or less."

"I know that," Amherst snapped. "And this idle talk is the best entertainment you can dredge up to While away your time?"

"Well, actually, sir," Brim said, "I was pretty serious about the whole—"

Amherst cut him off with an imperious wave of the hand. "Don't bother me with the details, Brim. You are permitted to speak among yourselves. Just be certain you pay very close attention to the job of flying this horrible little starship." He shivered and took his place at the commander's console.

Brim turned to Theada. "Jubal," he said, "you and Barbousse check the other ships we've passed in the last metacycle. See if they saluted as civilian types and then kicked off the authenticator, too."

"Aye, sir," Theada said, slipping from his seat.

Brim slowed their approach speed to provide extra time to act—just in case.

The younger Helmsman returned with Barbousse in only a few cycles. "We've passed eight of them, Wilf," he replied with a look of concern. "A mixed bag, mostly, but all commercial—and each one challenged our authenticator."

Brim looked over at Ursis. "What do you think, Nik?" he asked.

"Strange," the Bear pronounced. "Eight out of eight, so far—and all civilians. Makes me wonder."

"Right," Brim agreed. "Not to mention the fact that we've encountered no warships of any class."

"None until now," Theada interrupted tensely. "Look what just matched courses with us up ahead." He pointed through the forward Hyperscreens.

Brim peered into the darkness where the stars were occluded by a monstrous shadow. "Military?" he said.

"That's what the Challenge just said," Theada acknowledged. "Gives the ID number as DN-291."

"DN?" Ursis repeated. "That's the League designation for heavy cruisers—but what does '291' stand for? Smallest DN number I can recall is 408."

"Old one," Theada said, snapping his fingers. "Of course. All two-hundred and three-hundred series cruisers were retired a couple of years ago. At least."

"You suppose they kept a few for perimeter defense?" Ursis mused. "Like ultra-heavy patrol craft."

Brim grimaced. "For perimeter defense maybe, but surely not as patrol ships. I doubt if two-hundreds are maneuverable enough for that kind of work." He shook his head. "No, Nik, it's my guess that old DN-291 comes out only for special projects."

"Special projects?" Theada asked.

"Of course," Ursis interrupted with a grin. "With a flotilla of so-called civilian patrol craft. Correct?"

"I think so, Nik," Brim said, watching a blue navigational beacon wink far off to port. "It's the way I'd set things up myself, probably."

"I don't follow you," Theada said.

"Nor do I," Amherst complained from the hatchway. "You Carescrians are certainly not very articulate. It probably has something to do with your second-rate educational standards."

Brim gritted his teeth. "Must be, sir," he said. "I only formed the idea while we were talking."

"Well?"

"Yes, sir. The way I see things, Colonel Dark's fears that our spy was compromised appear to have been well founded."

"What does that have to do with the cruiser?" Amherst interrupted nervously.

"I think DN-291 is part of a special group, Lieutenant," Brim grunted as the scout abruptly swerved to nadir in a gravity draft. "And the patrol craft supporting her include the supposedly commercial/civilian ships that have been tripping our authentication key for the last watch or so." He thought for a moment while he gentled the ship back on course. "My guess is that they're out to catch both our spy and the ship sent to bring him out."

"It explains why we haven't seen any regular patrol ships," Ursis added.

"Make sense to you?" Brim asked Theada.

"Yeah, Wilf," Theada agreed, looking up from a navigational fix. "It does."

"I suppose it does make some sense," Amherst volunteered. "I never had much hope we would find this 'spy' of theirs. Perhaps we should abort the mission and return home immediately."

Brim raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no, sir," he ejaculated. "I never suggested anything like aborting the mission. We'll simply have to be a bit more cautious when we go in—skip the first window and just skirt the area."

Suddenly, Amherst's face went pale and sweat began beading on his forehead again. "No?" be cried sharply. "Well I am in command of this ship, and I say we return home now, before we catch up with that battleship."

"Cruiser, sir."

"Whatever it is, I order you to turn back now!" Amherst demanded.

"But, sir," Brim protested, "we can't just turn around and leave without at least trying to pickup that spy. Why, something like that would be murder, plain and simple. We've got to make at least a couple of tries."

"How dare you question my order?" Amherst spluttered, angrily rising to his feet. "Lieutenant Brim, you will immediately place us on a reverse course and, and..."

"Enough!" Ursis rumbled, stepping suddenly to the center of the cabin. "Amherst," he said, "I made a solemn promise to myself you would not again destroy a mission if I could help it—and I shall now carry out that promise."

"Sit down," Ursis said, seizing the First Lieutenant's arm and forcing him back in the command recliner.

"I mean what I say, believe me."

A clearly startled Amherst looked first at Theada, then at Brim, eyes widening in dawning fright. "You are not going to permit this to occur, are you, Brim?" he implored. "He's calling for mutiny."

"I support Nik completely," Brim said quietly. "And you now have a choice which you must make immediately: either lead the mission like an officer or relinquish your command. We will not tolerate another episode like the one on Ruggetos. You understand, I am sure."

Amherst's face turned scarlet. "I shall have both of you arrested and thrown into..."

"Not here you won't," Ursis growled. "Now consider carefully the choice Lieutenant Brim has given you—I would not have been so generous."

"I...I..."

"Your choice, Amherst. Quickly," Ursis said. "We shall overtake the cruiser in the next few cycles.

We cannot be busy immobilizing you during that time."

"Well.. .I..." Amherst looked imploringly at Theada. "D-Don't you want to go home?" he asked.

"Sorry, Puvis," Theada said. "We've got to at least try to pick up that spy."

"Barbousse?"

"I've sent one of the men for some rope to tie him up, Lieutenant Brim," Barbousse said, ignoring Amherst completely.

"Your choice, Lieutenant?" Brim asked.

Amherst looked around the room for support. There was none. He took a deep breath, choked back what sounded like a sob. "I-I shall remain in command, then," he whimpered, his eyes overflowing.

"Good decision," Brim said. "Go to a cabin and don't return to this deck until we tell you to.

Understand? We'll get you home as soon as we accomplish our mission."

"Heavy cruiser coming up to starboard, Wilf," Theada said as the first warning sounded from the proximity alarm. The little scout was already tossing heavily in the big warship's gravity wake.

Brim nodded. "Barbousse, let's ready that salute—the recording they gave us on Red Rock 9."

"Aye, aye, Lieutenant," the big rating said, sliding to the COMM console.

"Bastard's making sure he gets a good look, at us," Ursis commented. "He's been edging our way ever since he turned on to our course."

"I'll gladly give him the look he wants," Brim chuckled daddy. "We're legal outside—even if he wouldn't like what he'd see in here." Ahead, the big ship continued its drift to port. It was clearly visible now.

"Talk about your weird starships," Theada said. "Look at that, would you." The old cruiser was stubby and humpbacked, with a confusion of wartlike turrets protruding from its ungainly hull as if sown at random like wild seeds. Many of the larger protrusions were connected to others by great flying bridges and walkways. Four huge turrets ringed the hull a quarter of the way from the stem; each mounted two huge disruptors.

The stubby weapons reminded Brim of the ugly disruptors in Hagbut's captured fieldpieces—from the size, these would be a thousand times more powerful at their lowest setting. A squat, complex deckhouse stumbled forward from the turret ring where it terminated in an awkward, thrust-browed bridge that gave the whole ship a look of primitive stupidity. Formidably armed, though, if taken altogether, Brim thought abstractedly as he flew his little scout carefully past. But the insubstantial Drive openings aft made it obvious she would be clumsy and difficult to manage in Hyperspace. He guessed the same would prove true under antigravity generators as well. He watched Barbousse's salute expanding out from the KA'PPA: "ALL HAIL NERGOL TRIANNIC—CONQUEROR OF THE STARS" It was followed immediately by the cruiser's response: "AND RIGHTFUL RULER OF THE COSMOS—ALL HAIL!"

Brim chuckled to himself for a moment. Margot would love that! Then, suddenly they, were past, running in smooth space again, and the cruiser was receding aft, slipping back to starboard from where she had come.

"Score one for the Truculent team," he cheered. "We've passed!"

"Glad to see that one go," Theada said.

"No more than this Bear," Ursis agreed. "You saw the size of those disruptors?"

"I noticed," Brim said, grimacing. "I'll definitely avoid that ancient rustbucket—anytime I can."

A quarter metacycle before their first rendezvous, E607 was rapidly bearing down on the pickup zone with Typro now a recognizable globe that hid the stars ahead. Brim patted the little BURST section on his. COMM console. "Nothing more than a symbolic display panel and some controls," he said to Ursis.

"But we've got a lot riding on it."

"The spy has a lot more yet," the Bear growled sardonically. "I would not trade places."

"Lieutenant Brim," Barbousse interrupted unsurely, "would you look at this?"

"What's up now?" the Carescrian asked.

"Reception committee orbiting Typro, from what I can see, sir," the big rating said. "Switch one of your displays to the long—distance target scanner for the torpedo system."

"Got you," Brim said, switching the spare globe on his own console to the torpedo display. He squinted, then nearly gasped. "Universe!" he exclaimed. "They really are ready for us," he said. "Looks like they've got at least four ships orbiting there—waiting for somebody."

At that moment, the BURST gear chimmed twice. "The time window begins," Ursis observed. "We have a prompt spy."

Brim's display filled immediately: "TIME WINDOW ABORT," it read. "DANGER TO PICKUP CRAFT."

Brim nodded his head. "Guess we now know what those orbiters are," he said as he altered course slightly. "We'll still have a look at things as we pass." He shook his head bleakly. "BURST an 'aborted,'

Barbousse. Whoever that poor bastard is down there, he's got trouble right up to his ears."

As they passed Typro, the resulting confusion of challenges and authentications between E607 and the orbiting ships soon revealed there were five large patrol craft. "They're not making it easy," Brim groused while the planet receded in the distance.

"True," Ursis acknowledged with a frown. "'When rocks and crags tremble before the great storm, Nemba cubs run for joy.'"

"As they say on the Mother Planets, Nik?"

The Great Bear grinned, diamond-studded fangs reflecting the colored lights of his readouts. "You must be part Sodeskayan," he declared. "Never have I met a human who understands so much."

They spent the subsequent watch concealed close by a deserted, mined-out asteroid. Then, as the second time window opened, they were once again cautiously approaching little Typro with Barbousse's eyes glued to the long-distance target scanner. "Ships are still there, Lieutenant Brim," he reported after a time. "But now I can see six of 'em."

The BURST gear chimed again. Barbousse was at it immediately. "Same thing as last time," the Carescrian reported. "'Danger to the pickup craft.'"

Brim shook his head. "If he doesn't let us get into a little danger pretty soon, we'll never get him home."

"Probably," Ursis commented from his console, "the spy knows that as well as you. He's a brave one, all right. It must be difficult to send that signal—myself, I should want out as soon as possible, and damn the danger to the pickup crew."

"Me, too," Brim added, his mind working furiously. "Unfortunately, it is also getting xaxtdamned close to the limit of our authentication key—after which we don't move around so freely." He shook his head as they moved past the little planet, their authenticator busy answering challenges from all six patrol craft.

"BURST the spy that we'll be back in the next window," he said to Barbousse. "And tell him that we're coming no matter what."

"ACKNOWLEDGE" and "THANKS" soon appeared on Brim's BURST display. He grimaced as he cruised past two of the patrol craft—big and powerfully armed. He listened to the authentication key working in the background and thought of the trapped spy hiding helplessly on the surface below. "I'm glad I don't have that kind of work," he said to no one in particular.

Ursis nodded from across the cabin. "I, too, Wilf Ansor," said soberly. "Whoever he is, he has paid his dues in this war."

Brim got the bad news when the last window was still a quarter of a metacycle in the future.

"I count five patrol craft this time, Lieutenant Brim," Barbousse reported from the target scanner.

Brim nodded. He'd expected the patrol would still be in place—after all, the Leaguers were in home territory. They could afford a waiting game. "Action Stations!" he ordered. He was definitely going in to get the spy. He simply didn't know how—yet.

With turrets manned, the scout's control cabin lapsed into silence except for the all-dominating rumble of the antigravity units in their outriggers. Brim drummed his fingers on the console and shrugged. At least they'd had no trouble with the little scout. Like a lot of League equipment, she wasn't particularly pretty or even sophisticated. But she was fast and reliable with a superb pair of antigravs. He nodded ironically to himself. She was c'lenyts ahead of any scout the Admiralty had conjured up for the Imperial Fleet.

Ursis looked over sympathetically and smiled. "Could be worse, friend Wilf Ansor," he said. "At least the scout's giving no trouble."

Brim grinned, pointing his thumb at his chest. "That's the same thing I've been thinking," he said.

"And..." Abruptly, the Carescrian brought himself up short. "Sweet thraggling Universe, Nik," he said.

"That's it. What we need is a malfunction to get us in there."

Theada rolled his eyes. "Oh, wonderful," he quipped.

"Whose side are you on, Wilf?"

Ursis chuckled. "Perhaps he has not yet defected at all," the Bear said as he turned to Brim. "You are solving the problem by looking at it from another angle, I assume, Wilf Ansor."

"That's right, Nik," Brim asserted. "So far, we've planned everything around this tub working flawlessly—and I'll bet the Leaguers have set up their trap expecting pretty much the same from whatever kind of starship comes along to pick up the spy. But I'll bet nobody's looking for something that doesn't work very well."

"Universe—of course," Theada exclaimed. "Any pickup craft would abort its mission if it had trouble.

Sure...."

"But how about the malfunction?" Ursis asked with a grin. "How are you going to do that?"

Brim held up a finger, grinned, then turned to Barbousse. "Think you can work that equipment for launching the space mines?" he asked.

The big rating rubbed his chin and frowned, studying a section of the control panel before him.

"'Nadzur' is the word for 'mine' in Vertrucht, isn't it, Lieutenant Brim?" he asked.

"Sure is," Brim said.

Barbousse nodded. "And I know 'imbal' means 'load.' I heard Lieutenant Theada say that once." He passed his hand over part of the controls, turning a whole sector to flashing green. He nodded to himself a few times more, then looked up. "Yes, sir," he said, "I can work it. Says we've got ten on board."

Brim grinned. "That's it, then," he said. "Here's my plan. In the next couple of cycles, you're going to kick one of those out into our wake and immediately detonate it. From any distance at all, it'll look like we've had one great grandsire of a malfunction."

Theada grimaced. "A space mine," he whispered with awe in his voice.

"The worse it looks, the better," Brim said. "Because right after that, we're going to broadcast on the intergalactic emergency channel that our steering's gone."

"Oh, I get it," Theada exclaimed. "Out of control."

"Right," Brim said with mock melodrama. "Heading for a crash landing on Typro." He laughed. "Bet you didn't expect anything like a crash landing, now, did you?"

"NO," Theada agreed. "I suppose I didn't expect anything like that. But the longer I work with you, Wilf, well, it gets easier all the time."

"All weapons systems are energized and I've got a star mine in the first hoop," Barbousse reported, glancing at the warty globe suspended in the forwardmost repulsion ring. Twelve identical rings formed a flux tunnel extending over the stern and into the little starship's wake. At a gentle chiming, he nodded to the COMM cabinet. "Incoming BURST message, Lieutenant," he announced.

Brim turned to his own BURST display. "MISSION ABORT," it read. "TOO RISKY FOR YOU. MUCH OBILGED ANYWAY."

"I expected as much," he said, biting his lip. He narrowed his eyes and turned to Barbousse. "Send,

'No options. On our way. Where do we meet?'"

All eyes were on the COMM now. The display flashed. "DAMN FOOLS," it read, "AND THANK

VOOT! CABLE ROUTE 981, ZONE 54G, OPEN LORRY W/YELLOW CANISTERS. NUMBER

8 ON CAB ROOF. GOOD LUCK."

Brim checked his charts of Typro and nodded. "All right," he said. "Everybody set?"

"Let's do it," Ursis said. "Our spy is clearly ready to go, too."

Brim turned in his console to face Barbousse. "Let the mine go," he said tensely. "And blow it up as soon as it's safe!"

"Free..." Barbousse said as the deadly star mine sped aft through the repulsion rings and disappeared in the darkness.

"Detonating." Immediately, a terrific flash pulsed the Hyperscreens. This was followed by a glowing, burgeoning, mountain-sized cloud that rapidly enveloped them in a paroxysm of flame and concussion.

Eyes slitted against the glare, Brim wrestled desperately with the controls as the little ship tumbled in the fiery blast, generators surging wildly. "Get ready on the KA'PPA, Barbousse," he shouted over the blazing confusion outside. "Standard code sent in the clear!"

When the worst was passed, Brim turned the controls over to Theada and fought his way back to the COMM cabinet. "BEWARE," he KA'PPAed in Vertrucht. "NAVAGATIONAL MENACE. BLOWN STEERING ENGINES. KEEP AWAY. SHIP OUT OF CONTROL. BEWARE." Then he regained his Helmsman's console and began to maneuver the little starship in awkward-looking, wobbling loops—each carefully calculated to bring them a little nearer to Typro. Momentarily, the authenticator began to chime with almost constant challenges. "That's got somebody's interest," Brim grunted with satisfaction as he skidded into a wild turn to port nadir, the starframe creaking with strain. "They'll want to use short-range COMM in a moment, Barbousse. Switch it up here to my station—but no video!" As a tiny area on his center console glowed green, he swerved again sharply to port. "Beware," he broadcast in Vertrucht. "Internal explosion...Steering failure...Ship out of control...Beware...."

Suddenly, a blank COMM globe sprang to life. "E607, do you receive us?" a voice asked in Vertrucht.

"Audio only," Brim said after a few moments. "Video must have gone in the explosion. Beware! I am out of control!" He pulled through a tight loop to get a better look outside.

"So we observe," the voice said. "You are generally heading toward an area that is temporarily forbidden."

Brim swerved sharply, spotted the ship high to port then sent the scout into a series of flat, wavelike spirals that made the deck shudder between their feet. "What in the name of Triannic do you expect me to do about that, fool?" he exclaimed. "You must have seen the explosion back there. If I could steer, I'd be nowhere near you or your xaxtdamned forbidden area!"

"Well, you will have to do something," the voice said—then stopped in midsentence as Brim abruptly turned and headed for him on a collision course.

"Look out!" the Carescrian yelled at the top of his lungs. With his new heading, he was upon them in mere ticks—past in a fraction of another, both ships swerving desperately to avoid disaster. Then the Leaguers were lost again in the star-scatter as Brim called up full power and thrashed corkscrewing once again toward Typro. "Beware!" he yelled into the short-range COMM. "Keep away!"

"Universe, yes, do keep away," the other ship broadcast to the others. "They almost collided with us!"

The authentication key chimed again. Moments later, a woman's voice inquired sternly, "What is your intended heading, E607?"

"Presently vectoring toward possible emergency landing on Typro ahead," Brim answered, sensing a far stronger personality here. "There's not much I can do about it."

A long silence ensued, after which the woman's voice said, "Good fortune to you then, fool. None of my ships will approach in your struggles." Brim smiled. He hoped he never had the chance to continue that short conversation.

Other voices questioned him for a considerable time and the authentication key chimed incessantly.

But all gradually faded in the distance as Brim wobbled toward his target—which by now almost filled the Hyperscreens ahead. Soon, it was amply clear he'd brought his ragtag scout crew safely through Typro's blockade! He hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a one-way trip. Dark's authentication key had little time remaining to run!

CHAPTER 8

In less than a metacycle, features of the arid surface began to define themselves—ragged mountains, dry riverbeds, the dim flicker of occasional cities. As the scout staggered deeper into the thin atmosphere, wisps of glowing plasma began to lick at the corners of the Hyperscreens, then spread rapidly to the hundred and one protrusions on the hull until they trailed a long, glowing corkscrew of ions like the meteor they had become. Gradually, Brim reduced his course perturbations, flying more and more in a controlled manner until finally, no more than ten thousand irals from the surface, he leveled off and flew a straight and level heading. "Universe!" he laughed, wiping mock perspiration from his brow, "with all that 'damage' to the steering gear, I didn't think I could bring her in at all."

Aft, Amherst slumped in a recliner, head lolling from side to side. "He's only passed out, Lieutenant," Barbousse reported.

"We're entering zone 5," Theada said presently, pointing below through the Hyperscreens. "It's sort of delineated by the mountains and that scar somebody once called a river."

"Very well," Brim replied as he cranked the ship in a wide circle. "Do you suppose that's Cable Route 981 running along the edge of the scarp?"

"Only one I can see," Ursis said. "Of course, who could tell in this desert?"

Brim's eyes followed the ground scar where the cable had been laid. About a third of the way to the mountains, two dust plumes crawled along the endless wastes. The second plume was considerably behind the first, but from its size, it was either a much larger vehicle or it was moving faster—or both. "If that first one's our spy," he said, pointing through the Hyperscreens, "he's going to have company very soon. Anybody see anything else moving?" he asked, easing the scout into a wide circle.

"None," Theada said as the ship returned to its original course.

"Just those two," Ursis agreed.

"All right," Brim said, "we'll go down for a closer look." He rolled the scout on its back, then nosed over into a steep dive that brought them above the second vehicle in a matter of ticks. "Ugh," he grunted aloud. Below was a typical Leaguer tank with three turrets, the kind that ambushed his little convoy back on A'zurn—only this one looked bigger, even from the air. "Let's check on the other one," he said, opening the power gates slightly. The distance evaporated.

"Open lorry," Ursis observed.

"With yellow canisters," Theada added.

"And an '8' on the roof of the cab," Brim finished. "It's our man, I'll bet. Send 'Which way is Avalon?'" he called back to Barbousse.

Only a few ticks later, his display flashed, "VOOT'S BEARD! YOUR SCOUT FOOLED ME. THOUGHT I WAS CAUGHT SURE. ALREADY GOT A TANK ON MY TAIL."

Only moments later, a huge column of dirt and flame shot up to the lorry's right as the tank began to pull in range. The scout bounced when the second blast followed on its heels—aimed this time at them.

"CAREFUL," the BURST display spelled out. "POWERFUL TANK."

"So much for our cover," Brim muttered, hauling the scout around into a vertical bank toward the tank and pulling off the lift vector. They fell like a stone toward the desert floor with both cannon blasting wildly at the squat, ugly shape in the distance. Only a few irals from the ground, he whipped the little ship level and jammed on the power. All three Leaguer turrets were firing now. The scout bucked and bounced through the blasts; debris smashed off the Hyperscreens and rattled along the decks.

Suddenly, a huge ball of fire from Barbousse's 9l-mmi erupted in front of the tank, sending a shower of rocks and debris hundreds of irals in the air. The big machine reared and skidded sideways in a cloud of dust, then resumed its progress at a somewhat reduced rate of speed, wobbling violently.

"Got his cable follower!" Barbousse yelled exultantly as they flashed overhead. But the tank's turrets were clearly unaffected and the firing continued almost unabated. Brim snapped the scout around and set up another low-level firing rim. This time, Barbousse found his target much earlier, and the whole area near the enemy vehicle exploded in a welter of powerful blasts...

Suddenly, a thundering detonation sent the scout skidding wildly off course with loose articles whistling about like shrapnel and the cabin acrid in swirling black smoke. A monstrous grinding shrieked through the starframe as the left outrigger touched down and skidded across the plain in a cloud of dust and debris. Brim struggled with the controls, helplessly watching the scout slide into a ground loop, then the hull ricocheted from a flat outcropping of desert rock and somehow wobbled level, trailing a long column of dirty black smoke that thinned and disappeared as Ursis calmly manipulated the N-ray mains and extinguished the fires.

"Ninety-one's gone, Lieutenant," Barbousse yelled above the din. "Blew the whole ventral turret away, he did."

Brim continued to fight the controls, achieving first an even keel, then an immediate turn away from the tank with a maximum acceleration dash toward a run of low, rocky hills, the generators bellowing angrily in overload.

"What are we going to do now?" Theada yelled in frustration as they pulled into the lee of the palisades and set up a low holding pattern. "Our little 60-mmi won't even dent that armored cockroach—and the spy's still out there with nothing but a good head start."

Brim bit his lip, concentrated. Quickly. Quickly. "The mines!" he shouted. "Of course! Even a near miss ought to be enough to take a tank out for good. Right, Barbousse?"

Barbousse grinned. "One star mine coming up, Lieutenant," he said.

"Wait a cycle!" Ursis interrupted suddenly. "The spy—is he far enough from the blast zone? We don't want to take him out, too."

"Easily far enough by now, Nik," Theada answered. "Especially in this thin atmosphere. Remember, he was almost beyond the range of that tank—and those big hummers shoot a long way."

"Very well," Brim said through clenched teeth. "Here we go." Wind roared across the great rent in the bottom of their hull as he banked gently to let the speed build up. Then he cranked the little ship over into a dizzying vertical turn that barely cleared the barren hillside. Jagged rocks whizzed by only irals from their starboard generator. By the time the tank was back in sight, they were accelerating wildly and blending into the background. They took the big machine completely by surprise—in the last ticks, Brim pictured its crew huddled over the traction controls in an attempt to drive with no cable followers.

"Star mine's...free!" Barbousse yelled. Brim heard the hum of the repulsion rings, then the scout flashed over the tank—still accelerating. Two more near misses sent rock and debris over their stern before the whole world turned a blinding white—no shadows, no details, only white. The Hyperscreens dimmed, flashed on again.

And then the shock wave... Incredible noise. Perhaps no noise—maybe all noise. The impact became an entire existence. One moment, they were speeding across the desert floor, the next, a giant hand smashed the little ship sideways like an insect. Brim struggled with the controls, easing the hull this way and that—instinct alone guiding his hands and feet as he fought to soften the shocks to the starframe. Then they were tumbling mindlessly through a gigantic storm of pure flame. Outside on the deck, only hullmetal survived—covers, attachment points, cables, all their accessories either burned or melted in long runnels along the deck. In the back of the control cabin, someone was screaming over the suit channel in the gagging, fright-choked voice of a wild animal. Brim glanced over his shoulder. It was Amherst, tears streaming from his cheeks, faceplate sprayed with spittle. Nothing he could do. He tried to ignore it.

Then, quickly as it came, the fire storm disappeared and they were once again flying in clear air.

Amherst's insane screaming died to a series of wracked sobs, then faded to silence. "By Voot's meem-stained beard!" Ursis roared in glee. "It is possible we may yet survive in spite of our fearless Helmsman." The control cabin erupted in laughter—for a moment."

"COMM channels are going full tilt," Barbousse reported from aft. "I think the whole Universe is yapping at once. Maybe you'd better listen in, sir," he suggested.

Brim nodded. "Take the controls," he said to Theada, then brought up a COMM display. It took only moments to discover that every patrol craft in the vicinity was on its way at full speed. He squandered a few ticks to inspect the result of their mine. Most of the blast had gone upward, blowing out the top of the atmosphere. All that remained was a shallow, blackened crater perhaps a few thousand irals in diameter—that, and a still-rising pillar of dust and debris topped by a great roiling cloud with a curious wisp on its top.

"Looks like we stopped him," Theada commented dryly.

Brim nodded solemnly. "Yeah," he said, "scanning the terrain. In the distance, he found the little wisp of dust again and smiled grimly to himself. "All right, Truculents," he said, "let's go pick up our spy. We're going to have a lot of company in a very short time—and none of them will want to help.

Moments later, they were back over the lorry. "IF YOU'RE THROUGH PLAYING WITH THAT TANK, LET'S GO HOME," the spy sent.

Brim laughed. "Tell him we'll do that," he said to Barbousse as he eyed the cable right-of-way. It went straight as a die, all the way to the horizon. He nodded his head. "Send this as I say It," he ordered. "'Put the lorry on automatic. We must pick you up on the fly. Affirmative?'"

"YOU BET," appeared almost instantly in the BURST display.

Brim turned to Amherst, who was now awake and keeping a frightened silence in the recliner. "Will you help, Lieutenant Amherst?" he asked.

"Help you Carescrian? On this insane mission?"

"You could help," Brim said as he eased the ship over the speeding lorry.

"I shall help none of you!" Amherst hissed. "You are only doing this so you can show me in a poor light to my superiors." In the corner of his eye, Brim watched the First Lieutenant fold his arms and close his eyes.

"He is no longer with us, Wilf Ansor," Ursis growled.

Brim nodded. "Very well," he said. "Nik, do you feel reasonably strong today?"

"Strong enough," came the reply. "What is it I can do?"

"I need somebody out there by the boarding ladder to help me bring this crate alongside the lorry—then lend a hand when our spy climbs on board. Feel up to that?"

"Unless our spy is too fat to lift, Wilf Ansor," the Bear laughed. Brim heard him pull his helmet on.

"Just in case we do get a fat one," Theada interrupted, "I think I'll join Nik out there, if that's all right with you, Wilf."

"I would welcome the assistance," Ursis said.

"Go to it, Jubal," Brim replied with a grin. Presently, the two appeared on E607's open utility deck, leaning into the wind and clipping their safety cords to eyelets built into the deck. Each had a coil of cushioned life-saving cable over his shoulder.

Then there was time for nothing but concentration. He made a final thrust adjustment, pulling above and to one side of the speeding lorry. His scout was nearly sixty irals in length and twenty wide—the spy's lorry little more than a third in any dimension. He made no attempt to delude himself concerning the difficulty of the job—this one would make barge piloting look easy! Starship's weren't made for precision work at low speeds and navigational tolerances measured in rrals. It would take only one sideswipe by his gravity pods and the whole trip would be wasted. He concentrated on the lorry, flying by instinct alone. "How are we doing out there, Nik?" he asked into the short-range COMM.

The Bear peered over the rail. "A little too far left, Wilf," j he said, "but just about the right height."

Gingerly, Brim nudged the controls to starboard.

"A couple of irals closer yet," the Bear said. "You can tell him to open the door now, but it's still too far to jump."

"Send, 'Open your door,'" Brim ordered Barbousse, then nudged the controls still further starboard.

"Watch!" Ursis said sharply, holding a warning hand aloft. "That's almost enough."

This time, Brim willed the ship's change.

"Perfect," Ursis declared. "Hold it right there. He's got the door open. I'm going to throw him the end of this rope. Tell him to tie it under his shoulders."

"Got it," Brim said through clenched teeth, half afraid to move for fear of bumping the ship into disaster. "Send, 'Tie the cable securely under your arms,'" he said to Barbousse. A moment later, Ursis lofted the coil.

"Missed!" the Bear growled in frustration.

"Proximity warning's beginning to flash, Lieutenant," Barbousse called out. "We'll have company any cycle now."

"Very well," Brim acknowledged. But there was nothing he could do as he watched Ursis coil the cable for another try. It was now—or it was never for the spy. If he was going to escape from this planet, he would have to fly the ship out in the next few cycles.

Again, the Bear lofted his coil. Brim gritted his teeth. "Please don't miss," he whispered to himself.

"He got it that time," Ursis said, relief sounding clearly in his voice. "And he's tying it under his arms.

Can you move just a little closer again, Wilf? We've drifted a few irals."

"Wilf!" Theada suddenly screeched. "Pull up. An overpass! Dead ahead!"

Brim looked up—even at their low ground speed, the bridge was only a few ticks distant. "Hang on to that rope, Nik" he yelled, then, "Barbousse, tell him to jump, now!" After that, he had no more options.

He waited approximately one more tick, then bunted the ship over the bridge, flinging both Ursis and Theada to the limits of their safety cords as he zoomed over the top. He heard Ursis grunt from the shock.

"Don't lose him, Nik," Theada whispered in a strangled voice as he fought to wrap the cable around himself. "I've got it now. You go pull him aboard!"

The spy—dressed in a nondescript Leaguer space suit—was now clinging desperately to the ship's rail with both hands and feet as Ursis arrived at his side. Less than a tick later, the Bear hoisted him to safety, and all three struggled out of view toward the air lock.

Brim immediately hauled the little starship around on a low-altitude trajectory perpendicular to the cableway, watching the lorry speed away in the distance. Considerable time would elapse before someone discovered anything wrong with that, he thought—as if it mattered anymore! Every ship in the League seemed to be on its way to investigate the explosion of Barbousse's star mine.

Then his thoughts were abruptly shattered by Ursis' deep bass voice, which—normally placid in all circumstances—was strangely reduced to little more than an awed whisper.

"Princess Effer'wyck, Your Majesty," the Bear stammered over the suit circuit. "W-What in the name of the Great Mother Bear are you doing here?"

The name struck Brim like a thunderbolt. "Margot?" he called over his shoulder incredulously.

"Wilf?" a weak but unmistakable voice answered in surprise.

"Margot! Universe!"

"Jubal," Ursis growled, "perhaps you could take the controls while..."

"Oh...ah...yes. Right away, Nik," Theada said as he raced for the right-hand Helmsman's seat.

Heartbeats later, Brim lifted the Leaguer space helmet to reveal a tumble of golden curls. Margot's face was streaked with dust and perspiration. "Universe," he whispered again in amazement. "If I'd had any...."

She smiled—and frowned. "If I'd had any idea." She shook her head. "I still can't believe it's you, Wilf." She was silent for a moment as if she were gathering strength. "No sleep..." she said, "...four days.

I'm all right. Need to rest though."

"Wilf!" Theada called shakily from the helm. "I think we're going to need you up here right away at the controls. Company's arrived."

"What's the best way Out of here?" Brim asked, taking Margot's arms and looking into her tired eyes.

She thought a moment. "Zone 5 here isn't usually patrolled much during daylight." She shrugged. "A few light picket ships. But there's talk about some crazy old cruiser. I tried to get some information about that, but I had to leave."

"We've seen that one," Brim assured her. "It's real." Then be frowned. "Best bet's up, then?"

"Straight up, Wilf," she said. "And keep on going right out into deep space. That's what I'd do, anyway."

"Sounds good to me," he said. "We'll try it."

While Brim made his way forward to the helm, Barbousse swept Margot into a spare recliner beside the unconscious Amherst and helped reseal her helmet at the neck. "Just in case, Lieutenant Effer'wyck," he said grimly as he took his place at the weapons console.

Brim turned in his seat and squinted through the aft Hyperscreens—as Theada warned, two flying objects were in pursuit, but still too distant for him to determine a type.

"What now?" the younger Helmsman asked.

As he took over the controls, Brim shook his bead and smiled. "We are going home, Jubal," he said simply. "Right away." With that, he set the generators to "EMERGENCY MILITARY" and pulled the powerful little scout into a vertical climb with Ursis working the power consoles in an orderly frenzy of movement.

The two ships following also pulled into a climb, but whatever their make, the scout handily outdistanced them, and they soon disappeared into the ground clutter below.

"Left those two nicely enough," Theada commented.

"Too bad we couldn't outrun their KA'PPAs," Brim said. "We'll have a welcoming committee waiting for us out there ahead."

"I see them in the long-distance target scanner already, Lieutenant," Barbousse said calmly.

"As I am sure they have us in theirs," Ursis growled.

Just then, the authentication key sounded, but this time with an ominous clanging like an alarm—which it was.

Brim shook his head. "That's it for the authentication system," he warned. "The key's run out."

"The tank was onto us anyway," Theada snorted just as space flashed violently in a rolling ball of pure energy that detonated just off the port beam.

"Authentication is now a very moot point," Ursis rumbled. "Let us see how well that 60-mmi projector forward works against this new enemy."

"Looks like four of those little N-81 picket ships Lieutenant Effer'wyck warned us about," Barbousse reported. " A lot thinner skinned than the tank."

Theada concentrated on the firing controls. Brim watched the turret index across the forward deck.

Moments later, a stream of energy blazed from the disruptor, accompanied by a rumble that vibrated the deck. A flash in the far distance ahead blossomed into a glowing orange puffball, then subsided.

"Missed!" Theada fumed amid a welter of return fire that smashed at the scout's thin hullmetal sides like rolling thunder. The ship bounced sharply as a jagged section of hullmetal railing was carried away with an ear-jarring crash and a cloud of sparkling radiation. "Sure wish Anastasia were here to run this thing."

Brim frantically zigzagged all over the sky trying to avoid the bursts. "Thank Voot they only carry a couple of 70-mmi's on board," be said through gritted teeth. "But eight of 'em can mean real trouble."

A second volley of fire burst from he scout's nose, resulting in a brief flare-up ahead. "Make that three N-81s," Theada said proudly—and with a little surprise in his voice as well. He was immediately drowned out as he sent off another volley of discharges. He peered into the target scanner. "Scattered the bastards that time," he said. Outside, the return fire slackened considerably.

"That's the way, Jubal!" Brim exclaimed. He listened to the miraculously steady beat of the two rugged Klaipper-Hiss generators blasting them ever faster through space, then glanced back at Margot in the recliner and felt his heart soar. Dirty and tired beyond all reason, she was anything but the sensuous woman with whom he rather goatishly desired to share a bed. He sensed his feelings toward her had developed a lot farther than that. Glancing at Ursis, he was rewarded by a wink. As usual, the Bear seemed to read his mind.

Soon, Theada began to index his disruptor again. "What do you think?" he asked Brim.

The Cacescrian smiled and scanned the heavens. "I think we're going to catch it from all sides pretty soon, Jubal," he said. "So keep an eye peeled. And make every shot count—because it will. If we can break out into open space, we'll be all right. Not much the League builds can catch this tub running flat out on its Drive crystal." He felt the ship tremble as Ursis dumped their emergency power cell into the energy supply.

"If we do not need it now," the Bear explained with a grin, "we probably will never need it."

And abruptly the enemy returned—their patrol vessels rushing in this time from all sides. Space came alive with flashing detonations. The scout bounced through volley after volley, shouldering aside a succession of hits, but the punishment soon began to tell. A whole section of port Hyperscreens suddenly dissolved into a network of flaming cracks, then went dark. A direct hit carried away the three aft repulsion rings from the open utility deck. Five simultaneous flare-ups smashed their bow off course and blew the cowling from the starboard plasma injectors—though the generator miraculously continued to function normally. Theada had the 60-mmi back in action immediately. Now, however, the attackers were widely separated. Desperately, he fired this way and that, but to little avail—he had no time to aim before he was forced to change his target. Outside the remaining Hyperscreens space was now alive with explosions of dazzling light and radiation. The little ship bounced and bucketed through the concussions as Brim desperately zigzagged in all directions.

Moments later, the Hyperscreens pulsed again—this time remaining dark for a full five ticks while the whole control room shook with a massive series of thunderous tremors. Loose gear clattered to the deck as the bow erupted in a cloud of sparks and debris that smashed back along the deck and grated deafeningly along the walls of the control cabin. Green sparkling radiation cascaded over the control cabin and vomited into the wake—when it cleared, the 60-mmi was completely gone, replaced by a jagged, glowing hole.

"Where did that come from?" Brim exclaimed over the din of the straining generators. "Wasn't even a direct hit!" Two more stupendous explosions erupted off to starboard, smashing the scout off course again and pulsing what was left of the Hyperscreens.

"Sweet thraggling Universe," Theada exclaimed. "I see it! Over there, just coming up from the shadow of the planet."

"The old cruiser!" Brim yelled as he suddenly realized he had flown into a classic trap. The little patrol craft were actually herding him like a grazing animal. His mind raced furiously as he crankled wildly through the sky. With no more disruptors to use against the patrol craft, escape was virtually impossible—any way he might choose to go, the huge disruptors of the cruiser could easily destroy him.

Yet the only way out now was past the old ship. He made his decision swiftly. "Barbousse," he yelled, "prime those torpedo tubes!"

"They're primed, Lieutenant," Barbousse declared presently.

Brim swung the scout's shattered bow toward the cruiser and sighted carefully through his target display. He set his jaw and frowned. A bad deflection, that, low and close to the disk of the planet—but it was the best he was going to get. "Here we go!" he yelled. More explosions battered the racing scout in every direction, but each time Brim fought his way back on course. As they approached, space itself seemed to catch fire with shattering detonations and radiation from the big ship's disruptors. "Ready," he yelled.

"Ready," Barbousse answered tensely.

Outside, a torrent of explosions ripped the blackness of space. Brim gritted his teeth and held a steady course while he struggled to acquire the target. He had only a single chance. Every passing tick was an eternity.

"Now," he called at last. "Fire both!"

The scout jumped as the powerful Leaguer torpedoes blasted from their tubes on either side of the ruined 60-mmi disruptor turret.

"Torpedoes running, Lieutenant," Barbousse confirmed.

"Reload!" Brim ordered, skidding to port just in time to avoid a whole string of monstrous detonations.

Powerful machinery whined and labored on either side of the deckhouse as the spare torpedoes were drawn from their storage canisters and inserted into the torpedo tubes. An eternity later, two thumps announced the task accomplished.

"They're primed, Lieutenant," Barbousse announced.

"Fire both!" Brim shouted.

Again the ship jumped.

"Torpedoes running."

By now, every disruptor on the old cruiser that could bear was in rapid fire at them. "Ready the Drive, Nik," Brim warned.

"The Drive is already on standby, Wilf," Ursis assured him. Brim judged the fast-narrowing distance carefully. Hesitated one more tick, then, "Fire it off!" he yelled.

The Drive crystal came to life at the precise instant the first two torpedoes found their target—they struck dead amidships with an immense explosion that immediately hid the middle third of the old cruiser with a roiling ball of blinding flame and radiation. And now E607 was rushing down at it with the acceleration only a Drive can provide.

"We're going to hit," Amherst shrieked over the suit channel.

A millitick later, the second two torpedoes slammed into what remained of the Leaguer's midsection—a dull glow boiling out into surrounding space until her hull opened like a rotten fruit. Her KA'PPA mast subsided slowly into the seething mass of energy, then suddenly took off in the opposite direction like a missile. Simultaneously, another glow began forward until the whole ship seemed to collapse inward in a explosion of starflame. Slowly, she rolled to starboard, her massive hull breaking raggedly into two parts at a gaping hole in her side.

Brim steered straight for the opening—he was too close and too fast for any other choice. The little scout pitched and rolled in the awesome shock waves. Then they were through to open space in less than a tick, Brim steering by instinct alone, He remembered an instant of great ruined galleries, flame, and destruction on either side—and debris. Something huge smashed past the control cabin, ripping a deep gash along the deck and opening the spare torpedo compartment like a ripe ca'amba. The Drive surged for a moment all out of control—a colossal hammer stroke smashed at the hull, then Gandom's Ve effect started and moments later they were in Hyperspace. When Brim turned in his seat, the giant wreck was only a flicker in the aft Hyperscreens, with the Drive growling raggedly beneath their feet and the generators spooling to a stop in their scarred outriggers.

"It probably looked as if we blew up with the cruiser," Theada commented in a voice still weak from excitement. "We were on our way into Hyperspace before we cleared the wreckage.

"No doubt," Ursis grumbled. "Unfortunately, whatever it was we collided with nearly did for the Drive, too." He frowned at his readouts and rubbed his jaw. "Ten thousand LightSpeed is the best speed we'll get in Hyperspace—unless of course you wish to be out of phase with time."

Brim shuddered. Everyone knew about occasional time castaways. He decided long ago he preferred death—of any kind. "Can we maintain ten thousand LightSpeed?" he asked.

"That, fortunately, poses no particular problem," the Bear replied.

Brim shrugged. "Let's go for it, then," he said. "Even a little Hysperspeed is better than none at all."

"As you say, Wilf Ansor," Ursis said. The Drive continued its uneven thunder.

Brim quickly took stock of the rest of the ship. All in all, it appeared to be in reasonably workable form, considering the treatment he'd given it during the last few metacycles. In the corner of his eye, he saw Margot remove her helmet—Barbousse was at her side in a moment. She looked at Brim through tired, bloodshot eyes, her face so drawn she was hardly recognizable.

"I-I watched that, Wilf," she said with awe in her weak voice. "I watched you. No wonder you're building such a name for yourself."

"Desperation, as usual," Brim said with a smile. "I can't do anything unless I'm in trouble."

"Oh, Wilf," Margot pouted with a tired grin, "you are impossible, aren't you?" She smiled sleepily, then her eyes closed and her head lolled onto her shoulder.

Barbousse opened her space suit at the wrist and gently counted her pulse. "She's asleep, Lieutenant,"

he asserted with a wink. "I think you've got this mission just about complete."

"Not until we get that lady aboard her pickup ship," Brim said. "But I guess I'll even be surprised if we don't pull that off pretty soon, considering what we've come through so far."

Then he turned to Amherst. "All right, Number One," he said without emotion, "now we're on our way home—as you wished. You'd better get yourself cleaned up and back in command."

E607's rendezvous with Margot's pickup ship took place only metacycles after they limped from the boundaries of the League at ten thousand LightSpeed. This time, they were not met by a lightly armed reconnaissance craft. Instead, the massive form of a heavy cruiser hove into view in what was left of the forward Hyperscreens—signaling imperiously for an immediate linkup.

After Brim matched speeds and came alongside, the ships were quickly connected by mooring beams and a brow extended from the cruiser to the scout's scarred and dented well deck. In moments, the Carescrian found himself alone with Margot in the control cabin, the others conveniently hurrying through the air lock after Ursis—who had Amherst firmly by the elbow.

Brim carefully slaved his controls to the larger ship, then slipped from the helm and made his way aft, where he bent over Margot's sleeping form and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

She opened her tired eyes slowly—blinked—then opened her arms. In a moment, Brim embraced her. "How I've dreamed of holding you," he whispered, his heart beating out of control.

"I've dreamed of you, too, Wilf," she said breathlessly. "It got me through the bad times back there."

She trembled. "I never did that reset we talked about back at Prosperous," she said. "I couldn't."

Brim felt a thrill course through his whole body. He looked into her bloodshot eyes. "Nor did I," he said with a passion he had never before experienced. Then their lips touched, hers soft and wet against his. For a dizzy moment, the war ceased to exist—only Margot and her lips and her breath and her arms and her crazy, crazy wet lips....

Abruptly, someone was hammering on the aft Hyperscreens. Brim surfaced just in time to see Barbousse knocking gently from the well deck. Behind him, Amherst was leading a group of officers through the wreckage toward the air lock. The newcomers were dressed in elegant battle suits that clearly had never seen a battle. "We've got visitors, Margot," he warned.

She continued to hold him for a moment, then released her grip. "I want you to hold me again, Wilf," she whispered, peering intently into his eyes. "I don't know bow, but, 'Can e'er I bid these joys farewell?/No greater bliss shines out among the stars.'"

"I'll get to where you are somehow," Brim said, Lacerta's poetry glowing like a brand in his memory as the air lock hissed. He got to his feet unsteadily, his heart racing.

"Together," Margot whispered while he helped her from the recliner. Then the others were inside, doffing their helmets and looking around the little control cabin as if its clutter might stain their battle suits.

"Princess Effer'wyck?" a bowing commander inquired, ignoring Brim as if he were part of the ship's equipment. The man was short, and inside his helmet he wore a too-neat mustache.

"Lieutenant Effer'wyck, if you please, Commander," Margot corrected. Then, turning to Brim, she said, "I shall remain on Avalon for a time, Wilf. If Fortune wills, we shall meet there. Otherwise, Gimmas." She touched his hand, then reached for her space helmet. "Thank you forever," she whispered—less than a cycle later, she led three of the officers through the air lock, across the ruined well deck, and out of Brim's sight.

The remaining officer placed a hand on Amherst's shoulder and scanned the burned and splintered deck outside. "Looks as if the rescue wasn't all that easy, Puvis," he said, removing his helmet. He was tall and elegant, even in a battle suit. Like Amherst, he had a long patrician nose, narrow-set, sensitive eyes, and another perfectly groomed wisp of mustache.

Amherst colored. "Ah...no. It w-wasn't, Uncle Shelgar," he stammered, looking at Brim pleadingly.

"We accomplished our mission, Commander," Brim said.

"That's the important part."

"Yes, you brought the Princess back," Shelgar said, nodding his head, "thereby avoiding a large and nasty galactic incident." He laughed. "She won't do that again, I'll tell you—they've reassigned her permanently to Avalon this time. Why, when the Emperor found what she was up to, he was furious.

Perfectly furious."

"She is next in line for the throne of Effer'wyck, isn't she?" Amherst observed. "Sort of a crown princess, except they don't use the term there." He frowned. "How did she get herself such an assignment in the first place?"

"A strong-willed youngster," Shelgar chuckled. "They say she usually gets what she wants." He smiled.

"And from what I hear, she did a perfectly superb job of what she was doing. All very hush-hush, you know." He took a moment to stare at the wreckage-strewn decks, peering intently at the jagged, blackened hole where Theada's 60-mmi used to be. "But," he continued, holding up an index finger, "I did not remain on your, ah, bridge here to discuss the Princess. I have orders for you, Puvis, and also for what is left of this little starship of yours.

"Sir?" Amherst asked.

"First," Shelgar said, "you are ordered to return with us in the cruiser—your father's personal and direct wishes, of course. He'll want to bestow your decorations himself."

"I see, yes," Amherst said, his eyes brightening for the first time since the mission began. "I have a few things in the cabin, forward," he said. "If you will be so good as to pass the remainder of the orders to Brim, my Helmsman, I shall be ready to leave momentarily."

Shelgar nodded and watched Amherst disappear into the companionway before he turned to Brim.

"So you are the Carescrian Helmsman," he said, folding his arms and smiling.

"Yes, sir," Brim answered uncertainly.

"Regula Collingswood speaks highly of you, Lieutenant," Shelgar said. "I assume you flew the mission?"

"Some of it," Brim answered.

"I won't ask any embarrassing questions, Brim," Shelgar asserted with an ironic smile. "I've already formed my own guesses about the nature of young Amherst's contribution from what I long ago learned of my brother's son." He winked. "So I also won't bother to read the official version when it appears in the Journal." He laughed quietly. "Enough of that," he said. "Politics disgust me—and time grows short. I think you'll like your orders—they get you to Avalon just as soon as you can coax this clapped-out wreck to fly you there."

"Did you say Avalon, sir?" Brim asked, heart suddenly racing.

"You're to take what's left of this scout back to the Technical Intelligence Center, Brim. You can catch a return ride to Truculent from there. And I shall convey the same information to Her Majesty, the Princess Effer'wyck. If I am any judge of quick looks, it will no doubt soften the shock of her reassignment."

Brim felt his face flush. "Th-Thank you, sir," he gulped. "But wouldn't it be a lot quicker to tow us with you? We'll be quite awhile getting there at ten thousand LightSpeed."

"Quicker for you," Shelgar said with a smile, "but a lot slower for us with you trailing at the end of an optical hawser. The Emperor wants Princess Effer'wyck safely under his jurisdiction 'without delay' which means a full-speed run back to Avalon as it is."

"Aye, sir," Brim grumped.

"You'll both survive," Shelgar assured him with a smile. "And speaking of orders—which we weren't—the text of yours ought to be finished downloading by now into your COMM system—read it for the details." He grinned. "Incidentally, Regula asked me to pass this along, too." He took a small metal box from a pocket on his forearm and passed it to Brim. "I just so happened to have one of these lying around in my kit—mine once, now it's yours. You can pass it on yourself someday."

Brim frowned and opened the box. His heart stopped.

"Congratulations," Shelgar said. "From what I bear, you've earned it, full Lieutenant Brim." He laughed. "You'll find we've downloaded all the documentation for that, too. If it's high-flown boredom you're after, it'll make good reading." He clapped the speechless Brim on his shoulder as Amherst reentered the control cabin. "Ready, Puvis?" he asked placing his helmet on his head.

"I certainly am, Uncle," Amherst replied, donning his own helmet. He turned to Brim. "Take care of things as well as you can without me, Brim," he said.

Brim gritted his teeth. "I shall do that, Number One," he said.

"Yes, I'm sure you will," Shelgar said, pushing Amherst into the air lock before him. He winked at Brim as he stepped through himself. "I shall pass along that message we discussed," he said. "And congratulations again." Then he was gone.

Scant ticks later, mooring beams to the cruiser winked out and the big starship bore up for Avalon, disappearing in the blackness with an emerald glow that lingered for nearly a quarter of a metacycle before it faded away. Brim grinned while the remainder of the Truculents clambered through the air lock, ripping off their battle helmets and congratulating him for his promotion all at once. Miraculously, Ursis and Barbousse had procured large bottles of Logish meem—apparently from the emptiness of space itself. He laughed, basking in the warmth of their good wishes, happily clicking goblets with each in turn (first full and right side up, then empty and upside down). Inside, however, his glee stemmed from a different source altogether. He was going to Avalon—and Margot. Somehow, a mere promotion in grade paled in comparison!

It took the Truculents nearly twenty Standard days to nurse the crippled scout into native space, but at last E607's cracked and scarred Hyperscreens began to fill with the glittering star that comprised the heart of the galaxy itself. In due the mighty triad of Asterious blazed forth like a giant beacon suspended above the Universe, drenching all it contained with a glorious golden radiance—and soon thereafter, the five blue-green worlds hove into view: Proteus for science, Melia for commerce, Ariel for communications, Helios for shipping, and The city-planet Avalon herself—throbbing epicenter of an empire that spanned the very galaxy and beyond.

Brim's Orders specified signing the scout over to the scientific community on Proteus, and accordingly (on the thirty-second day of the voyage), he slowed to Hypospace, rounded the Vernal-204 space buoy, and set up his final approach to the gleaming planet of Imperial science. With the scout's seemingly indestructible generators rumbling steadily in his ears, he was passed through to the military sector and entered the spaceport traffic pattern when the last flickers of reentry plasma cleared from his Hyperscreens. Below sprawled three circular clusters of buildings and laboratories known through the Empire as the source of nearly half the important military technology developed in the last hundred years.

He eased E607 into the downrange leg of the traffic pattern while Theada trimmed ship for a dry-land planetfall. As the Klaipper-Hisses began to spool up, a Military Harbor Master appeared in Brim's COMM display and cleared them on to the complex.

"All hands to stations for planetfall. All hands to stations for planetfall," Theada announced on the ship's speakers.

Brim rolled left through an abbreviated base leg for immediate transition to final amid running footsteps and alarm buzzers as landing crews scattered to their positions. When the ship righted, he lined up on one of the long Becton-type gravity-cushion tubes (commonly used in place of water for hard-surface touchdowns), carefully pulled off more lift, and established a gentle glide angle, checking the nose in relation to the near end of the fast-approaching tube. Steady as a rock. He smiled. Couldn't mistake this for Gimmas Haefdon—no wind!

He made one final power reduction directly over the green-flashing ALPHA beacon, then energized the lift modifiers, held his speed steady, and waited for the approach lights to loam up as he rumbled in over the end of the tube. E607 settled solidly onto the long gravity cushion as its shadow dashed in from alongside and became a blurred spot beside them on the right-of-way. When Brim sensed a definite hover, he dumped the modifiers and completed his roll-out with gravity brakes alone, generators rumbling at idle.

His instrument panel was already a satisfying mass of flowing colors and patterns by the time he taxied from the tube at the second turnoff—and amid wild cheering from his travel-weary crew, he finally parked the little ship at a special gravity pool near the military terminal. E607's first and only mission was complete.

"Text, messages for you, Lieutenant Brim," Barbousse announced suddenly from the COMM cabinet, his voice nearly lost in the eager commotion of technicians clambering aboard the little ship from three separate brows.

"What do they say?" Brim asked, busily shutting down the flight systems.

"Appear to be personal, sir," Barbousse yelled. "You'll probably want to display them yourself—beggin' the Lieutenant's pardon, of course."

"I see," Brim said as he activated a COMM globe over his control panel. The short text message cascaded instantly across the display: Wilf—I am required to attend the Godille function as representative of my dominion. Shall I see you there? I believe the Admiralty has deprived you of any excuse to decline. (Regrets Only)—Margot Brim's heart raced as he read the first few words. Then he frowned. "Godille function?" "Admiralty?"

He looked up just as Ursis switched over to external gravity—and almost fell out of his recliner.

Swallowing hard, he wrested control of his heaving stomach, then turned to yell hotly at Barbousse. "Are you sure you got all of that?" he demanded. "It doesn't make any sense at all."

"Which one, sir?" Barbousse asked solicitously. The big generators were spinning down now, and it was a little easier to talk.

"I only got one," Brim yelled, his voice now far too loud in the little control cabin. Everyone turned to stare at him—he felt his face flush.

"But which one, Lieutenant?" Barbousse asked again.

Brim gritted his teeth. "Personal" his foot! 'The one from Margot," he answered in capitulation.

"Oh," Barbousse said with raised eyebrows. "That's the second one, Lieutenant. The first one must have got lost."

"WON-der-ful," Brim fumed.

"I'll send it again," Barbousse said.

Brim thumped back in his recliner, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes at his back. "Thanks," he said, pulling in his neck. Then he swiveled rapidly to face his audience. Eight technicians were expectantly looking over his shoulder at the message globe. "As you were!" he thundered. They scattered to eight tasks elsewhere in the suddenly quiet control cabin. Then the first message cascaded across the globe: TO: Wilf A. Brim, Lt., I.F. @ Proteus.991E

FROM: Lord Avingnon B. Wyrood @ Admiralty/

Avalon

Lieutenant Brim: Your attendance is hereby commanded at a court divertissement by His Majesty, Crown Prince Onrad in tribute to the Honorable Archduke of Godille.

This evening: 1900

Lordglen House of State

Grand Boulevard of the Cosmos

Avalon

BY ORDER OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY GREYFFIN IV, GRAND GALACTIC

EMPEROR, PRINCE OF THE REGGIO STAR CLUSTER, AND RIGHTFUL

PROTECTOR OF THE HEAVENS.

(formal attire)

————————————————————————————

Personal to Lt. Brim: Take the R-37 Shuttle to Imperial Terminal, Avalon. Transportation will be standing by at the Quentian Portal. A formal uniform awaits your arrival at the Lordglen House.

—A. K. Khios, Secretary to Lord Wyrood

That made more sense—at least as much sense as inviting a Carescrian to a court affair in the first place. He laughed. Margot's work for a certainty. Well, if that was the requirement to see her now, then so be it! He'd faced up to some of the best the League could throw at him so far. Avalonian society couldn't be very much worse than that!

Later, on a tram from the landing field, Brim told the others about his invitation.

"The Lordglen House?" Theada exclaimed. "Universe, Wilf, that's one of the fanciest official palaces of all. How'd you get an invitation there when we stay at the Visitors' Quarters?"

"Friends in high places," Brim laughed evasively, feeling color rise in his cheeks. "Besides, it's just until we ship out tomorrow night."

Ursis laughed and clapped Brim on the shoulder. "I think perhaps you do have such friends, Wilf Ansor, but perhaps not whom you think." He smiled. "I shall be most interested to discover who your sponsor really turns out to be."

Brim never found himself in Avalon's Grand Imperial Terminal without a total sense of architectural majesty. Taken altogether, the huge structure could only be described as incredible with its immense, cloud-filled ceiling, which soared hundreds of irals over a thousand crowded ramps and concourses winding among terraced gardens and colored lagoons.

It was a fitting metaphor to represent the civilization that conceived and built it. Awesome—like the vast collection of worlds and stars it connected.

Making his way to the bustling Quentian Portal, Brim scanned the dozens of curbside lanes for his transportation. A bus? A van? He idly noticed a huge chauffeured limousine skimmer thread its way carefully through the crowd and draw to a halt amid "oohs" and "aim" from the street throng. He watched with interest as the chauffeur dismounted—somebody important was slated for that vehicle (or, he chuckled, a Bear on leave). He continued to scan the other lanes for his own ride.

"Lieutenant Brim?" a voice asked.

Brim turned in surprise to confront the chauffeur, who was small, dressed entirely in light gray, and appeared to be totally bald (bare scalp gleamed all around his peaked cap). "That's me," he said doubtfully.

The man motioned toward the huge skimmer waiting at the curb, sleek, shining, and important. It looked for all the world like some great water creature poised for attack. "Your transportation to the Lordglen House, Lieutenant," he said, a small blond mustache twitching as he spoke.

Brim felt his eyebrows raise. "That's for me?"

The chauffeur laughed. "All the way to Lordglen," he said.

"You're sure I'm not supposed to drive you?" Brim joked as he strode toward the, stately vehicle.

"Looks big enough to take a Helmsman."

"Only in traffic, Lieutenant," the chauffeur retorted good-naturedly as he opened the door for Brim.

"This time of the day, I can probably handle it myself." Without another word, he climbed into the driver's compartment and the powerful skimmer glided out of the station.

Avalon City proper was laid out in a vast arid of forested parks and urban recumbency at the edge of huge, placid Lake Mersin—actually an inland sea. The Grand Terminal was constructed on an artificial island in the lake and connected to the city proper via a wide causeway named for August Thackary Palidan, first starship commander to circumnavigate the galaxy.

Cruising the causeway at high speed, they soon swung onto, tree-lined Vereker Boulevard and began to follow the shore. Brim looked out at magenta waves beyond the twisted kilgal trees as they swept past. The chauffeur was maneuvering through the heavy traffic with a light and skillful hand—Brim relaxed in the deep cushions of the seat, enjoying every bit of luxury he could absorb.

They breezed past a cool, mork-shaded park dotted with sparkling fountains—full of splashing children. Brim reflected on how long it had been since he'd even seen a child and shook his head. Before Gimmas Haefdon, he guessed. War and children didn't mix so very well—as he so sadly knew.

Traffic was heavier as they neared the inner metropolis, and the closer they came, the more the lanes in both directions contained limousine skimmers like the one in which, he rode, many decorated with embassy crests. One great black machine from the Bright Triad at Ely pulled opposite them in an adjoining lane just as its emergency beacon came on, flashing frantic red, white, and orange in an eye-startling, random sequence. The shining vehicle accelerated quickly, skillfully dodging other traffic and rapidly disappeared in the distance.

To the right, they passed the shimmering Desterro Monument with its colossal spiral of sculpted flame commemorating discovery of the Cold Tetrad of Edrington, center of a gravity drift that collected space debris and invaluable historic artifacts from a million years of space travel. A traditional mecca for peacetime tourists, the monument was now overrun by hundreds of gawking cadets and Blue Capes from all over the Empire. Brim smiled. He'd visited more than once himself.

In a matter of cycles, they were gliding over the first great ruby arch crossing the Grand Achtite Canal, each end of the wide, translucid span guarded by immense crystal warriors gazing at the same section of the sky (as indeed their sculptor had determined they would). Brim recalled a tour guide once pointing out that three similar bridges crossed the canal far downstream at regular intervals, each guarded by the same crystal statues that stared eternally at the same section of the sky: the Achtite Cluster. To the left of the bridge apron, Brim's eye caught the great domed tower of Marva thrusting silver and gold above the skyline with its fluted sides and curious winding concourse that spiraled all the way to the dome like a sparkling vine. Old Queen Adrien herself once lived and studied there before she set off in her little Durax III to discover Porth Grassmere on the far side of Elath. It was a place all Imperial Helmsmen knew—and appreciated.

Farther along, they passed Avalon's famous Kimber Castle, where Cago JaHall composed Solemn Universe and other classics of the same idiom. In later years, Dalgo Hildi had also lived there, but by the time she finally arrived in Avalon, her active career was nearly over. The graceful old building was presently fronted by crystal scaffolding, and workers appeared to be treating its carved metal facade.

While they continued on into the historic Beardmore sector, Brim noted heavy construction wherever he looked. New buildings were going up on nearly every block. Older structures were being rebuilt—scaffolding and cranes everywhere. A good sign, he considered. Avalon was beginning to recover from the initial shock of the war, looking toward the future again—and perceiving the first glimmerings of possible victory.

He sat back, breathed deeply, and sank deeper into the luxuriously padded seat, feeling the smooth power of the skimmer and the skill of its driver. He watched the bustle of the crowded streets, uniforms everywhere.

As they swung through the spacious Courtland Plaza with its famous three-tiered Savoin gravity fountain and onyx reflecting pool, the Imperial Palace momentarilly came into view across an expanse of carefully tended gardens and manicured forests. Huntingdon Gate was its usual confused mass of traffic (reputed challenge even to Avalon's finest chauffeurs). Then the view was obstructed by the squat, glass-walled Estorial Library, where Hobiria Kopp first presented her Korsten Manifesto a full two hundred years prior to Brim's birth. The library had a special poetry section, which he promised he would one day peruse at his leisure—but as usual, not this trip!

At last, Brim's limousine swung onto the long, parklined Boulevard of the Cosmos and began to slow.

Moments later, it stopped gently in a curving driveway before a gracefully understated jade-stone portico: the sprawling Lordglen House of State. It was still early in the day, and the spacious receiving plaza was empty, but Brim could imagine what it would be like later when the guests began to arrive.

A white-gloved footman in a bright red coat and white breeches saluted and opened the door for him.

"Lieutenant Brim, sir? Right this way, please," he said with a smile that instantly dissipated the awesome personality of the building itself. Brim rapped "thanks" on the glass separating the passenger and driver compartments, then followed the footman through an imposing two-story doorway. Inside, they crossed a wide entry hail, boots clicking on the flawless obsidian floor. Above, an enormous gold and crystal chandelier reflected light from thousands of polished facets, and at the far end of the room, twin alabaster staircases curved upward to an ornate balcony jutting gracefully above an elaborately carved archway whose polished ebony doors were presently closed. The footman led Brim up the left-hand stairway and through a carved-gold arch into a short hallway whose domed ceiling depicted allegorical scenes painted in an old-fashioned and elegant style. Midway along the left-hand wall, they entered a lift to the fifth floor, where Brim was presented a large golden key and shown into an elegant room furnished with exquisite period furniture and decorated by a collection of artifacts that, even to an untrained eye, were clearly worth the price of a large starship.

"Welcome to Lordglen House, Lieutenant," the footman said as he opened the heavy drapes. "Lord Wyrood has instructed me to attend to all your needs. I have placed a complete formal uniform in the closet to your right, and attempted to provide other, more basic necessities—which you will encounter in the usual places." He bowed. "Should you find I have missed items here and there," he added, "you have only to ring. My name is Keppler—I shall be at your service promptly." With this, he bowed again and exited the room backward, closing the double door quietly behind him.

Brim shook his head as he looked about the tastefully ornate room—a long way from Carescria, this!

He peered through the window into a courtyard of perfectly shaped flowering panthon trees whose glowing fruits made the quadrangle look like a miniature Universe of starry galaxies when viewed against the dark paving stones. A stately fountain danced placidly at its center. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment—this level of wealth transcended his understanding completely. He shrugged; none of it had much importance to him anyway. The only reality here was Margot. Once she arrived, everything else would fade to nonimportance.

Brim fidgeted impatiently as he tested the fit of his borrowed dress uniform before a full-length mirror: white tunic with stiff, gold-embroidered collars, epaulets, and high cuffs, dark blue breeches with gold stripe, knee-high parade boots (like polished hullmetal), white gloves, and peaked hat. A rich, red-lined cape was carefully draped on the bed—certainly nothing like the cheap rentals he had known at the Academy.

He felt a growing sense of excitement as he counted off the cycles before he would see Margot—it was impossible to sit anymore. He paced back and forth across the thick carpet, its softness wasted beneath his boots. Each cycle seemed longer than its predecessor, even though months had passed since the evening he shared with her on Gimmas Haefdon—and those now seemed like moments. Outside, a gentle breeze moved the panthon trees—the weather was perfection. An omen, perhaps? He laughed to himself. All moments with Margot were—perfection, so far as he could remember—he doubted she would disappoint him tonight.

As he stood staring at the patio, a distant chime sounded importantly. Then, in moments, a soft knock came at his door. "Come in," he said. "It's unlocked."

"About ready, sir?" Keppler asked as he stepped into the room. "The reception is under way in the ballroom."

Now that it was time to go. Brim suddenly began to fret about the other guests. Wealthy people, of a certainty. Influential. Powerful. He was no more than a simple Helmsman. What could he have in common with any of them? What could he say worth listening to? Would he make a fool of himself?

Suddenly, he felt tired. He wished he could have made other arrangements to see Margot. He never had a chance.

"You look splendid, Lieutenant," Keppler said. "They'll all be jealous—especially with your action record." He helped, Brim place his cape properly over one shoulder in the latest fashion. "Now stand back," he ordered imperiously. "Let me make a last-moment check."

Brim suffered further adjustments to his collar, cape, and an offending epaulet before Keppler was finished.

"Perfect, sir," the footman said finally as he nodded his approval. "A number of important people down there expect to meet you, so you'll want to look your best." With that, he gently propelled Brim from the room and into the lift.

Only a few cycles later, Brim found himself returned to the balcony at the head of the double staircase.

Voices and soft music surged from below as elegant couples filed slowly in from the portico and disappeared through the doorway beneath his feet. He paused for a moment, reflecting on his failure to submerge a natural Carescrian irritation with these scions of wealth and privilege. While they enjoyed unbelievable comfort and luxury, men and women of more humble origins were elsewhere locked in mortal combat to protect the very Imperial existence. Why were these people exempted? Then he grimly laughed at the folly he had just concocted. Here he was, himself dressed like the worst sort of professional courtiers—and in the absolute thick of it! He snorted and started down the staircase, contemplating his own double standard. The huge ebony doors were open now, eight gray-clad footmen with ornate symbolic pikes flanking either side. Beyond, an elegant throng preened and pirouetted: polished officers in, the colorful uniforms of every friendly nation in the galaxy, seas of half-revealed bosoms and lavish gowns in every hue and pattern art and science could conjure, humans, Bears, A'zurnians, and the less-numerous races. At the center of the high archway, a majordomo dressed in bright green tunic with dark trousers and green boots bowed as Brim approached.

"Your name, please, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Wilf Brim," Brim declared. "A Carescrian." He looked the man directly in the eye.

"Ah, yes, Lieutenant Brim," the majordomo said. "A thousand pardons: I should have known." He turned on his heel and led Brim into the ballroom. "Lieutenant Helmsman Wilf Ansor Brim, Imperial Fleet," he announced, thumping the butt of his pike loudly on a special square of flooring. "I.F.S. Truculent."

A few heads turned indifferently, but the announcement was generally lost in the babble of the crowd.

And, from what Brim could see as he stepped into the room, his rank alone would relegate him to the very depths of nonimportance among most other guests whose ranks he could identify.

From inside, the room was high and huge—though a soft light level held the overall effect well within the limits of Brim's comprehension—longer than it was wide, with an ornate, domed ceiling covered by gold and silver designs in the form of a sinuous Logis vine. Three monstrous chandeliers like the one in the anteroom hung along its centerline. One wall was a solid bank of mirrors, the others were covered by rich-looking tapestries. The floor was a continuation of the flawless obsidian outside.

While Brim stood orienting himself in the heady atmosphere of hogge'poa, meem, and a hundred fragrances of perfume, a tall commander with a wisp of a mustache and piercing blue eyes appeared from the revelers, smiled, and clapped him on the back. "Brim, my good man," he said, "so glad you could; make it. I'm Avlin Khios, secretary to Lord Wyrood." He waved his hand apologetically. "Sorry your invitation arrived with so little notice. We hoped you might be able to make it anyway." He grinned.

"Understand you had an exciting mission, what?"

"'Exciting' is probably as good a word as any, sir," Brim acknowledged with a smile. "The important thing, though, is; that we were able to see it all the way through."

"Yes, I understand," Khios said with a knowing grin. "Well her Effer'wyckian nibs is certainly on tonight's guest list." He took Brim's arm and propelled him into the center of the crowd. "But until the young lady actually does arrive, we have some people who want to talk to you—not many of them have the opportunity to meet real fighting men."

Brim felt a goblet placed in his hand as he passed a pair of footmen. The shallow vessel made his passage through the crowd even more difficult than before. As he passed a red-faced Army officer, the man spit, "Carescrian," bitterly at him as if he were repeating an impolite word. Then, within a few more ticks, he was centered in a ring of smiling young officers) who wore the badges of the Admiralty Staff—and curious looks on their faces.

Khios named each as Brim greeted one after the other with the handshake he learned in the Academy (Carescrians normally avoided touching anybody, at least during a first meeting)—their names were promptly forgotten in the rush of questions that followed.

"You've actually been in one of their starships?"

"What were the cannon like on A'zurn? Were they easy to drive?"

"Were they hard to start?"

"League torpedoes are good, aren't they? How'd the J band stand up after the radiation from those mines?"

To his surprise, Brim quickly began to sense an underlying mood of serious interest—certainly the questions coming his way were founded on well-informed backgrounds. As the group continued to probe, Brim rapidly found he was not talking to the vacuum-headed courtiers he originally thought they might be. Rather, it seemed he was surrounded by a group of dedicated staff people: behind-the-scenes decision makers who—so far as he could ascertain—were probably far more valuable contributing to an office work group than fighting the war somewhere in a battle zone. In the ore barges, one learned quickly to respect anyone who was willing to make a genuine contribution—to almost anything.

During the next few cycles, he answered each question as honestly as he could, within his limited knowledge. It was difficult to make noncombatants understand that one often fought more by calm reaction to impressions and reflexes than by detailed study of anything specific. He was patiently giving his third impression of E607's handling characteristics when the gathering was interrupted by Khios. "I've got to steal Lieutenant Brim for a while, gentlemen," he said, breaking into the circle to regrasp Brim's arm. "We have a couple of executive types who insist on meeting him now."

Brim nodded politely at the smiling officers and lifted his hands palm upward. "My apologies, gentlemen," he said. Then he turned on his heel and followed in Khios' wake through the festive atmosphere of music, perfume, and beautiful people.

The secretary stopped nearly all the way across the big room at a small, unobtrusive archway leading off among the hanging tapestries. He knocked gently on an ornate door before he pushed it open, nodding for Brim to follow.

Inside, soft lighting, walls of elegant display cases, magnificent furniture, and deep carpets identified the room as one of the ultraprivate drawing rooms everyone heard of but seldom saw, rooms where the very course of history could be charted quietly—and frequently was. Two tall officers stood talking before a blazing fireplace—one a human, the other a flighted being from A'zurn. Their uniforms were heavy with ponderous badges of rank and decoration.

Khios stopped approximately halfway into the room and bowed from the waist. "Your Majesties," he said. "May I present Lieutenant Helmsman Wilf Brim, Imperial Fleet, on detached duty from I.F.S. Truculent." Then he rose to his full height and indicated the two men. "Lieutenant, Crown Prince Onrad, your host, and Crown Prince Leopold of A'zurn." Startled, Brim saluted while Khios clicked his heels and bowed once more, then silently exited the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Nearly panicked and alone in the center of the room, Brim set his chin, collected himself as best he could, and strode purposefully to a position a few respectful paces before the two young dignitaries. He bowed, then stood looking first at one and then the other. "Your Majesties," he said, seizing his emotions with an icy calm, "I am honored."

Onrad spoke first. He looked to be approximately Brim's age and was powerfully built, with the square jaw and thick neck of a natural athlete. Expensively attired, his basic dress, was the tailored blue uniform of a vice admiral. "So you are Wilf Brim," he remarked, "the Carescrian who has caused all that trouble for Great Uncle Triannic." His broad smile nearly squeezed his eyes shut. "Ha, ha! Well, your partisan campaign to prove out old Wyrood's Reform Act certainly seems to be working impressively."

He nodded to the A'zurnian beside him. "Isn't that right, Leo?"

Crown Prince Leopold exuded an ageless, almost ethereal restraint which, in its own understated manner, stood out like a beacon from all the heavy magnificence of the ornate drawing room. His folded wings reached at least three golden irals from the floor, his eyes were the huge eyes of a hunter hawk, and his look conveyed the very soul of dignity. Here was a man who never acted in haste—nor in passion. He was beautifully clothed in the elegant, old-fashioned uniform of a brigadier general, and he stood with one polished boot on the high hearth. He also smiled at Brim—his an analytical and questioning smile that seemed to test its recipient without so much as. a touch of challenge. "A 'gentle and daring leader,' as my cousins put it," he said. His eyes narrowed and he seemed to look into the very soul of Brim's existence. "A 'complete' leader."

"There, Leo," Onrad interrupted hotly, "tell that to the anti-Wyrood idiots. They are hard to convince."

Leopold sighed and stared into the fire for a moment. "Even they will learn, Onrad—or surely none of us will survive this tumult." He nodded his head. "But those very factions will eventually learn—because the Wilf Brims of this Universe have the strength to persist, and in the final analysis, they do not." Then he reached to the top of the great carved mantelpiece and took a golden chest in his hands. Stepping to a position opposite Brim, he opened it and extracted a tiny crystal image of a winged being—the same figure Brim instantly remembered from the twin pillars outside the quarry on A'zurn where Hagbut and his troops were held prisoner. It was suspended on a small red ribbon. The Prince smiled again. "I have sent all the meaningless text that goes with this to Gimmas Haefdon, Lieutenant," he said. "The only importance is that you understand how much your actions were appreciated in Magalla'ana—and that we shall never forget your dedication to your mission and my countrymen." He grinned a momentary, lopsided grin. "Lieutenant Wilf Ansor Brim," he said, "in the presence of your liege, the Crown Prince Onrad, I award you the A'zurnian Order of Cloudless Flight." He peered deeply into Brim's eyes. "Wear it proudly," he said. "The decoration has never before been awarded to a groundling." Then he fastened the ribbon to the left breast Of Brim's tunic and resumed his original position at the fireplace.

Brim bowed again. "Thank you, Your Majesties," he said.

The A'zurnian nodded.

"And see that you take good care of my cousin Margot," Onrad added with a grin and a half-sensed wink. "I have a distinct feeling you constitute the only reason we shall be honored with her blond presence this evening."

Brim felt his face flush. Then he boldly returned the Prince's smile. "I shall certainly attempt to do that, Your Majesty," he said quietly. After this, be stepped back, saluted, and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him. Outside, he stood for a moment gathering his thoughts. Mentally, he felt as if be had just come through a pitched space battle. Then he shrugged to himself. It certainly was a long way from the ore barges—not an inconsiderable accomplishment for a Carescrian!

He made his way back into the growing crowd, accepting another goblet of meem and scanning the room for Margot's blond curls—unsuccessfully—when a small stir occurred at the entrance doors.

"Her Serene Majesty, Princess Margot of the Effer'wyck Dominions," the majordomo announced in a voice notably louder than before. The babble hushed, and heads turned expectantly.

Brim felt his breath catch as she swept through the door on the arm of First Star Lord Beorn Wyrood.

No longer was she merely an attractive military officer, she now radiated that particular beauty exclusively reserved for the wealthy and powerful. She was magnificent.

She was wrapped in a meem-colored, full-length gown that crossed in front and tied at the neck, leaving her creamy shoulders and back stunningly bare. A matching sash nipped her waist, and a daring slit revealed enough of a long, shapely leg to considerably raise Brim's temperature. Around her neck, she wore an enormous, single-drop StarBlaze that flashed with an inner fire as she laughed and chatted with the First Lord.

"...had no idea the party was that important," someone whispered behind Brim. "She hardly ever attends these affairs."

"Voot's beard," another said in a low voice. "She's wearing the Stone of the Empire!"

"And LaKarn isn't anywhere in sight."

"Noticed that."

Brim watched transfixed as a small crowd formed around I the couple. In a moment, both crown princes appeared, laughing and talking.

Then, the A'zurnian was bending close to Margot, she whispering in his ear. He grinned his lopsided grin and pulled himself to his full height scanning the ballroom with his enormous eyes—which lighted on Brim and stopped. Smiling, he spoke rapidly to Margot, then she was peering Brim's way, too.

Their eyes met; she smiled—and frowned. In a moment, she was on her way through the crowd, never taking her eyes from him.

And in that instant, Wilf Brim knew for a certainty he was hopelessly in love.

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, Wilf," 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 Carescrian 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 doth 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 he 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," he 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. 'I 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 LaKarn. 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 whatsoever—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 (outbound 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 battlecruiser 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 Greyffin 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 pre-taxi 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's 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 up 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 battlecruisers 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 hullmetal 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. "Truculent 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 itself, 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 battlecruisers 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, he 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!

CHAPTER 10

Brim ultimately missed destruction of the third enemy ship (except to note a great pulsing light coming from somewhere off to starboard). Instead, he had been searching the darkness for a large object that appeared to separate from the doomed starship in its moment of hesitation before the attempted escape.

Debris or possibly a cutter? Or had he imagined the whole thing? Whatever it was, it failed to register on any of his displays. Shaking his head, he reluctantly abandoned his search to watch the great Imperial battlecruisers Benwell and Oddeon heave majestically into view, their glowing disruptors returning smoothly to parked positions on their foredecks as they approached.

"Incoming messages, Lieutenant," a rating yelled.

"I'll take 'em here," Brim ordered, reluctantly abandoning his search. Whatever escaped Valentin's doomed flagship had long since disappeared among the stars. Momentarily, a globe materialized a familiar head and shoulders on his console.