Galactic Convoy

The briefing took place in the sprawling stone headquarters complex at the edge of me Grand Canal. Brim followed Collingswood into an airless auditorium that reeked of new upholstery, fresh paint, and floor polish. It was nearly filled with ranking Fleet officers and civilians, many of the latter wearing the stovepipe hats of shipyard managers. Brim smiled.

He'd never before seen the unusual headgear look as if they belonged. However, worn with the traditional Hadician dress of air-conditioned frock coats and vests with straight, tubular trousers and varnished boots-all in somber tones-they seemed quite natural. A singular place, Hadic, Brim considered as he peered about the hall.

Just as the house lights began to dim, his gaze met a familiar pair of brown eyes glancing at him: Claudia, bewitchingly dressed in a severe dark business suit and talking to a handsome redheaded Commodore. Grinning, he waved, and was rewarded with a soft smile and a wink. The Commodore turned and nodded in a cordial-if disinterested-manner.

Then the room faded to complete darkness except for a beam of light at the podium, and they took their seats.

Into this stark illumination stepped a pudgy civilian dressed in a formal suit who introduced himself casually as Y. Adolphus Fillmore. His brooding eyes were deeply set in his head; he had a huge double chin; and his mustache looked like two straw brooms joined-where their handles ought to be-by a bulbous nose. He was also missing one of his front teeth. Fillmore might have made a comic figure there at the podium, except that his name was known everywhere-he was one of the most famous starship designers in the known Universe.

"Today, ladies and gentlemen," he began, setting a tall stovepipe hat beside his notes, "I have been sent to tell you about 'benders' and what we know of them."

Brim frowned while a rustle of surprised conversation abruptly swept the room. Benders were the stuff of runaway imaginations and science fiction: starships that could render themselves invisible by literally bending all electromagnetic waves of the spectrum around their hulls without otherwise altering their path. The technique required a data system so capable that it could track particles at the subatomic level, processing-in real time-terabits of information for every square milli-iral of hull surface. Such a system, for a ship even the size of an escort vessel, required unheard-of computing capacity and dynamic energy that might easily power a full-sized battleship.

The briefer waited for silence, then continued on in his placid manner. "I am aware of the tenuous makeup of my material, let me assure you," he said with a tired smile.

"Unfortunately, it is tenuous only because it is not we, the Imperial Allies, who have developed such a snip. I should have many more details to present, were such the case....

Oh, we secretly built a couple of prototype benders ourselves some fifty years ago. Total experiments," he added quickly. "I pursued all the research notes during our initial analysis of the evidence. Interesting reading; however, nothing much came of the project. It took nearly all the ship's on-board power just to get them into 'spectral' mode." He grimaced and bit his lip. "The facts lead us to believe, however, that the bloody Leaguers have not only developed a truly practical warship of the type but have now put it into production."

During the next two metacycles, Fillmore carefully reviewed the Admiralty's facts, which were overwhelming. But, like the Admiralty, he could produce no physical evidence-not so much as a hologram. In practice, the Leaguers seemed to be using their new ships as scavengers, attacking crippled vessels that dropped out of convoys. It was numerically predictable how many of these crippled ships should eventually reach their destinations in spite of their damage, and there were people to keep track of such data. When the numbers began to seriously dwindle, the search for a cause began-and ended with one inescapable conclusion.

The benders themselves were thought to be relatively small, no more than 250 irals in length with a beam of perhaps 25-irals and some 1200 milstons displacement. They were also pictured as armed with only one or two disruptors-almost certainly the standard 91-mmi's used on most smaller Leaguer starships-and five or six League-standard 533-mmi torpedo tubes. In all probability, the ships would be slow and clumsy when in spectral mode, but with the tremendous energy of the data processors available for their horizontal generators, they were assumed to be as capable of a good turn of speed as normal, visible starships. Additionally, they were rumored to be fitted with outlet filters that all but eliminated Drive plumes-at the price of considerable Hyperspeed performance.

At length, the lecturer exhausted his accumulation of Admiralty data and the briefing was over. Attendees were urged to keep a careful watch for the new ships, both from the ground-it was thought that benders might find limited action as attack craft-and in space during convoy duty. They represented a dangerous new capability for the League, and could spell critical trouble for the beleaguered Imperial Fleets that had only recently won themselves a breathing spell from the first insane rush of the war.

On his way from the auditorium, Brim searched the crowd for Claudia, but only located her in the sweltering courtyard as the redheaded Commodore ushered her into a sleek gray limousine skimmer. The two sped away in a cloud of blowing dust before Brim had a chance to even pay his respects.

The Carescrian smiled wryly to himself as he joined Wellington on her way across the dusty stones to the gravity-pool bus. In a way, finding Claudia with the handsome Commodore was almost a relief. There had been strong chemistry between himself and his beautiful host while they toured the warehouse together; he had no doubt about that. The discovery that she might well belong to someone else negated all the thorny questions concerning his feelings about her-they simply ceased to exist. And with Margot's marriage to LaKarn scheduled to take place only weeks hence, it would be very easy for him to become involved in something he might not easily shut down in the future. He shoved his hands into his pockets and concentrated on the Gunnery Officer's endless chatter. "Yeah,"

he agreed with a grin, "if I were building a bender, I'd certainly want a 155-mmi deck gun, too."

That evening, Brim joined most of Defiant's officers at a huge wardroom party hosted aboard I.F.S. Intrasigent, a heavy cruiser on a gravity pool in another sector of the base. He arrived quite late, after completing the long test sequence interrupted by the morning's briefing. As he walked across the brow from the tram stop, his face was caressed by fresh, late-evening sea breezes heavy with smells of salt, iodine, seaweed-and vast c'lenyts of free, open ocean.

"Take the third hatch to your right down the main companionway, sir," a rating said after examining Brim's ID. "You'll find the wardroom there."

"Thanks," Brim said with a nod. Instead, he continued some distance along the shadowed main deck to stand alone in the peaceful darkness beside a disruptor turret, looking out across Grand Harbor toward the open water beyond. Perhaps half a c'lenyt away, a floating beacon blinked twice... then twice again... then twice again.... Over the horizon, distant lightning flashed through a necklace of suddenly golden clouds. Muted sounds of laughter and music reached his ears from below-along with the tapping of water on the nearby breakwater. He felt himself relax while the soft darkness enfolded him like a cool, velvet cloak. No simulators or checkout routines in his immediate future-at least not for the next couple of metacycles. He smiled. He had plenty of time to join the party below. In wartime, one took solitude wherever-and whenever-one found it.

He peered into me blazing firmament: galactic center was nearly overhead at this hour.

There.... That bright cluster would be the Golden Triad of Asterious-any Helmsman worth his salt could find it. And somewhere nearby, dimmed by light from the great streaming stars, would be Avalon-and Margot.

His mind's eye conjured her face for him, the frowning smile and perpetually sleepy eyes.

He could almost feel her arms around his neck-smell the perfume she wore. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes in the darkness....

Abruptly, a giggle intruded on his reverie. He opened his eyes. A tall man in some sort of military uniform and a heavyset woman were walking arm-in-arm toward him in the darkness-and it took only a single glance to know what they had in mind. To his horror, they stopped just as they came abreast of his position while the woman threw back her head to drain a large goblet and toss it over the side, giggling as it bobbed on the blue glow of the gravity pool some fifty c'lenyts below. Then she hiked her skirt momentarily to slide something down over her ankles.

In the shadows, Brim felt his face bum with embarrassment when this time the man drew her skirt up-this time all the way past her waist. Even in the darkness, her fat thighs were startlingly white. He caught his breath. If he tried to leave, they'd think he was spying on them-and if he didn't, it was almost certain he would end up doing precisely that.

He ground his teeth as the man lowered his trousers; then the two wrapped each other in a writhing embrace against the bridge superstructure-arms and legs. In near panic, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on Defiant's instrument panels, reviewing each readout and switch in his mind....

For a while, his ploy worked-even when the moaning began. The woman's little squeal, however, defeated him at last. When he blinked his eyes open, they were together on their knees and... Brim almost fainted from sheer mortification.

But now, at least, their backs were toward him.

Knees shaking wildly with embarrassment, be tiptoed quickly past, stealing from shadow to shadow until the happy groans had long since faded into the darkness and he regained his proper companionway. He waited at the hatch for a few moments while he got control of his breathing. Then, shaking his bead, be made his way below decks into a clamorous atmosphere of Hogge'poa, perfume, sweat, liqueurs, and-of course-polish. His heart was still pounding. The night out there was for lovers, not dreamers. And tonight he clearly belonged to the latter....

Moments later, armed with a huge goblet of reasonably mellow Longish Meem, he pushed through the noisy, jostling crowd to where Ursis, Waldo, and Aram were in agitated conversation with Calhoun.

"I don' understand," Waldo was saying, slurring her words a little in her attempt to be heard above the surrounding hubbub. "You always tell me that you're in th' 'reclamation' business. Yet you go 'round making everybody else think you spend most of the time in space." She hiccupped with an embarrassed little smile. "Just how do you square all that, Cal?"

"Yeah," Aram piped in, "what is it you reclaim, anyway? Knowing the little I do about you, I can't imagine it's souls. Maybe you run a tug, or something?..." Suddenly he raised his eyebrows. "You weren't captain of a salvage ship, were you? One of your own, maybe?"

Calboun suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, but continued to smile as unconsciously he placed his arm around Waldo's waist, much to the latter's apparent satisfaction.

"Perhaps 'salvage' is a better term, noo," he admitted, gesturing modestly with a free hand-and ignoring the question of ownership completely.

"Space salvage?" the Bear remarked, holding a slim, tapered finger in the air, "but I have heard of such operations, would you believe?" He smiled thoughtfully while he sipped, his meem. "Perhaps," he continued after a moment, "in peacetime, our Executive Officer cleverly makes his living by what one might call 'presalvage' operations." He smiled and looked Calhoun in the eye. "Is this not a possibility, my Carescrian friend?"

For a millicltck, Calhoun glanced coldly at Brim, then looked Ursis directly in the face and narrowed his eyes. "I am sure ye are about to define this term 'presalvage' ye use," he said, drawing Waldo protectively closer to his side-clearly a special relationship had formed between the two. Brim felt a tinge of wistful jealousy. She had such beautiful legs....

Ursis stood his ground and calmly returned the man's steely gaze. "Normally," he explained, "one salvages a starship after it is disabled; only the most creative operators salvage them beforehand." He shrugged phlegmatically. "Clearly, dark caves whistle happy songs when a moon hides behind the clouds."

"Huh?" Waldo asked.

Abruptly, Calhoun's face reverted to a cynical smile. "One makes his living as the Universe permits, my friend," he stated quietly.

"I understand," Ursis replied, looking the man directly in the eye.

Calhoun nodded. "You know, Ursis, I actually think I believe you." Then he clicked his heels in a most formal manner. "Gentlemen," he said, "my compliments." Turning next to Waldo, he drew her even closer to his side. "I shaft endeavor to explain everything later this evening, my dear," he said, and quickly guided her off toward the companionway.

"Nik, do you think he might really have been a space pirate?" the young A'zurnian Helmsman queried when the two were out of earshot.

"One draws one's own conclusions," Ursis replied in his most impassive manner.

"He certainly said he was no stranger to space," Brim added with a grin. "But what he actually did out there is anybody's guess."

"Yeah," Aram agreed, laughing. "Well, whatever it was, I'll bet he was good at it."

"That," Brim said, "is a bet I wouldn't take in a thousand standard years."

"Nor I," Ursis added with a toothy grin. "And mark these words, my friends: his expertise-whatever it turns out to be-will someday serve us well. Winning wars often requires thinking that is, shall we say, 'unconventional'?"

Brim was about to comment further when his gaze met a familiar pair of brown eyes-the same that he'd encountered earlier at the morning briefing. Claudia! Tonight she wore a while sweater that showed her ample bust to its best advantage and a skirt sufficiently short to reveal the slim legs and tiny feet that had so set him on edge in the flight bridge of the attack launch. This time, she was in conversation with a circle of civilians. He smiled and mouthed a silent "Hello" across the room. It was certainty too noisy for any other means of communication.

The Haelician returned his smile and winked, holding his gaze with her own as if she'd been waiting for him to arrive. And her red-haired Commodore was nowhere in sight.

Brim quickly took leave of his shipmates and pushed off again through the crowd, stopping at the pantry for two fresh goblets of meem. As he made his way across the floor, she said something to her friends, then navigated the rest of the way to meet him. "Thought you might need a refill," he said, trying not to stare. If anything, she was even more beautiful than he recalled.

"What?" she called out above the clamor.

"A refill," Brim fairly shouted, handing her one of the goblets. "I thought you might like a fresh drink."

"How thoughtful," Claudia said, bending directly to his ear. "Especially since I know your launch hasn't been delivered to Defiant. I thank you, Lieutenant."

Brim frowned and ignored the launch-he'd never have found time for it anyway. "Was that 'lieutenant' you just called me?" he asked with a grin.

Claudia nodded her head while she swirled her drink around its goblet in a most expert manner.

"I thought we were on a first-name basis," he protested with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, we are," she said, looking him directly in the face. "I simply wanted to assure myself that you felt that way here. Long ago I learned the hard way that some of your Fleet colleagues dislike hearing their first names used in public-especially by a local."

"You haven't met many Carescrians then, have you?" Brim barked, just saving his meem from destruction when a tipsy commander stumbled into him.

"Not yet," Claudia shouted, nimbly avoiding a similar fate from his bleary-eyed companion. "And come to think of it, I'll bet you haven't encountered many Haelicians, either, have you?"

"No," Brim admitted, "I haven't-but then, I only arrived a little more than two days ago."

"True," Claudia said as two more couples jostled past on their way to the pantry. Bumped for a third time in as many clicks, she narrowed her eyes for a moment, then grinned-her teeth perfect against generous ruby lips. "You know," she shouted, "instead of standing here being trampled, we could do something about both our predicaments-and this worse-than-damned noise."

Brim frowned. "What did you have in mind?" he growled, fending off a gesticulating dockyard manager at his back.

"Well," Claudia said, talking directly into his ear, "one of my favorite places just happens to be in a nearby section of town. And unless you really enjoy this noise and jostling," she said, "I'll bet I could have us there in no time at all."

Without a second thought, Brim stepped forward, grinned, and offered Claudia his arm.

"Ma'am," he shouted, "I am at your service-immediately."

They left their goblets on a cluttered table at the companionway....

The hoarse growl of Claudia's open-air skimmer reverberated from low concrete abutments on either side of the bridge deck as they glided over the famous stone arches of the Harbor Causeway and onto the mainland. Claudia herself chattered like a tour guide, pointing through the scarred, sun-discolored windshield at each street and lamppost as if it represented something very special-which clearly it did in her mind, at least. Her skirt had slipped well past her knees as she worked the control pedals in high heels, and Brim found himself hard-pressed to keep his eyes where she directed.

On the mainland side of the bridge, the Grand Canal was fronted with unending rows of monolithic government warehouses and office complexes-interrupted here and mere by mountains of fire-blackened debris. The great, flat-faced buildings lined each barren street with the boring sureness of state-regulated architecture everywhere. Crowded sidewalks and furious night-shift activity in thousands of lighted windows gave proof that the big base worked on a round-the-clock basis. Brim knew it had done so since long before Nergol Triannic's Great War began.

In the Government Section, Claudia found little of historical interest to point out, and drove considerably faster along the wide thoroughfares until the faceless buildings grew smaller and began to thin. As the skimmer sped inland toward City Mount, the office precincts gave way to light industrial complexes, and finally to ancient bedroom neighborhoods built of stone, brick, and mortar. Then, just short of the final canal bridge, they skirted the port's gaudy pleasure district. Claudia hurried through this section, too, ignoring the garishly painted nude men and women who shouted from brightly lighted storefronts to advertise their services. Brim found himself shivering as they sped along the crowded boulevards.

Long ago, he had known places like these firsthand. He had no desire to return. Ever.

Presently, they bumped over the last steep canal bridge, slowed, and turned through a wooden gate in a massive stone wall, entering the ancient Rocotzian section of Atalanta.

According to Claudia, the name derived from the shape of the wall itself, which traced the uniquely suggestive outlines of a male rocotzio bud.

Centuries in the past-long after such walls retained only symbolic meaning-Omot warriors overran Hador's entire planetary system, enslaving the whole civilization there for nearly three hundred years. Only when the warlike Gradgroat-Norchelite priests led an uprising-assisted by the newly confederated Galactic Empire-were the conquerors overthrown and ultimately slain to a man. The last Omotian was captured almost seventy years after the main forces capitulated-and beheaded on the spot.

During subsequent, unsettled years, the Gradgroat-Norchelite order constructed their great hilltop monastery and thirteen orbital forts to repel one last invasion, but the great space disruptors they installed never fired again. And during hundreds of intervening decades, the monster weapons fell into disuse as The Order assumed a more peaceful mission in the galaxy. Nevertheless, the Gradygroats, as they were by now Universally nicknamed, continued to maintain the orbital forts just as if the reliquaries still housed first-line weapons systems. Indeed, most Gradgroat-Norchelite friars and priests firmly persisted in their belief that their antediluvian-and by now unworkable-space cannon would yet be used to save the empire. But as the years passed, the term Gradygroat entered almost every dialect of Avalonian as a synonym for "ridiculous." Brim smiled as he watched Claudia tell the ancient stories. It was fairly clear she was a believer, too-although be doubted she would ever admit that to him!...

At night. The Section appeared to be a haphazard proliferation of tall stone buildings with intricately carved walls, dimly lighted arched windows, and balconies jammed with people taking the night air. Claudia piloted her skimmer smoothly through the maze of narrow streets, filled by men and women wearing bright-colored clothing with tasseled, pillbox hats.

Children carried flowers as they trailed their elders along the crowded sidewalks. Here and there, robed Gradgroat-Norchelite priests chanted blessings to all passersby who would bow their heads. And at one corner, a great silvery egg-shaped Norchelite chapel rose sheer before them, its polished metal walls splendidly reflecting the vivid green light of Haelic's mid-evening moons. Glowing characters over the doors spelled The Order's curious motto: "In destruction is resurrection; the path of power lies through truth."

Often, the skimmer's headlights reflected pairs of greenish-yellow eyes in darkened alcoves: sable rothcats, a unique breed of felines imported during an earlier age to combat plagues of rodents and giant moths that once infested the city. The rothcats did half their job, and to this day consumed most of the giant moths as soon as they hatched. But Felis Roth-bartis stubbornly ignored rodents of all forms. Haelic was still searching for a better mousetrap....

Countless shops-often the merest slits in walls-lined the streets, enjoying a thriving business at this late, but comfortably cool, hour. All too often, however, huge gaps appeared in the buildings where ruined masonry and plaster cascaded into the streets-legacies from the League of Dark Stare. Claudia passed these without comment, but Brim could feel the dark anger that blazed within her. Leaguers would be better off if they didn't capture this target, he thought.

In a tiny street full of colorfully dressed people who stared at Brim's uniform as if he didn't quite belong, Claudia expertly wedged the little skimmer into a tiny opening along a curb and switched off the grav. "We're here," she said with a smile of pleasure.

Brim looked around him at the bustling shops, people, and animals. Smells of every kind assaulted his nostrils: spices, animals, hot metal from the skimmer, street dust, Claudia's perfume, cooking oil, even the stones themselves seemed to have a particular odor. An exciting place, he thought. Every inch of wall space was covered by elaborate bas-relief: battle scenes, statues of Norchelite saints, intricate scrollwork, ancient-looking starships, dragons, chilling alien forms-designs of every shape and texture. "Lead on, my trusty guide," he said with a grin, "for I am hopelessly lost."

"I heard that you Helmsmen are pretty dependent on navigators," Claudia teased, invoking a rivalry much older than spaceflight itself, "but I had no idea how much."

"Show me a Fleet navigator who could find his way in-or out-of here on his first trip, and I'll eat my battle suit," Brim remonstrated. "Unless he's a Haelician, of course. You people are clearly born with some sort of crazy navigational system; otherwise, nobody could ever go anywhere."

"You've guessed our secret!" Claudia exclaimed, dramatically raising her eyebrows.

"And mine homes in on taverns, too-like this one." She indicated a narrow arched doorway, framed with exquisite wooden filigree and outlined in lacelike metal scrollwork. Above it was a colorful sign.

"'Nesterio's something or other," Brim read aloud, peering at the carved letters. The rest was in Haelician.

" 'Rocotzian Cabaret,'" Claudia translated for him. " 'Spirits and Meem'-I assume that is what we've come for."

Brim cupped her elbow as they descended a steep staircase. "Doesn't matter what language the label's written in," he said, "just what's in the bottle." Then he laughed. "I must sound like a Sodeskayan," he said. "That's an old Carescrian saying."

Claudia smiled into his face. "I could understand it," she said. There's a difference, you know."

"Yeah," Brim chuckled. "We Carescrians never were much for mystery."

In a dimly lit alcove at the bottom of the staircase, they were confronted by a muscular, heavily bearded man in crimson tights with long pointed shoes that curled into coils at the tips. He wore an embroidered blue tunic with shiny brass buttons in two rows extending from a high lace collar to a short skirt of brightly woven patterns. A broad, elaborately jeweled leather belt draped over his hips, placing a silver dagger in easy reach of his right hand. For a moment, his glance moved sidelong over Brim's uniform; then he narrowed his eyes and peered into Claudia's face. Only when she raised her hand in the traditional greeting did he bow and open the door. "This way, my beautiful friend," he said, his face brightening into a friendly smile, "and Lieutenant," he added graciously, "please feel that our poor tavern is always your home when you again find yourself in The Section."

Brim bowed. "I am deeply honored," he said, very much aware that Claudia's presence alone granted his singular welcome.

Inside, the room itself was long, narrow, and crowded. Lighted by dim oil lamps that hung from a high stone ceiling, it looked every bit as incredibly old as it probably was. The walls were of whitewashed plaster whose smoke-browned surfaces were relieved here and there by inset wooden beams painted bright green and lavishly decorated by colorful primitive designs. From the small corner stage, a trio of musicians created sinuous melodies that blended and separated, sometimes harmonically, sometimes discordantly, in what even the unsophisticated ear of Wilf Brim understood must be a unique, totally authentic Haelician mellifluousness. The air was thick with mu'occo smoke, a mildly narcotic-some claimed aphrodisiac-leaf the natives had smoked during moments of relaxation since time immemorial.

They were shown to a booth so narrow that Brim had no choice but to occupy a seat opposite his beautiful companion-a disappointment, somehow, but there was no help for it.

Across the aisle, he recognized the Base's civilian manager-with two attractive women. He smiled to himself. He might be no more man a lieutenant, but Claudia Valemont was with him, and she was more stunningly beautiful than either of the manager's companions.

"Like it?" she asked.

"I love it," Brim responded as he relaxed in the surprisingly comfortable wooden bench.

"And I want you to know I feel considerably privileged to be here."

"I suppose it's not a part of the City many 'outsiders' see," Claudia agreed.

"I sort of got that idea from your friend at the door," Brim replied.

Claudia smiled. "Nesterio is an old acquaintance," she explained, a soft blush rising momentarily to her cheeks. "He... ah... protects me."

"With muscles like that, I assume he can do quite a thorough job," Brim commented with a grin.

"Yes," Claudia said quietly, lowering her eyes to the table. "A childhood friend-and much more. Almost two years ago, he pulled me from the rubble of the building where I lived at the time. I'd been trapped for nearly a day before he dug me out with his bare hands...." She laughed grimly. "Now, he seems to feel a responsibility for my continued safety. And Universe knows I shall never discourage him."

"By the beard," Brim said quietly. "I had no idea you'd been..."

"The scars don't normally show," she said. "But I no longer worry about bringing children into this Universe of war, either."

Brim could find no adequate response. Years ago, his own tiny sister died screaming in his arms after the very first of Kabul Anak's vicious raids on helpless Carescria-a raid that cost him everyone else in his immediate family, as well. Somehow, now was not the time to share his experience. Besides, he'd personally come through the raids without so much as a scratch....

Presently, a shapely red-haired waitress in a white, floor-length skirt and bright green surcoat with huge, puffy sleeves took their orders: native e'lande for Claudia and meem for Brim. After that, she seemed to relax. Brim was stunned when she suddenly rummaged through her purse and produced a tiny silver case containing six of the slim, golden mu'occo "cigarettes," as they were called.

"I don't suppose you'd like one," she said.

"I wouldn't know," Brim responded with fascination. "I only heard about them during the initial Embassy briefing. Are they like Hogge'poa?"

"May the Gods grant us everlasting protection from Hogge'poa." She laughed. "But, yes, Wilf, they're pretty much like Hogge'poa-except for the smell. And if you haven't tried them yourself, then I shall smoke for both of us-at least tonight."

Brim smiled as the drinks arrived. "Sounds like a good idea," he said evenly. She didn't seem to be laughing at him. Carescrians were very sensitive to that. "I have a feeling there's a lot I can learn about Haelicians."

"We're people, basically," she said, sipping the clear liquid in her long-stemmed flute.

"Love us, we love; hurt us, we fight. We're a pretty tough lot, I guess...."

"You'd have to be," Brim said. "I know what raids are like when you can't fight back." Then he looked her directly in the eye. 'Tell me more about the war, here," he asked, "from the civilian side."

Claudia frowned at him for a moment, then raised her eyebrows. "Why would you want to know?" she asked quietly..

"I guess war's been pretty fortunate for me, so far," Brim admitted. '"The business of barbarians,' as some forgotten emperor named it. Seems to me that I have an obligation to find out what it really means."

Claudia raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I didn't expect that kind of honesty," she said after long moments of silence. "But I'll give as good as I've gotten, by Zamp. And perhaps you'll help me understand what it's really like on the warships I service." Then she lit her cigarette with a tiny golden match.

Through a second round of drinks they talked about the endless combat that penetrated nearly every part of their galaxy-and Claudia seemed as fascinated by his views as he was by hers. Both agreed that armed conflict was hardest on noncombatants helpless civilians who happened to be in me way of the rolling, insane juggernaut military minds had long ago named "war."

After third and fourth rounds of drinks-and a second cigarette-their conversation returned to the raids on Atalanta, and finally to the one that nearly killed Claudia.

"I suppose it wasn't a total loss," she joked wryly. "After they sealed me up, I've never had to worry about, shall we say, the 'aftereffects' of a good romp."

Brim smiled at her good-natured frankness. "In other words, blood flows pure in your veins, unsullied by preventive chemicals," he said.

"By those chemicals, at least," she said. "But the plumbing they removed used to provide other chemicals that had a lot to do with my makeup as a woman." She took a last draught from her cigarette, then crushed it out in a tiny shower of perfumed sparks. "I've always been kind of wild-even my first time. Voot's hairy beard, Wilf," she laughed quietly, "he was hung like a gratzhorse. And I took him on gladly! It hurt about as much as it felt wonderful."

Brim laughed at her, remembering his own fumbling initiation-appropriately enough, in the hold of a starship.

"Well," she continued, "I'd been in the hospital about two weeks when it suddenly dawned on me that the wildness was all gone! Wilf, I didn't give a damn for that good stuff anymore.

And I panicked-right there in the healing machine. They'd taken everything out to save my life, and I wasn't sure at that moment I wanted to be bothered with what they'd left me...." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Luckily," she continued after a time, "as long as I let them slip a lozenge into my arm now and then, I still get my urges, so..." All at once, she looked Brim in the eye and shook her head. "Sorry," she said with an embarrassed little smile. "I shouldn't get carried away like I do. Especially in front of someone who I understand was pretty badly wounded on his first tour of duty."

Brim reached across the table and took her hand. "I also survived." he said quietly. "And I didn't lose any plumbing."

"Wilf Brim," she declared with a grin, "I had no doubt about that at all." He was about to press on with that encouraging line of conversation when suddenly she stared at her timepiece. "By the beard!" she exclaimed, "do you know what time it is?"

Taken aback, Brim glanced at his own timepiece-in utter surprise. The civilian manager and his two women had long since disappeared, and dawn was only short metacycles away.

"Universe, how could I?" Claudia muttered as she rummaged in her purse. "Wilf, I've got to get you back to the base right away, or I shall never get to bed."

Brim almost commented on that, then thought better of it. Clearly, the mood of romance evaporated as soon as it met the air. "I suppose I could call a cab," he suggested.

Claudia laughed. "That would be a terrible thing for me to do to you-especially when it was my idea to come here in the first place." She squeezed his hand. "No, Lieutenant Wilf Brim, I shall take you directly back to your ship in my skimmer. But this time, I shall use a much more direct route."

True to her word, Claudia arrived at the entrance to Defiant's gravity pool within twenty cycles of her departure from Nesterio's. As she drew to a rattling halt, Brim shook his head.

"I didn't think this could go so fast," he said, only a little in jest. "Was it entered in the Mitchell Cup race?"

"Someday, I may even tell you about those races," she said with a soft smile. "But it won't be tonight." Abruptly, she grabbed his cheeks in her hands and deposited a wet kiss directly on his lips, then she sat back in her seat, and revved the grav. "Good morning, Lieutenant," she said firmly. "I simply must be on my way home-now."

Reluctantly, Brim stepped to the pavement. "Will I see you again he asked.

"If you like," she answered noncommittally, then smiled gently once more. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Wilf," she added. "It was one I won't soon forget, believe me." A moment later-before Brim could think of anything else to detain her-she was gone.

He watched the taillights of her little skimmer until they disappeared on the far side of the Harbor Causeway. Then, trudging over the brow in the relative quietness of Haelic's early-morning watch, he showed his pass to the guard and made his solitary way to his cabin.

For the remainder of the short night, he tossed and turned on his bunk-tired but utterly sleepless. Somehow he was angry with himself. Should he have made some sort of pass at the beautiful Haelician? In retrospect, probably he should have-especially if his last experience with Margot were any indication of the future. But the signals she gave were all so conflicting. Over and over he rehearsed their conversations-sometimes serious, sometimes erotic in the extreme.

In any case, he'd done nothing to feel guilty about so far as Margot was concerned-even though he knew full well he'd have been glad to had he been given the slightest chance. He finally fell asleep wondering if she were pleasuring LaKarn at that very moment. A devil of a way to end such a promising day....

Chapter 4

ATALANTA

Late the next evening-after the new launch and its cradle were securely installed on Defiant's boat deck-Brim checked the assignments roster and found himself completely free of duty during the next full watch sequence. Nothing of that nature had happened since Menander-Garand, and then he'd had a chance to see Margot. He shrugged. This time, he had only one day-and no way to get himself back to Avalon even if he did have more time.

Hands in his pockets, he wandered aimlessly in and out of the nearly empty wardroom, along a corridor past his solitary cabin, and finally through Defiant's main hatch into the cooling glow of a summer evening. Hador was in the process of turning the sky a dozen glorious hues of red and orange while it set behind Atalanta's City Mount Hill. As he made his way forward along the main deck, Defiant's ebony hullmetal took on its own reddish hue and transformed the great starship into a dreamlike landscape of glowing, streamlined forms and deep shadows. Then, even before he reached the starship's bows, these brilliant colors rapidly faded to magentas, and finally to lavenders as lights began to flash and flicker in the city beyond. He turned for a moment to face Defiant's superstructure, now a deep-purple form against the still-blue sky. Pinpoints of colored light glowed and flickered from the navigating bridge-his eyes could pick out movement there, but details no longer penetrated the oncoming darkness.

Returning his gaze to the city once more, be could sense the first stirrings of an evening land breeze on his cheek. It carried the peculiar fragrance of age, masonry, dust, and a touch of growing things from the fields beyond. Narrowing his eyes, he thought he could recognize the Rocotzian section where he had spent the previous evening; of course, he couldn't be sure. Atop City Mount, the monstrous Gradgroat-Norchelite monastery was now a multitude of lights, surmounted by its glowing golden spire. His breath caught as he let the nighttime beauty surge over him. Atalanta was relatively safe from attack so long as Vice Admiral Zorn Hober and his 12th Battlecruiser Squadron were in residence. Tomorrow, however, he knew the powerful squadron was scheduled back into space. After that the city lights would not go on again until the 12th-or some comparable protection-was once again in residence at the base.

He shook his head. War! How good it was to him-and how utterly horrible to nearly everyone else. For a Carescrian, it was easy to forget that the Universe contained an almost infinite variety of realities-and that those having anything to do with poor, impoverished Carescria were nearly incomprehensible anywhere else. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue swept over him. Another long day, and no doubt about it.

Hands still in his pockets, he retraced his steps along a now darkened main deck to the main hatch, and from there to his cabin. His last conscious thought was a promise that he would spend the next day learning a little about the city and its people-on foot, the way a Carescrian would, not aboard a tour bus. If Atalanta could produce someone like Claudia Valemont, then it was well worth a proper effort....

For the second morning in a row, Brim was roused out of his bunk early-this time by the ship's siren and a blaring call for "Action Stations" from the message frame on the back of his door. Jumping blindly into a battle suit, he fought his way though the orderly confusion in the corridors and companionways to his station on the bridge.

Ursis had arrived there no more man a metacycle or two before him, but the Bear already had power to Defiant's gravity generators. By the time Brim slipped into the left-hand Helmsman's console, the ship was ready to taxi, although he was unsure whether or not he was. Ruefully, he recalled the old adage: "Sound sleep is the sleep you're in when you get wakened," or something like mat. He was living proof.

No more than a c'tenyt to starboard, two large merchant ships were burning fiercely on their gravity pools. And even as he watched, a series of distant explosions erupted halfway up City Mount Hill. Lights were going out in huge patches all over the city. Nearby, along the darkened canal-side roadways, speeding emergency vehicles were weaving desperately through lines of personnel carriers rushing crews to their respective ships.

But strangely-to Brim, at least-no bolts of defensive firing arced through the dark sky anywhere. And for that matter, the source of the destruction was not obvious, either.

Normally, you could see a disruptor go off. He raised an eyebrow.... Through the confusion of voices on the bridge, behind him he could hear Collingswood and Calhoun in busy conversation with the Port Authority. "Mr. Chairman," he said as a sleep-rumpled Waldo hurried into the Cohehnsman's console beside him, "put me in contact with the tower, please."

"A moment, Lieutenant Brim," the Chairman's voice intoned a few moments later. "All tower channels are presently in use."

Suddenly, Brim felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped.

"Sorry to startle ye, laddie," Calhoun said softly, "but the alert's been canceled. You'll probably want to call off the Chairman," he added.

Brim frowned and turned in his seat. "Canceled?" he asked incredulously. Giant flames were even now leaping thousands of feet in the air from the stricken section of Atalanta. "I don't understand...."

"Operations calls it a case of coordinated sabotage," Calhoun replied, "both here and in the city. There's no' an enemy ship anywhere in the remote vicinity of Hador. They've verified it with every scout and picket ship out there."

Baffled, the younger Carescrian shook his head and turned back to his console. "1 won't need that tower channel, Mr. Chairman," he said. "Cancel the request."

"Aye, Lieutenant," the Chairman intoned. "Your request is canceled."

Suddenly, Brim turned back to Calhoun. "Sabotage, my foot!" he exclaimed. "I'll bet that was a bender."

Calhoun's eyebrows rose for a moment; then he glanced at Collingswood in the next console. "Makes some sense, doesn't it. Regula?"

Brim turned even farther in his seat to note the Captain's reaction.

Collingswood frowned for a moment. "Well," she said, "the possibility had entered my mind." Then she nodded thoughtfully. "There is one thing, however," she added, looking Brim directly in the face. "Nobody reported energy beams during the 'attack.' And unless the Leaguers have also invented a new type of disruptor, someone somewhere should have seen energy beams, don't you think?"

Brim could only nod agreement. "Aye, Captain," he admitted. "Someone should have."

"That is not to say I absolutely believe the sabotage story, either," Collingswood added, getting up from her console. "For the time being, however, I am more inclined that way-especially since I cannot think of anything I can do about the incident." She smiled. "At any rate, I still have a few metacycles of sleep coming, and I do not intend to lose any more of them than necessary. So, if you gentlemen will excuse me..."

Brim grinned. "Good night, Captain," he said.

"Good night. Captain," Calhoun echoed, "and good night to you, laddie," he said, standing at his own console. "The Skipper's got a fine idea if I have ever heard of one."

Moments later. Brim was almost alone on the bridge. "Good night, Waldo," he said as the lovely young Helmsman made off toward the rear of the bridge. He smiled to himself.

He'd never even had time to say hello.

Quitting his own console, he walked over to where Ursis was shutting down the starship's power systems again. "Quickest flight we ever made," he said, placing a hand on the Bear's shoulder.

"Is true," Ursis growled, throwing the main breaker and shutting off the console's instrumentation. He grinned a toothy grin as he stood. "And speaking of truth," he continued,

"I could not avoid overhearing your bender theory."

"You think it might be benders, too?" Brim asked on their way to the rear of the bridge.

"I do," Ursis said, ushering Brim Into the companionway before him, "in spite of the lack of evidence...."

Brim shook his head vigorously. "Unfortunately, I can't figure out what kind of weapons they're using. Collingswood's right-there's no disruptor I know of that doesn't leave a very visible path of ionization."

"That is also true, my impatient friend," the Bear said with a smile. "However, the other morning is the first time you or I even heard of benders. Real ones, anyway." He nodded his head as they stopped at his cabin. "This is a puzzle-to be sorted out in its own good time.

Someone will eventually accomplish it. Perhaps even us. In the meanwhile, we do our best, which includes sleeping whenever possible...."

"Good night, Nik," Brim said. "And thanks for the support."

"Good night, Wilf, for whatever remains of your bedtime. We shall perhaps discuss this further tonight over a glass of meem, eh?"

Brim smiled. "Nik, you've got yourself a bargain," he said as he started down the hall again toward his own cabin. But now he was wide awake. By the time he had his door open, he knew that going to bed now would be little more man a waste of time-especially since he planned to explore part of a large city. After changing into a summer uniform, he closed and locked his cabin again, then headed for the entry port. A bit early, perhaps, but he was ready to go....

Hador was still only a glow on the lightward horizon when Brim signed out for local leave and stepped into the fresh sea air beyond Defiant's main hatch. In the distance, Atalanta's huge fires had burned to a dull glow, and the two stricken merchantmen were little more than twisted skeletons collapsed into their ruined gravity pools.

Yet for all its recent chaos, the base appeared to have returned to normal almost immediately following the emergency. Brim nodded to himself as he caught a local tram for the base's main civilian terminal-the little vehicle was no more man a few cycles late. A hush passed over the passengers when they passed the two freshly burned out gravity pools-still smoking and littered with emergency vehicles. But as the tram bounced along its route through the huge starship base, it was filled and emptied a number of times by energetic-looking workmen who joked and talked among themselves as if this were simply another night shift. Haelacians were tough-he'd learned that in a hurry. And it looked as if Kabul Anak would discover the same thing himself, soon enough. According to top-secret situation reports, the Leaguer admiral had recently transferred his flag to his new super battleship Rengas. The attack wasn't far off now; Brim could feel it in his bones.

When he arrived at the base terminal, the end of the night shift was still more than two metacycles away, and both buildings were nearly deserted. Out in the tram shed, only two large interurban coaches hovered in the maze of shallow stone alleyways the vehicles used for a roadbed.

They were tall, old-fashioned-looking conveyances: Brim guessed as much as twelve irals in height, eight to ten wide, and perhaps seventy in length overall. Floating on two flat gravity packs near either rounded end, the floors of the big machines hovered approximately chest high. Forward, three-pane windscreens extended from slightly arched roofs halfway to the floor. Lines of similarly sized windows ran the length of each coach, the top third of each glazed with green stained glass. Powerful-looking headlamps were mounted below the center windscreen panels, directly over each car's number in brass Avalonian digits. The passenger entrance was a set of double doors amidships equipped with a retractable step.

Open hatches forward and aft had only a short ladder; they were clearly for the crew. Car 312 bore three orange stripes painted across the center of its arched roof; car 309 had a Stogie blue stripe. Aside from this, however, the trams appeared to be nearly identical except for signs at their turnstiles proclaiming "Monastery" and "Loop 12."

Brim frowned. It was reasonably clear that the former would arrive eventually at the top of Atalanta's hill at the Gradgroat-Norchelite Monastery. But what was a Loop 12? He rubbed his chin for a moment, then prudently decided on the monastery. If the mazelike Rocotzian section of town were any indication, he would be much wiser spending his time in bonafide tourist attractions until he was fortunate enough to attract another native escort.

He peered around the nearly deserted car shed; it smelled of stale food, stale sweat, stale mu'occo smoke, and the sharp stench of ozone from the humming, hovering trams. He guessed the last odor would easily reach unpleasant concentrations when the alleys were filled with coaches.

A green-uniformed worker dozed behind the ticket counter, but above his head hung a colorful map of the city. It was also marked with symbols that-wonder of wonders!-matched signs on all the turnstiles. On closer inspection, Brim discovered that Loop 12 was a route that circled the center section of the hill through a veritable maze of narrow side streets: a great place to become lost, he concluded quickly. Nodding to himself, he gently woke the ticket agent, purchased a round-trip ticket on the Monastery circuit, and made his way to tram number 312.

Inside, the empty coach smelled of hot oil, upholstery, and ozone; it was comfortably set up with four rows of carpet-covered bucket seats and a center aisle. It was also spotlessly clean. Brim took a window seat near the front where he could see out the windscreens as well. Then he sat back to wait.

During the next few cycles, he was joined by a number of workmen leaving early for one reason or another-mostly accidents. One limped on board with a fresh patch over her eye, two burly men in stevedore's overalls arrived with bandages around their heads, and a tall, angry-looking woman struggled up the stairs and into a seat despite the great cast that covered her right leg all the way to her knee. She was followed by a brace of grimy, tired-looking Gradgroat-Norchelite priests who smelled strongly of smoke. Brim quickly guessed where they came from. There would be a lot of work for priests at the two burned-out gravity pools. Wreckage such as he'd seen would allow for few survivors....

At length the crew arrived: conductor and motorman dressed in dark green tunic and trousers, white shirts with green bow ties, shiny black boots, and orange-beaked pillbox hats decorated by a device that looked like a wheel pierced by a golden lightning bolt. Shortly thereafter, bells sounded officiously, doors rattled closed, and the floor vibrated beneath Brim's feet while ancient gravity packs ground into ponderous action, moving car 312 out of the station and onto a main alleyway beading inland. As the big, top-hampered coach picked up speed, she began a rhythmic swaying motion that, coupled with the monotonous throb of her packs, had a soothing effect all its own.

Relaxing in his seat, Brim squinted at the window itself. It was a tall affair with polished wooden frames and brass hardware that allowed the bottom to be raised past its green stained-glass partner above-hadn't they heard of environmental control? The transparent bottom pane even boasted beveled glass! Outside, they were now crossing a bridge that paralleled the seven moss-covered stone arches of the Harbor Causeway-he remembered that bridge from his evening with Claudia.

For a moment, her oval face and soft-looking brown hair filled his mind's eye-he imagined the musky fragrance of her perfume teasing his nose. Somehow, she had been popping in and out of his mind a great deal since that night-much more than she should have. Truth to tell, he felt more than a little guilty about being attracted so strongly to her-especially when he was pledged to someone else.

Then he shrugged. Right or wrong, that was the way things were. For the next precious metacycles, he intended to relax and enjoy his precious leave. Tomorrow was time enough to moralize....

Car 312's gravity packs increased to a throbbing pulse beneath the floor as the alleyway began to climb City Mount Hill, and they entered a confusion of three-and four-story structures built mostly of whitewashed stone and mortar. By the early-morning light, Brim could see tiny gardens crowded into every possible nook and cranny, dappled with flowers that splashed the waking cityscape with a million dabs of color. These buildings were so close to the street that their balconies nearly touched overhead. The net effect was almost tunnel-like as the big car clawed its way up the steep grade. In places, the dusty alleyway actually doubled as a narrow street of sorts that they were obliged to share with dogs, barnyard animals, priests, fishermen, storekeepers, stonemasons, rothcats, dockyard workers, occasional Blue Capes, and droves of men and women in colorful native dress.

None moved out of the way until the last possible moment, when the conductor applied the car's shrieking, ear-piercing whistle-which he was obliged to do almost every few irals.

All too often, they thundered past burned-out, roofless buildings-abandoned and left gaping at the sky. Many of the side streets Brim could see were filled with piles of tumbled brick and stone-clearly impassable for the duration of the war. Sometimes, whole blocks, had been gutted, with narrow paths cleared through the rubble to uncover the alleyways. The motorman sped through these pursued by billowing specters of gray dust. They made Brim shiver. No glory here, only the remains of fragile homes, crushed and broken by the wild, blind lashings of wartime insanity. He shook his head, Somehow, sights like this never seemed to register with the leaders. Usually, he supposed, their homes were well protected....

In due course, the car crossed a stone bridge over a deep ravine. Brim glimpsed the distant harbor far below. Admiral Hober and his battlecruisers were just putting out to space: Iaith Galad, Oedden, and Benwell, great hovering shapes on the placid morning waters.

Even while he watched, Benwell began her takeoff run at the head of a towering cloud of water vapor. In spite of himself, he felt shivers of thrill race along his back while the interurban's windows rattled in the rolling thunder. Battlecruisers were the stuff of dreams for him. Especially Benwell-built as replacement for Nimue, on which the legendary Star Admiral Merlin Emrys had disappeared mote than five years ago. Like every young man in the Empire-even in Carescria-he had worshiped Emrys and the great ebony battlecruiser that ghosted in and out of harbors all over the galaxy, showing the colors-and power-of Greyffin IV's Galactic Empire. Their loss had been devastating at the time. Now, both man and ship were only half-remembered entries in a casualty list that would have seemed unbelievable at the time. But they would always hold a special place in his heart.

At length, the car thrummed across two intricately filigreed metal trestles, glided through a long, pillared colonnade, and came to rest on a spacious plaza planted with ancient, ocher-colored trees and paved with complex patterns of reddish-gold paving stones. On one side it fronted a colossal saffron granite crag at least two hundred irals in height and half a c'lenyt in circumference. A spectacular staircase and balustrade-sculpted from the granite itself-wound through a dozen switchbacks to the monastery above. It was occupied by black-garbed priests with high orange collars, Friars and Sisters in their long crimson gowns, novices wearing short robes of rough cloth, and an occasional, brightly outfitted layperson.

Opposite this stairway, the plaza was bounded by another ornate balustrade, also of saffron granite, but interspersed by graceful, flower-filled urns twice as tall as a man. From here, Brim got a spectacular view of the harbor and the great Imperial base thousands of irals below. He could feel the morning sea breeze on his face, cool and fresh at this altitude.

He picked out Defiant on her gravity pool and grinned to himself. He'd seldom had a chance to see her at such a distance. "Graceful" was the word that came to his mind first. She was a beautiful ship, long and lean as she hovered-impatiently, as it seemed-to break the bonds that kept her from her own element.

With a whole day on his hands, he relaxed a few extra cycles at the balustrade, looking down at the many-hued roofs of Atalanta. Behind him, he heard the coach's doors rattle shut; presently it ground its way out of the plaza. Somehow its departure severed a symbolic tie with the war, and he suddenly felt freed-no matter how temporarily-from the death and destruction that swirled through the galaxy. He took a deep breath while a feeling of peace swept over him in the quiet, breeze-swept plaza.

Fifty irals to his right, another staircase-this built into the steep hillside-connected with the streets below. Like its opposite, it also carried considerable traffic. High overhead, a colorful little Gradygroat Zuzzuou lifted from the monastery and crackled up into the morning sky. As the archaic little spaceship banked steeply over the harbor, Brim saw that it was filled to capacity. He shook his head and smiled. A whole spaceship of Gradygroats flying, out to service weapons systems that generations of Admiralty scholars dismissed as mere artifacts-unworthy of further study. He laughed to himself. Talk about wasting manpower! Yet the forts held a certain fascination for him. Silently, he promised himself that if he ever had more than a single day on leave, he would try to fly out and see one for himself. Then he laughed. Fat thraggling chance of extended leave in a place like Atalanta....

At length, he turned and made his way through the dusk-blue tree shadows-boots clicking among gently dancing puddles of golden sunlight-until at length he came to the foot of the great staircase. He followed a trio of Friars onto the marble treads, and quickly discovered that Gradgroat-Norchelite clerics set a rapid pace on the way up. He laughed to himself as he found himself breathing deeper and deeper. Clearly, the staircase was a daily occurrence for them-and considerably longer than Defiant's longest companionway.

He paused at a landing near the top while he caught his breath. From this high angle, he could see car 312 with its three orange stripes following a twisted route back down the hill.

He idly watched the streets he would follow were he walking to intercept its course. An easy route, he discovered to his surprise. The hilltop was so steep that the heavy car required numerous switchbacks to negotiate the slope, and although it had clearly traveled a long way since leaving the plaza, its actual distance from the monastery was little more than an easy c'lenyt's walk from the lower staircase. He even strongly considered making the walk himself once he completed his visit to the monastery. When he reached the top a few cycles later, however, all thoughts concerning possible walks-or anything else, for that matter-were swept away by the mind-boggling structure looming before him.

Blazing in Hador's afternoon brilliance like a golden icon, the monastery's colossal, flame-shaped spire stood at least a thousand irals higher than the two massive, disk-shaped tiers that formed its base. The bottom story was nearly a quarter again as large as the top, and both were surrounded by lofty alabaster colonnades formed of pointed arches and graceful columns that were easily more than a hundred irals high at their apex. A second grove of gigantic ocher trees surrounded the sprawling campus, shading what appeared to be veritable c'tenyts of quiet paths dotted by rushing fountains and quiet glens.

Before Brim's nearly unbelieving eyes, a wide avenue lead across the first-story colonnade and into a pair of massive, ebony doors that themselves were at least sixty irals high. At present, both were open to a darkened space beyond. The Carescrian shook his head. Never-anywhere-had he encountered such an extraordinary structure. Greyffin IV's palace in Avalon actually paled in comparison.

Above the massive door frame was a carved motto written in Xantos, the archaic Universal script that even Carescrian youngsters were required to learn: IN DESTRUCTION IS RESURRECTION; THE PATH OF POWER LEADS THROUGH TRUTH

Brim chuckled as he stepped across the threshold into a darkened anteroom-Gradygroats made about as much sense as Sodeskayan Bears when it came to mottoes. When his eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, he pushed open a second, inner door, and...

Unconsciously, he caught his breath. Sensible or not, the great circular commons room they had constructed was in many ways as impressive as the whole monastery.

From a stupendous balcony formed by the monastery's second tier, men's voices intoned one of the Gradgroat-Norchelite anthems-ancient words and music that stirred the hearts of believers and nonbelievers alike:

"Oh Universal Force of Truth,

That guards the homeland of our youth,

That bidd'st the mighty cosmos deep

Thine own appointed limits keep:

Oh hear us when we cry for Grace

For those at peril far in space...."

Brim followed no particular religion-by any stretch of the imagination-but he nonetheless found himself lifted on a cresting surge of emotion. He'd loved the hymn as a child who dreamed of the stars. Now that he'd found them, the words were still never far beneath his personal veneer.

Before him like some preposterous crystal plain, the lens-shaped floor was dotted here and there by figures of men and women who appeared to be diminished-somehow, humbled was a better word-by sheer, unmitigated magnitude. On further inspection, he discovered that the surface actually comprised three concentric circles. Spaced equally around the outer ring, three inlaid sets of Xantos symbols faced the center of the room and spelled "Destruction" in shining gold metal. The middle ring contained three sets of gold inlaid symbols for "Resurrection," also facing the center. And the unmarked inner ring served to frame a large, central cone of gleaming gold-colored metal studded with irregular patterns of what appeared to be a thousand or more multicolored gems. The symbol group for "Truth" was deeply engraved three times into a polished band of clear metal around its base.

Overhead, soaring high above the balcony, a monumental dome modeled the nighttime firmament over Atalanta with Hador blazing forth through a lenslike aperture that seemed to hover in the center of the sky surrounded by the word "Power," in Xantos letters. Brim frowned as he stared up into this artificial starscape. Something peculiar about it.... He snapped his fingers. Of course. The dome itself was unquestionably constructed of some translucent material, and whatever the Gradygroats were using to model Hador shone from considerable distance behind its surface! He smiled. Clever, that. A shimmering beam of focused brilliance plummeted straight from the "hovering" lens to shatter on the jeweled cone in the center of the floor; its light then mirrored back to the dome in a thousand separate reflections to form the stars. Brim nodded in admiration as he studied the cone.

Each of its seemingly scattered jewels had actually been placed with exquisite care! He wondered what sort of artificial flare the Gradygroats had placed behind the dome to shine like that one did.

Interestingly enough-at least to Brim-the tower itself was almost fourteen hundred irals high, but the inner dome above his bead extended no more than three hundred irals into it.

Rather disappointing, when he came to think about it. Idly, he wondered what the Gradygroats did with the remainder of the space-he certainly remembered seeing no windows in the tower, at least from the outside.

On the surrounding wall, scores of inset display-window tableaux depicted the long, varied history of The Order. Brim promised himself ample time to digest these-especially ones depicting the thirteen orbital forts and their mighty disruptors. Wouldn't Wellington love this, he thought as he continued his fascinated inspection of the commons room.

During the next metacycles, Brim availed himself of everything the monastery had to offer: its great circle of tableaux, the library with the rare collection of Primitives, the museum, the art gallery, and the gloriously wooded parks. Each was fascinating in its own way, and to his surprise, neither the Friars nor the Sisters he met attempted to proselytize him or, so far as he could see, any of the other visitors, although there were only himself and perhaps four or five families on a holiday. Wartime, he supposed, severely limited the tourist trade. At length, he deposited a generous-at least for a Carescrian-donation at one of the intricately carved alms boxes, then strode down the top staircase to the coach plaza. He had most of the long afternoon still before him. Warm breezes carried the voices of the choir from the monastery:

"Far-called, our starfleets melt away;

Dominions and our pow'r depart;

Lo, all our fame of yesterday

Without The Motto, leaves the heart—

From Truth the path of Power leads yet,

Lest we forget-lest we forget!..."

Leaning his elbows on the balustrade, he peered down at the roofs of the city again. An afternoon sea breeze was still surprisingly cool on his face, and the sky was now dotted by ranks of flat-bottomed, fair-weather clouds. He watched one of the big coaches glide into the alleyways, exchange passengers, then growl on its way again, disappearing at length among the giant trees. Once again, he gazed into the distance at Defiant, then at his timepiece. Impulsively, he vowed be would present himself at the sign-in desk no more man a millictick before he absolutely had to. Then, with a smite of determination on his face, he started down the staircase toward town....

By the time he reached the bottom, he was glad enough to enter the narrow streets and their protection from Hador's burning rays. The sky was only a slit now between the white stucco buildings that hovered protectively over him and the other pedestrians with whom he shared the shadowed byway. As in the Rocotzian Section-wherever that was from here!

-most of the buildings were decorated by jutting balconies, colorful coats of arms, and sinuous, bas-relief carvings depicting every subject the mind could conjure, plus a few that Brim's, at least, could not. Birds chirped everywhere, flying constantly in and out of holes in the walls that seemed to be specially provided for this particular use. Occasional rothcats sauntered into the streets to brush against his legs. Curious animals. And as always, his nose was alternately pleasured and repelled by the million and one odors that inhabited the dusty air.

He passed a great, heavyset man with a bulbous nose, red ears, and huge hands that delicately weeded a tiny garden where the afternoon sun managed to linger for a few extra metacycles. He found himself returning the Haelacian's polite palm-open greeting as if he'd been doing it all his life. Something comfortable about Atalanta-and the Atalantans. Farther down the street, a crew manhandled a long, red cable from an opening in the pavement. He was now into an area of shops, and the street had became crowded with people carrying gaily colored baskets of groceries. Odors from the stores and open stalls reminded him that he was both hungry and thirsty himself. Smiling, he had just chosen a promising, cool-looking tavern when a strident bellow abruptly split the air, rattling windows and scattering flocks of birds from their high shelters. He paused as the noise continued, assaulting his ears from all directions as it reverberated from the walls of the narrow street.

Somehow, it had an urgent timbre, What was it?...

A moment later, be was nearly bowled over by frightened-looking people as they rushed past him from the tavern. A thin, gray-haired woman with a cook's pointed hat and a forgotten towel thrown over her shoulder looked up as she pushed past. "Come on, Blue Cape," she screeched as she started down the street. "Haven't you heard the sirens before?"

Sirens! Brim's heart jumped-the battlecruisers had taken off early that morning. Clearly, their departure was all the Leaguers were waiting for. Forgetting his empty stomach, he joined the stream of people running headlong downhill, hoping against hope that they were heading toward a shelter and not simply fleeing blindly in panic.

A terrific barrage of disruptor fire suddenly flashed overhead, bathing the street in strobes of blinding green light. Pealing thunder blasted his eardrums and raised clouds of dust from the streets. Brim recalled the briefer's words, "Take shelter at the first warning."

Well, he was trying to do that-and so, it seemed, was everybody else on the street!

At one of the parks that dotted the city, he elbowed his way from the streaming river of people and stopped to scan the skies. He was just in time to see Defiant hurtle overhead in an almost vertical bank, scaffolding and construction equipment cascading into her wake as the big ship added her firepower to the defense of the city. He wondered who was at the controls. In spite of the danger around him, his heart leaped with both pride and sorrow, Universe, how he wished he were with her!

Then, even before the cruiser was out of sight, explosions began to rock the earth.

Tremendous geysers of flame, dirty black smoke, and debris shot high above the housetops. In the street, people began to scream and run for any cover they could find, cowering under trees and in doorways. Dogs barked madly between the disruptor bursts while panicked Atalantans ran wildly out of their houses and then back in again. At the for end of the park, an old woman flung herself blindly into a stone wall screaming one of the Norchelite chants Brim had heard only a short time ago at the monastery. He ran to help her, but before he could catch up she disappeared into the street again.

Ignoring his own safety, Brim scanned the skies for some trace of attackers. There.... In the distance at great altitude, he could just make out three squadrons of starships streaking in from the polar regions on an arrogantly straight run over the base. On the moment, Defiant's grim silhouette sliced down among them from the clouds, powerful disruptors flashing and strobing like an avenging storm. Instantly, two of the Leaguers disappeared in roiling fireballs that hung in the sky dripping flame and debris while the other ships scattered in every direction. A third attacker trailed sudden flame and smoke, then broke at the center, its two halves tumbling through the air trailing wisps of smoke like spent holiday fireworks.

Clearly, the Leaguers hadn't counted on the presence of a new light cruiser-or had badly underestimated the power of her disruptors.

Abruptly, more explosions rocked the ground nearby. Startled, Brim scanned the skies for their source, but failed to spot even a single starship in the vicinity. And he considered himself an expert spotter-although, he acknowledged, all Helmsmen considered themselves expert spotters. Moreover, starships weren't exactly the smallest machines one. might look for, either. He frowned. All the explosions going on around him had to come from somewhere!

By now, he was clearly trapped in the open park. Reacting at the last possible moment to his own precarious situation, he flattened himself in the grass near a tree-sheer milliclicks before two stunning explosions shook the earth and collapsed a house across the street in an angry wave of fierce beat and choking dust. The violent blasts sent a blizzard of deadly stone splinters whizzing in all directions as the tall building collapsed with a hideous, grinding crash.

He could still hear bone-crushing detonations from the direction of the base, but where in Gratz's name were the Leaguers who had been tearing up the scenery where he was? He crawled away from the trees to get a better look, but the adjacent sky still looked empty and quite blameless.

Then suddenly, a muzzy area materialized for only a moment as it streaked directly overhead toward the foot of the hill. Brim could hardly credit his eyes when the indistinct specter suddenly defined itself into a pair of doors that opened into thin air itself. And even as the apparition disappeared beyond Atlanta's rooftops, a succession of tear-shaped objects dropped from its mysterious "opening." Moments later, the park heaved spasmodically as a whole succession of new explosions raised geysers of smoke and flame a few blocks away.

Impulsively, Brim grimaced and snapped his fingers. So that was what benders looked like! And how they attacked. No wonder Collingswood hadn't seen energy beams during the predawn raid. The damage had been caused by bombs! Old-fashioned, aerial bombs.... He shook his head. Outdated they might be, but he couldn't think of a single defense against them, either. He squeezed his eyes shut while another cascading series of explosions tossed the ground violently and covered him with a veritable shower of leaves and branches.

A dead dog came looping through the air to leave a bloody smear on the pavement nearby.

He nearly cried out in helpless frustration as superheated air from still another blast singed the hair on the back of his neck like a great torch, then ground his teeth in anger as a second deduction formed in his head. The bastard Leaguers! They were using their conventional strike on the harbor as a cover for the benders that were carrying out the real raid-a terror attack on the Atalantian civilians, without whom the Imperial base would cease to operate.

As be lay helplessly amid the Leaguers' frenzy of destruction, familiar thunder again filled the air, drowning out other noises of the attack. A moment later, Defiant appeared overhead, riding parallel to one of the Leaguer attack ships. Suddenly, the cruiser's starboard side erupted in a glowing mist of green flame as she loosed a whole broadside of 152-mmi disruptors. Her opponent, a powerful NF-110 destroyer, abruptly stopped flying as if it had been smashed by a giant mallet. An instant later the Leaguer starship exploded in a brilliant eruption of yellow and green flame that flashed blindingly from every seam. Shortly thereafter, it disappeared in a large puff of gray cloud as Defiant thundered steadily out of sight over the trees.

The mind-numbing local explosions continued for at least another ten cycles before Atalanta's battered cityscape fell quiet again-except for the still-frenzied barking of neighborhood dogs and an angry cacophony from the trees as Haelic's birds returned to the remains of their nests. Presently, sirens-sounded, and soon afterward people gradually began to reappear in the debris-fouled streets-along with racing emergency vehicles of every size and shape.

Stunned by the violence, Brim shakily started off downhill to report what, he'd seen, but now it seemed as if he had entered a different city-in a different Universe. Bloody corpses lay everywhere in grotesque attitudes that only the dead can assume. A smashed child's hand still gripped the leash of a whimpering puppy. Gritting his teeth, Brim waved a swarm of flies from the tiny, dead face. Then he released the frightened animal-which immediately scurried off to its doom in the blazing shell of a nearby house.

Farther along the smoke-filled street, he encountered the shattered ruins of a large apartment building that had collapsed into the street. Nearby, a silent crowd watched rescue workers desperately sitting through the rubble. Medics were just carrying a young woman-mauled over every part of her body-to a sidewalk depository when Brim passed on the street. He stopped in his tracks as the stricken woman looked up at him with terror-filled eyes and opened the bloody gash that remained of her mouth as if she wanted to speak.

Totally consumed with pity, he knelt and took her hand. "Say it," he whispered. "I won't leave you-I'll listen...." But before she could utter a word, her mouth overflowed with blood. For a moment, her eyes became large as saucers. Then suddenly they lost their focus and her hand went limp. Moments later, the air filled with the telltale odor of feces.

Flies were beginning to cover the corpse 'even as Brim numbly resumed his way down the hill again, tears blinding his eyes.

Later, as he crossed the intersection where he once planned to board the coach, he gasped and shook his head in dismay. No more than a few irals back along the alleyway, a fire-fighting unit had just extinguished the charred remains of an interurban car. Rescue workers were now sifting through the twisted wreckage for survivors-but it was clear to Brim they were wasting their time. Not much remained of the big vehicle except a blackened fragment of one end that mounted a large, broken headlight and the brass numerals "312."

He squeezed his eyes closed. Had he been perhaps half a metacycle earlier finishing his tour of the monastery...

Two c'lenyts or so farther on down the hill, the destruction mysteriously ceased-as if the Leaguers had purposely targeted only specific portions of the town. Brim shook his head is disgust. He was far beyond any attempt to justify the Leaguers' strategy, especially their attacks on random civilian targets.

Presently, he was able to flag down a passing Fleet vehicle and hitched a ride all the way to the Government Sector at the bottom of the hill, where he called in a hurried report of his sightings. From there, he continued on foot; if memory served him, he was only six e'lenyts or so from the base.

He had walked no more than a thousand irals, however, when he came upon another charred and battered area of fresh destruction, this one among a number of private homes and storefronts that clearly predated the surrounding government structures by at least a hundred years. As he hurried through the nibble, he could see no buildings at all that had escaped at least some damage. Rescue workers were everywhere shouting at each other and scurrying through the rubble like insects whose hive has been disturbed. The whole area reeked of smoke and the sickening, sweetish odor of burned flesh.

Suddenly, he felt his hackles rise when he thought he recognized one of the vehicles parked just off the main thoroughfare-a familiar sun-bleached skimmer with a frayed canvas top.... Claudia's? He stopped in his tracks to peer inside with a growing concern.

There it was! Her red leather briefcase-and on the floor, the menu from Nesterio's Cabaret. He bit his lip. Was she one of the casualties? Heart in his mouth, he found himself running toward the smoking rubble nearest the spot where she'd parked.

And then he spied her with two other women in the wreckage of a nearby house, struggling to lift a heavy wooden beam. "Claudia!" be called impulsively as he picked his way through the crumbled wreckage.

Still struggling with the beam, she could turn her head only slightly. "Wilf," she grunted through her effort, "thank the Universe.... Help us move this beam-quickly!"

Without another thought, Brim grasped the heavy timber, and the four of them forced it through a layer of fallen stone until it could be moved freely. Then, nearly choking on the dust they had raised, they dragged it to one side and braced it against a great chunk of fallen masonry. Instantly, the three women returned to the shallow trench they had created and began to dig frantically until a low moan issued from a bloody face still half covered with brick dust and debris. The man had clearly been trapped when the ancient timber fell across his chest. Brim pitched in with his bare hands as if he had purposely arrived to join in the rescue effort.

When the victim was safely turned over to a tired-looking ambulance crew, Brim found himself looking at Claudia in an altogether new light. She was a great deal changed since their evening in Nesterio's Cabaret. Now, her long chestnut hair could most charitably be described as disheveled. Her dust-covered face was streaked with sweat, and her tunic and trousers were seriously burned in a number of most unfashionable places. She appeared to be wearing a pair of cast-off boots that were at least a hundred sizes too large for her feet, and she was covered with thick clots of drying blood-enough that it couldn't be her own, or she'd long ago have joined the nearby pile of corpses that waited for identification.

She also appeared to be looking at him. "Well," she said in a tired voice, "it looks as if you got caught in it, too." She frowned for a moment. "I thought I saw Defiant take off..." she said.

"You did," Brim said, finally catching his breath. "I wasn't on her."

Suddenly she seemed concerned. "Why?" she asked. "I mean, I thought you were Principal Helmsman...."

Brim smiled, somehow pleased by her concern. "I am still, so far as I know," he explained as rescue workers carried another live victim to a waiting ambulance. "But I was also on leave this morning-near the monastery, exploring this beautiful city of yours."

Instantly he wished he had never opened his mouth, for Claudia's face capitulated to a look of despair. Tears slowly formed in the corners of her eyes, and she looked away in embarrassment. "It lost a lot of its beauty this morning," she choked. \

"I'm terribly sorry," he mumbled, touching her arm. He wanted in the worst way to draw her to his shoulder, but a crowd began to call from the street.

"Come on," a man called. "We've found more of them!"

"Children!" another voice yelled. "Hurry."

"Now!" shouted another. "We've got to get them out of there!"

"Can you stay and help?" Claudia asked with a desperate took on her face. "Universe knows we need everyone we can get."

Brim nodded. Defiant was still out, probably chasing the remnants of the attacking fleet.

"I'll stay," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his already ruined tunic, "as long as I possibly can."

During the next metacycles, Brim lost all track of time as he and Claudia helped rescue five children-two of whom died before they could be lifted into an ambulance-and eight retired starsailors. The children had been trapped as they waited for their transportation to school; the old starsailors were residents of a complex specially set aside for elderly residents of the district.

Toward morning-while he and the other rescuers combed the wreckage a second time looking for victims they might have missed in the early panic-Brim heard the approaching rumble of heavy gravity generators. Presently, Defiant thundered in from landward, turned, and projecting great white beams from her landing lights, sank smoothly toward a touchdown out on the bay. Moments later, he felt a hand on his arm. It was Claudia. "That was Defiant, wasn't it?" she asked wearily.

"She was," Brim said. "And I suppose it means that I shall have to leave here almost immediately. I still have quite a few c'lenyts to walk."

Claudia smiled-beautiful in spite of the dust and dried blood. "I think we are both finished here for tonight," she said. She pointed to a large tram that had just pulled up to a nearby curb. "A fresh crew of rescue volunteers from the day shift," she explained. 'They'll take over for us now-although I don't know how many more they can save."

Brim smiled and looked her in the face. "They have to try, though," he said gently. "If they save even one more person, it'll be worth their while."

"And if they don't?"

"Still worth while," Brim said resolutely.

Claudia looked him full in the eye. "Quite a thought for a bloodthirsty warrior like Wilf Brim," she said quietly while the shouts of the fresh rescuers echoed in the rubble around her. Then she gently touched his cheek. "How did you get here?" she asked.

"I walked-actually I ran," Brim said. "Transportation got a little behind schedule up there by the monastery."

"They got the section below the tram stop, didn't they?" she asked.

"Yeah," Brim said. "Pretty thoroughly. I was there."

"And you walked all the way from there?"

"No," Brim said with a smile. "I hitched a ride to some government buildings about a c'lenyt from here."

"What would you think about hitching another ride tonight?" she asked.

Brim gently grasped her arms and drew her closer.

She moved against him easily, then looked into his eyes meaningfully. "How about settling for a ride to Defiant tonight?" she asked. "I don't think I'm up to anything more strenuous-and I doubt if you are either, Mr. Brim."

"I should be most glad for a ride to Defiant, or anywhere for that matter-as long as I ride with you," he answered, surprising himself with the truth of what he had just said. He felt a rush of guilt as Margot's face passed his mind's eye.

Claudia smiled as she planted a peck of a kiss on his lips.

Brim grinned. "At some time later, however, we might..."

"Some time later," she said as she led turn toward her skimmer, "will be time enough to talk about some later time...."

Less than fifteen cycles following that, they were once again in the delivery lot before Defiant's gravity pool. In the half-light of false dawn, Brim looked deeply into Claudia's tired eyes. She was totally disheveled by now, yet her natural beauty remained unquenchable.

"One more kiss?" be asked. "You know that Defiant leaves again tomorrow, and I don't know when I'll be back...."

Suddenly she was in his arms, with her mouth, wet and open, covering his. He held her that way for a long moment before she pushed him firmly away.

"As I said before, Lieutenant Brim," she murmured, "some time later will be time enough for us to plan some later time."

Brim nodded stepped to the ground and saluted. "Here's to then," he said.

Claudia blew him another kiss as she turned the little skimmer around and glided out of the lot.

Then she was gone, and Brim found himself again standing in a great deal of confusion as he watched the taillights of her skimmer fade into the distance. He shook his head.

Perhaps it was best to stay confused about this most beautiful woman-and let Lady Fate chart his course. Claudia Valemont might very well spell trouble, but, as he had lately discovered, he definitely had no desire to end things, either. Time, he discovered, would tell....

Early the next morning, he made detailed reports of his bender sightings to a number of surprisingly high-ranking-and very attentive-Fleet Intelligence officers. Then, two metacycles into the Midday watch, he piloted Defiant back into space on another convoy run. War and the Admiralty's tight provisioning schedule for Hador permitted little time to catch one's breath at all.

Chapter 5

THE BENDER

EMERGENCY PRIORITY: SHIPS APPROACHING CONVOY DIVISION TWO FROM

SECTOR GREEN NADIR AT HIGH SPEED; CONSIDER HOSTILE UNLESS OTHERWISE

NOTIFIED. INDEPENDENT UNITS STAND BY TO REPEL. The Leaguers were making a run on the convoy from dead astern and below. Dressed in his battle suit, Brim smiled grimly as the familiar litany flashed in his KA'PPA display. This time, Defiant was a designated "independent," cruising in the gap between the two widely separated convoy divisions to the left front of Division Two in its blue sector. And even though he was limited to operating in a specific zone, he could at least do something when the attackers caught up to him. He listened impatiently for Collingswood's voice directly behind him....

"You may call action stations, Number One," she intoned calmly to Calhoun.

"Aye, Captain," the older Carescrian answered. He'd clearly been waiting for the order too, for he immediately began to issue commands throughout the ship.

Brim gritted his teeth. Come on, he thought....

Finally, amid the clamor of alarms sounding below and a confusion of boots pounding on hullmetal decks, Brim felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Targets of opportunity when they reach our zone, Wilf," Collingswood declared. "Go to it."

"Aye, Captain," a relieved Brim answered over his shoulder. Then peering across Cohelmsman Galen Fritz, he nodded to Ursis at the systems console. "Combat energy, Nik," he said.

"Combat energy," Ursis repeated, moving his six-fingered hands surely among an orderly confusion of systems controls. Immediately, the sound of Defiant's four DDB-19.A7 Drive crystals began to intensify. Aft, their greenish wake took on a brighter glow as the accelerating ship shrugged off more and more L-units of relativistic mass.

Brim winked at Wellington, then glanced at his intraship display reflecting Provodnik and his team of Crystal lenders stoking the cruiser's eight antimatter power chambers. He shifted to the sick bay and Flynn's last-cycle preparations mere, then to the interior of each major turret. Everything and everyone appeared to be ready. In the last few months, actual combat experience had fine-tuned Defiant and her crew into a spectacularly efficient fighting unit. Brim smiled. Somehow, be. wasn't surprised. "I'll take the helm now, Mr. Chairman," he said, placing his hands over the controls.

"Aye, Lieutenant Brim," Defiant's Chairman intoned over me mounting roar of the crystals. "Steering vector is null and amidships-you now have the helm."

Outside, Brim watched Defiant's disruptors training balefully back and forth as he turned in toward the convoy. Light from a nearby star swarm lit her decks for a moment as she butted past at nearly twenty-five thousand LightSpeed.

In total, Convoy J18/9 extended more than fifteen c'lenyts from the van of Division One to the rear of Division Two. Each division was a full c'lenyt wide, nearly two deep, and contained fifty merchant starships escorted by thirty-odd warships. The latter ranged in size from the convoy flagship, I.F.S. Heroic, a heavy cruiser of the Hostile Class, through two light cruisers and a number of destroyers, to a small trawler squadron.

The other light cruiser was I.F.S. Perilous, one of the three Petulant-class light cruisers from which Defiant's design was derived. Like all Petulants, she was fast and reliable with eight 155-mmi disruptors in four twin-mounts. But she was also virtually unarmored. Brim had always appreciated the thick, 75-to 120-mmi armor that protected Defiant's inner chamber and bridge.

Nine of the twenty-two destroyers attached to Convoy J18/9 were T-class ships like old Truculent, tough scrappers all-and worth their weight in firepower when it came to a fight.

The others were a mixed bag of newer K-and N-class ships.

All in all, Brim considered that Defiant was in powerful company. Yet losses among the merchant starships had begun the first day out and continued to mount despite everyone's best efforts. It was a tough war-and no doubt about it....

Far astern, Brim could now see the attackers through Defiant's aft Hyperscreens: fifteen speeding traces of green grouped into three elements, and closing rapidly. He recognized the hard-edged silhouettes immediately against a star swarm-and COMCONVOY could forget about any recall notice. These were Leaguers, all right: fast, maneuverable Gorn-Hoff 380A-8s with big rapid-firing 137-mmi disruptors that could crumple a merchant ship's hull by a hit anywhere near the Drive-chamber structures.

With at least half the escorts protecting Division One, Defiant and the remaining Imperial ships would soon be considerably outnumbered-as usual. Wars that extended over the better part of a galaxy left only so many ships to go around on either side. He shrugged to himself and checked his instruments while he slightly increased his rate of turn. The Leaguers had started their war with vastly superior numbers of warships, and the convoy runs to Hador-Haelic were a good indication that the Empire had a long way to go before it caught up in that department.

Brim peered out over the plodding merchant ships as Defiant streaked toward the constantly zigzagging convoy: a long, cylindrical formation of ten "wheels," each made up of four merchantmen surrounding a fifth. The "rims" rotated around their "axis" ship with slow and majestic precision, randomly changing speeds and direction. He could only imagine what it must be like in the unarmed cargo ships as the crews watched impotently for another wave of deadly attack ships.

The Gorn-Hoffs were growing bigger every cycle as they approached the convoy. At this distance, Brim could make out their four turrets mounted on outriggers in a crosslike arrangement. Each mounted two rapid-firing Schwanndor 137-mmi disruptors. His mind's eye recalled the captured performance tables he'd seen about them at Menander-Garand:

AN AVERAGE 500-IRAL MERCHANTMAN CAN BE

DESTROYED WITH:

Percentage Certainty Shots at distance (c'lenyts)

0.5 1.0 1.5

50 40 104 308

95 76 203 650

And with the recovery rate of the new Schwanndor disruptors, it didn't take very long to get off a lot of discharges-especially with four turrets. Gorn-Hoff 380A-8s were powerful destroyers, and Brim had early on learned to respect their devastating capabilities.

He eased up on his turn as the enemy ships approached. Combat at Hyperlight velocities was a different sort of thing than fighting below the speed of light. For one thing, you couldn't go head to head. No computer in the known Universe could react fast enough to fire a disruptor at those closing speeds. Too, before you could turn around, your quarry had traveled a long distance away. Hyperlight tactics consisted almost entirely of speed control, stern chases, parallel fighting, and occasional dodging off at narrow angles-all generally in a forward direction.

Abruptly, the rear zone of Division Two was bathed in the painful glare of Hyperflares.

Only clicks later, disruptors flashed-from both sides-and space itself heaved into a wild confusion of pulsing explosions. Simultaneously, massive blasts glared among attackers and attacked alike.

"Got one of the bastards," somebody cheered from the jump seats. "First shot, too!..."

"For the price of I.F.S. Gallant," another voice snapped. "That was two explosions out there."

Brim glanced aft for a moment to see the little trawler veer out of line-blazing from bow to stem-then fall rapidly behind and explode in a wink of reddish-orange flame in the distance.

Scant clicks afterward, another searing flash of light came from behind.

"Oh, Sweet Gratz!" someone gasped. "Look at that! They got another merchant ship already!"

"Universe, lookit 'im burn."

"But he isn't pulling out of line, either."

"A miracle...."

"Come on, fella, get those fires out...."

Then a Hyperflare blazed into life so close to Defiant that the bridge filled with gasps of terror. Brim could see the little scout ship speeding out ahead from beneath Defiant's bow.

"Bandit at red nadir just coming on the bearing," one of Wellington's gunlayers said slowly. "Range 189.7, add opening. ..."

"I see 'im down there!" someone shouted. "Get the bastard Leaguer before he gets away!"

"Yeah, blast 'im!"

"Hold your fire, Dora," Collingswood cautioned in a quiet voice. "We're after bigger game than a scout."

"Aye, Captain," Wellington answered. Outside, Defiant's disruptors continued to sweep back and forth.

Off to starboard, Brim's eye caught a series of flashes. He looked up from the instruments to see hits landing aboard a familiar silhouette: S. S. Wakefield, the elderly starship in which he'd traveled from Carescria to Avalon on his way to the Helmsman's Academy. He'd eagerly learned everything he could about the graceful old liner during the week she took to make the trip-a surprisingly short time, considering her advanced age. By the harsh glare of the Hyperflares, the finish of her hullmetal was in the same state of disrepair that it had been eight years ago, but she was still moving along easily with the rest of the newer ships-as she had done when she once set a tram-something record. Brim couldn't remember what it was, but the gallant old ship had evidently been a first-rate liner in her day.

Now, she bucked and shuddered as bright flashes of hit walked forward along her decks-with devastating results. Huge chunks of hullmetal plate tumbled away into her wake along with her portside launches and a number of big E-containers that she carried as deck cargo.

Suddenly, the flashes concentrated on her unarmored bridge, which immediately disintegrated in a cloud of debris and glittering Hyperscreen shards. Moments later, the whole forward end of her deckhouse welled up in a great fountain of sparks and radiation-at the same moment that Defiant's deck kicked from the salvo discharge of her own big 155s.

A great light throbbed momentarily somewhere below and aft; then the hits on old Wakefield abruptly stopped.

"Got the bastard!" Wellington cheered from the console beside Brim. Her single, brilliantly placed salvo, however, was too late for old Wakefield. Bright green tongues of radiation flame were now vomiting from at least ten glowing holes in her side. Brim gritted his teeth-her whole interior must be burning-far too much for her ancient N-ray system to contain. Presently, the steady glow from her Drive crystals began to waver, and with great dignity she slowly rolled to one side, pulling up and out of her position in the wheel. Now clearly out of control, the old ship began to fall behind, her Drive guttering like a dying campfire. Suddenly, she pitched over with violent motion, skidded to starboard, then broke just behind where her bridge had been, bursting into a brilliant green fog of crystal energy and shredded hullmetal that collapsed in upon itself and quickly disappeared astern as if it had never existed.

Brim swallowed the lump that had formed mysteriously in his throat. Old Wakefield hadn't been much of a starship as modern liners went, but she'd probably weathered more galactic storms than any other vessel in service-and she had a special meaning, so far as be was concerned. It was, as he had thought so many times before, a tough xaxtdamned war.

Oil to port, another of the Gorn-Hoffs was boring in on a small, twin-crystal freighter: one of the slowest in the convoy. "Bandit to purple nadir," Wellington cautioned.

"Got a three-eighty coming on bearing," acknowledged one of the gunlayers. "Big deflection," he added.

Brim skidded slightly to port. "Better?" he asked.

"Tough shot in any case," Wellington answered through her teeth. Then, into her communicator: "Watch out, he's swerving!" Shortly afterward, the deck bucked three times in rapid succession as five of Defiant's big 155s fired.

"Missed the bastard!" a gunlaycr growled in disgust.

"Get the next one," Wellington said, "and don't get suckered into any more shots you can't make."

"Aye, Commander...."

Moments later, they were lining up for a try at another attacker when Brim swiveled in his seat and shouted, "Don't shoot!" On the instant, Defiant's Hyperscreens darkened when a familiar triangular shape angled past, completely eclipsing their intended field of fire. "Half speed, Nik!" he added hurriedly as Defiant began bumping violently through the starship's bled-off relativistic mass. The console clock pulsed rapidly from slow to fast and back again.

"Universe!" Wellington exploded angrily. "What is it that miserable zukeed is trying to prove? We thraggling near blew him to Rosfrew!"

"He's firing," someone yelled angrily, "at our target!"

"Voot's beard," one of the firing crew gramped, If I'd known he was going to do that, I'd have blasted him, too!"

Brim nodded in angry agreement. He'd recognized the ship, all right. I.P.S. Terrible, a T-class destroyer commanded by Jason Davenport, son of the Hon. Commodore Sir Hugh Davenport, now commander of the Nineteenth Heavy Cruiser squadron. Davenport had long ago made himself-and his prejudices-known to the upstart Carescrian Wilf Brim, It was clear that his son followed closely in his father's arrogant footsteps.

"There are plenty of targets to go around," Collingswood admonished in a quiet but firm voice. "The only thing important is to protect the merchant ships. Or had some of you forgotten?"

"Aye, Captain..." a number of voices grumped in chorus.

Defiant suddenly bucked as she took two glancing hits on her armored hull near B turret.

Brim banked slightly, and five big 155-mmi's answered the challenge in a welter of return fire. The incoming rounds stopped abruptly.

Moments later, a terrific explosion to starboard pulsed the Hyperscreens. As they began to translate outside again, Brim could see that the big transport flying in hub position of number-four wheel had just exploded in a great ball of radiation fire and sparking Drive-crystal parts. The hub ship of wheel five ploughing along behind had to dodge violently to avoid the cloud of tumbling debris that remained.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a Gorn-Hoff flashed past high and off to port. She was clearly after something up ahead and too much concentrated on her intended target to notice Defiant-presently throttled back to an easy cruise and leaving only minimal glow in her wake. Once the Leaguer was completely past, Brim called up full speed, and-as usual-Ursis was ready with maximum thrust. Instantly, the light cruiser's wake turned brilliant green and she took off like a frightened Corconian Gogen'shoat, passing nearby merchantmen as if they were at rest.

"Let's get that one," Wellington ordered quietly as Brim turned into the enemy's wake. "All disruptors prepare to engage red eighties apex."

"Red eighties apex it is, ma'am," one of the gunlayers responded. "He's just coming on the bearing...."

"Watch 'im, he's veering to nadir," another warned.

Brim adjusted course accordingly, and Defiant soon began to bob in the 380's wake while unshielded clocks all over the ship cycled slow and fast, slow and fast, slow and fast....

He took a moment to check his proximity instruments and scan the surrounding skies for another enemy craft. It required only moments of carelessness to find one's self in real trouble-as the Leaguers in front of him were about to discover....

"Back off to about eighty-five percent, Nik," he ordered suddenly- Defiant was getting just a bit too close to the fleeing enemy ship. His lips silently mouthed a word of thanks to Margot Effer'wyck, who, more than a year ago-as a behind-the-lines operative-had captured the secret tables that Leaguers used to set their proximity-warning systems. It was because of her bravery that he knew Gorn-Hoff 380A-A8s could be approached to within 1.75 c'lenyts before their Leaguer Helmsmen received any kind of warning. He listened to the gunnery crews setting up their disruptors-all bow shots, straight ahead with minimum deflection. He let her fall off a few points.

Target bearing red four five, range three thousand...."

"Very well," Wellington said. "Set your wave charges to one-fifty-three, K-force to three hundred-just to give our friend something to wake him up."

"Aye, Commander Wellington, charges one-fifty-three, K-force at three hundred."

Brim glanced ahead to a large crippled merchantman, on fire in two places moving out of its place in wheel two and starting to fall behind the convoy. That's where the Gorn-Hoff had been heading. He imagined what the Leaguer Helmsman must be thinking: a fat, easy target, ripe for the taking. He laughed grimly as he checked Defiant's proximity indicator again. He was about to change that perception-permanently, if he could.

The Gorn-Hoff veered slightly, setting up for the final kill. Brim let the helm fall off a few points more, then deftly pulled up just outside the Leaguer's zone of proximity. Still they hadn't spotted him. Warily, he checked his own proximity indicator, then peered around Defiant's general vicinity with his own eyes. He wasn't about to fall victim to the same mistake.

"Disruptors are ready when you are," Wellington said finally.

"Ready," Brim answered. "Stand by on the bridge for maximum acceleration."

"Standing by," Calhoun acknowledged.

"Maximum energy is available," Ursis said.

"Combat velocity," Brim ordered.

"Combat velocity," Ursis grunted, moving Defiant's thrust controls into overload.

Suddenly, the light cruiser surged ahead with a vengeance.

Brim could imagine the consternation in store ahead when the 380's alarms began to sound. With the head of speed he'd built up by the time he crossed the threshold, it would be far too late for the Leaguers to react.

"Bearing red. Range twenty eight hundred and closing."

In moments. Defiant was well within the 380's zone of proximity and bearing down on her stern like a blazing wraith. Brim fought the controls as powerful mass waves from the enemy's Drive threw his bow in all different directions and sent the console clock into wild oscillations..

"Twenty four hundred and closing."

Suddenly, the 380's Drive outlets exploded in brilliant emerald plumes, but the Leaguers were far too late to save themselves. Defiant was now bellowing down on them so rapidly that Brim had to order a speed decrease to keep from running up her stem.

"Steady..." the gunlayer said.

Brim forced himself to check the proximity indicator once more. All clear. Now he focused his concentration on the Leaguer. Any moment...

Two thousand and closing...."

"Shoot!"

Defiant's deck bucked violently as all nine of her powerful 155s split the darkness in a single blast of raw light and primal energy that rumbled through her starframe like a great, rolling peal of thunder. Clouds of angry, glittering radiation streamed into her racing wake.

Wellington and her crews simply couldn't miss.

Instantly, the Leaguer's starboard side erupted in a roiling cloud of fiery destruction. Her starboard turret and its mounting pedestal flew off into the wake in a shower of hullmetal plates and ice particles from within the ship.

"Sweet Almighty!" someone gasped. "Look at that!"

"Properly nailed the bastard!" People were cheering all over the bridge.

The Gorn-Hoff staggered crazily for a moment, then steadied and skidded off to starboard with Brim following close on its tail. Moments later, its three remaining turrets began to index around.

"Watch those!" someone shrieked, but Wellington's gun crews were more than ready.

This time, a welter of independent shots thundered out from Defiant's disruptors and exploded along the Gorn-Hoff's starboard side, reducing the ship's vertical gun pedestal to a ragged skeleton and spinning its turret like a child's toy-the disruptors swinging lifelessly.

The devastating salvos also ignited a big radiation fire midway along her hull and threw the ship violently off course-just in time to spoil the aim of her two remaining turrets, which discharged spasmodically off to port nadir.

"Going to need the gravity brakes, Nik," Brim warned through clenched teeth.

"Gravity brakes are energized, Wilf Ansor," Ursis reported calmly.

Brim smiled as two green indicators began to glow in the otherwise darkened portion of the antigravity control panels. His hand moved to the landing controls....

Suddenly, the Gorn-Hoff skidded into a steep bank, then slowed as if she had smashed into a great Sodeskayan ice wall. It was the Leaguer's normal evasive tactic when things got out of hand, but both Brim and Ursis had been ready for it.

Instantly, the Carescrian slammed his own Drive back to idle and smashed the gravity brakes to full detent. Defiant's bow pitched up while her spaceframe creaked and groaned in the massive deceleration, but she did not overshoot her target, and Wellington's heavy disruptors continued to blast away at their target with devastating accuracy. In the next moments, the Leaguers were able to hit Defiant twice, tearing away an unoccupied docking cupola on the starboard bow and scoring a direct-but ineffective-hit on the massively armored A-turret directly beneath the bridge. Soon afterward, however, both enemy turrets fell silent as the blazing radiation fire amidships evidently severed their energy sources.

Clicks later, their Drive cut in again, but now the destroyer's acceleration was diminished, and Brim had no trouble keeping Defiant's big disruptors within range. He drew closer and slid out to one side of the fleeing starship. From about eight hundred irals, Wellington sent a long burst into one of its Drive outlets. Pieces of crystal modulators flew out, along with a geyser of raw energy-and the ship began to stagger along a curving path.

Amid the maniacal thundering of the disruptors, Brim once gain scanned the void around him and checked the proximity indicator-all clear. Ahead, the Leaguer was visibly slowing, After taking another devastating salvo, one of her atmospheric radiators slowly deployed about halfway before grinding to a halt as radiation flames began to pour from the open doors. Brim could only imagine the fiery horror inside the other ship, which must by now have become a roaring furnace.

Suddenly, a hatch tumbled away into the wake, followed by two shimmering lifeglobes.

As the dying ship bunted out of control, the first 'globe soared free and was quickly swallowed up in the distant void. The second, however, was not so lucky. In the fraction of a click in which it followed the first, the Gorn-Hoff lurched drunkenly, catching the lifeglobe on the lip of its escape hatch. Instead of falling freely into the stricken ship's wake, it hammered along the riddled hull and smashed into the half-deployed atmospheric radiator where it exploded in a glittering fog of frozen atmosphere punctuated by at least twenty figures-arms and legs thrashing-that spun and whirled past Defiant's bridge like children's toys. One exploded in a red mist near the bow mooring-bollards; another bequeathed Brim the instantaneous memory of wide-eyed fear encased in a battle helmet before it collided with the Hyperscreens directly above his console and disintegrated into a frozen red smear overhead. The Carescrian would carry that terrified visage with him to the end of his life.

Now the enemy ship began to skid off course, presenting a broadside target to Wellington's disruptor crews as Brim pulled out to one side. This time, they fired at extremely close range, directly into the 'midships radiation fire that appeared to be centered in the heavy structures around the ship's primary energy retorts. Instantly, a tremendous explosion lighted the void. Debris flew everywhere. Brim could pick out individual pieces with stark clarity-like a complete control console that flashed by from somewhere, trailing at least fifty irals of cabling. For a moment, the ship's blown-out viewports gleamed like rows of fiery eyes. Then, everything erupted into a solid wall of flame-accompanied by tremendous shock waves of raw energy as her entire Drive system vented directly into space.

After that there was nothing, and Defiant found herself alone in the void-the convoy was now only a pattern of green tines in the starry darkness at least thirty c'lenyts ahead and to starboard. "Well done, Defiants," Collingswood shouted emotionally. "Well done!"

Brim grinned as he turned back toward the distant merchant ships-he knew Collingswood meant it.

Then, not a cycle afterward, COMCONVOY terminated the alert, and Defiant's tour as an independent was over for another three watches.

With a surge of almost physical relief, Brim turned the helm over to Jennings and Waldo, then joined Ursis in a jump seat at the rear of the bridge, too keyed up to leave the bridge just yet. "Bad," he said through clenched teeth.

The Bear nodded quietly. "Bad..." he repeated, shaking his great, furry head. No other words were required.

As Defiant returned to her position at the van of the division, the great wheel formations of starships were again stationary except for their forward velocity. Brim could now see the results of the last savage raid firsthand. Many of the merchantmen had sustained terrific damage. One had lost-at the very least-an entire Drive crystal in some hellish explosion that ripped open her port side from bridge to stem. Somehow, she was still keeping station, ploughing along on her remaining two crystals. Another in the next wheel had no bridge but was being steered from some alternate helm. Brim shook his head as Defiant passed. At close range, he could see that the blast had nearly cut the big ship in half. With her hull in that sort of condition, she'd have to be unloaded in orbit-if she made it to port at all. After that, they'd scrap her, and it was clear that she was almost brand new. He winced: everywhere he looked, he could see guttering Drive plumes, glowing radiation fires only just under N-ray control, hulls and decks shining with ice from leaking environmentals, and the garish blue of temporary pressure patches.

Ursis nodded soberly out the Hyperscreens toward the merchant ships, then turned to Brim. "Out there, Wilf Ansor," he brooded, "are the real heroes of this war. To fight from behind the disruptors of a warship is something anyone can do. One can always count on lucky shooting to save him from disaster-or heavy armor plate at the least. But to face a Gorn-Hoff with only the black void and a thin sheet of hullmetal separating you from those Schwanndor 137s-and then to stay in formation-that is the kind of bravery we Sodeskayans record in the Great Books."

Brim found himself speechless with emotion. He took a deep breath, ground his teeth, and nodded agreement. After that, the two comrades sat silently and stared into the dark void while Waldo completed their return to the cruising station.

Less than a day later, as Brim sipped a hurried goblet of meem in the wardroom with Fritz and Aram, a buzzer sounded quietly from the tabletop, and a message board over Grimsby's pantry began to flash: LTS. WILF BRIM AND NIKOLAI URSIS TO THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY. LTS. WILF BRIM AND NIKOLAI URSIS TO THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY....

Brim raised an eyebrow. "In case I don't come back," he said with a mock-serious look of apprehension, "you two know where to start looking." Then he hurried to the bridge. He beat Ursis by only a moment, and the two Blue Capes trooped onto the bridge at double time.

There, they found Collingswood and Calhoun sitting in the jump-seat area that often doubled as an ad-hoc conference room. Outside, Defiant was rapidly overhauling a huge star shoal that appeared to extend ahead all the way into infinity.

"Number One and I have a little challenge for you," Collingswood said without looking up from a display screen. "Sit down, quickly, both of you. There is precious little time to act."

Brim and Ursis quickly turned two seats around and seated themselves, frowning.

"Baxter," Collingswood continued, still engrossed in the display screen, "since this all started with you..."

"Aye, Captain," Calhoun said, sitting forward in his seat and frowning. He paused a moment as if gathering his thoughts, then looked first at Ursis and then at Brim. "Well, lads," he started, "just before the change in watch, we received a routine message concernin' S.S. Providential, a big Vergonian cargo liner in Convoy J18/7 that passed thro' this same area three days ago wi' a load o' antimatter power supplies." He looked at Ursis. "I imagine you understand how critical that cargo is to Haelic, don't you?"

Ursis nodded gravely.

"Thought so," Calhoun continued. "Well, the ship took three direct hits during ane o' the attacks and was soon burnin' out o' control amidships-in the machinery space between holds eight and nine." He peered ahead through the Hyperscreens and shook his head angrily. "Worthless civilians," he growled. "First thing off, they simply pulled her out o' the convoy, dampened the Drive, and then abandoned ship."

A deep chuckle rumbled from Ursis's chest. "Whether or not I approve of what they did," he said, "I certainly know why they did it. Were the ship in perfect condition, her cargo makes her a colossal flying bomb-with the radiation fire providing a surefire fuse."

"I understand," Calhoun said. "But that is not the entire story."

"Somehow, I thought that might be the case," Brim interjected.

"Clever of you," Collingswood said, looking up from her console with a smile. "Go on, Baxter."

"To make it short," Calhoun said, "the fires burned themselves out within a few megacycles-an' apparently did so wi'out affectin' the ship's ability to fly or to KA'PPA her position on a regular basis, just as if she war' still in commission. Evidently, the xaxtdamned Vergonians war' so much in a hurry that the only thing they bothered to shut down was the Drive itself."

"And the Vergonians themselves?" Ursis asked. "Why didn't they return to their ship?"

"They couldn't," Calhoun said grimly. "Only a single escape capsule remained flyable after the attack-an' unfortunately, it had sustained hidden battle damage. Every survivor suffocated when the atmospherics blew out shortly after it separated from Providential. Ane o' the convoy trawlers, little I.F.S. Marigold, provided them a decent 'burial' into deep space."

Brim nodded. The traditional spaceman's send-off; propelled forever into the Universe by a funerary ion rocket. Every warship carried a supplyin case.

" Providential's cargo, however," Collingswood said, picking up the thread of the story, "is considered to be so crucial to the war effort that Convoy Office at the Admiralty has ordered a major effort to salvage the snip. And, unfortunately, COMCONVOY has afforded us the honor of making the first try."

"Fly her all the way to Hador-Haelic, Captain?" Brim asked.

"If she can be flown, yes," Collingswood answered, "but that is the easy part. What must be done first is to see if the ship can be powered away from a huge star that captured her approximately eleven cycles after she slowed to Hypospced. 'Zebulon Mu' is the official name, and unless something is done soon, Providential will fall into it. That's where you two come into the picture," she said, looking at Brim and Ursis in turn, "as if you hadn't guessed."

The two Blue Capes glanced at each other and smiled. "Aye, Captain," they said in resigned unison.

"I sort of thought so," Collingswood chuckled. "Well, as we approach the Zebulon cluster in approximately-" she checked her timepiece "-thirty-one cycles, the two of you and anyone else you want to place at extremely high personal risk will depart Defiant in our ridiculous 'attack' launch, land on what remains of S.S. Providential, and subsequently attempt to fly her away from the gas giant before she crashes. From what little I have been able to gather from the Admiralty, you will have no more than five metacycles to bring the whole thing off."

"Does anyone at the Admiralty have technical data on the ship, Captain?" Ursis asked.

"The system controls, perhaps? Or the Helmsman's console?"

"That sort of information is what I have been gathering here on the bridge," Collingswood answered, pointing to the jump seat's display. "It's not much, but I suppose it will serve better man nothing at all. I'm having HoloCards made up right now...." Then she suddenly grimaced and shook her head. "Look, you two," she said abruptly. "You are clearly the best Helmsman and System Officer on this ship-and as such ought to be immune from such a mission. I'm certain you both know that. However, you are also the only two people who have even a ghost of a chance of returning alive-much less salvaging that ship and her critical cargo. This mission is so difficult and dangerous that my assigning any other team would make it a suicide run." She shook her head sourly. "I suppose you'll take Barbousse?" she asked.

"Miracles are a lot easier when you've got help from somebody like Utrillo Barbousse," Brim observed.

Ursis nodded solemn agreement.

Collingswood smiled. "I'm ahead of you on that, then," she said. "I've already ordered 'Coxswain Barbousse' to prepare the launch."

Brim grinned. It was no surprise. Collingswood was that sort of perceptive leader. "Thank you, Captain," he said, then glanced at his timepiece. "And if there are no further orders, we had better be on our way."

"Do you have anything to add, Number One?" Collingswood asked.

"I think that aboot covers it," Calhoun .answered. "We'll hae your systems HoloCards delivered to the launch in the next few cycles. But, Mr. Brim," he added with a slight wince,

"ye'll find the flight-control information as slim as a Gabrolean beggar."

Brim smiled. It figured; intelligence libraries usually were a lot more interested in describing systems than telling how to use them. He shrugged. "Once Nik gets it started, I'll fly it," be asserted, winking at the Bear.

"On your way, then," Collingswood said in a businesslike manner. "Our launch window for Zebulon Mu is less than fifteen cycles' duration."

"Aye, Captain..." Brim and Ursis chorused and started aft.

"Oh, and.... Wilf, Nikolai..."

"Captain?" Wilf asked, stopping just short of the companionway.

Collingswood blushed and hesitantly raised her hand. "We all know there's no such thing as luck," she said, "but just in case..."

"Thank you, Captain," Brim said, saluting indoors in spite of regulations. Ursis followed suit. Then they clambered down the companionway, pulling their battle-suit helmets over their heads and running flat-out for the boat deck.

Within cycles, they had crawled through the twin boarding tubes-Ursis with the HoloCards to the passenger compartment, Brim into the flight bridge.

"G'afternoon, Lieutenant," Barbousse said. He had both spin-gravs ticking over already.

"Good afternoon, yourself," Brim answered, scanning his console readouts while he wriggled into his seat restraints. Each rev indicator was hovering steadily at 2400 and the coolant had already reached operating temperature. Outside-with no Hyperscreens to translate the confusion of photons at greater-than-light speeds-fantastic patterns of color were all the view that be would have until the launch "glided" to just below LightSpeed and normal vision. "Looks like you've got everything ready to go," he said, trimming up the flight controls. "Xaxtdamned good job, too."

"Thank ye, sir," Barbousse said, blushing proudly.

Brim grinned at the big rating's obvious pleasure-he'd pretty much learned to fly the same way himself-without benefit of formal training. He touched an intraship circuit to the passenger cabin. "All right down there, Nik?"

"'S'all right," the Bear answered, waving a thumbs-up hello to Barbousse. "But whoever claimed this toy cabin could seat ten was definitely not counting Bear noses." He was straddling two seats.

"You ready to go?" Brim asked.

"I am ready, Wilf Ansor..." the Bear said, folding his aims and relaxing as much as be could, strapped as he was in the cramped space.

Switching the display to Defiant's bridge. Brim spooled up the spin-gravs, balancing both out at just under 9500 sp's for a smoother deceleration to Hypolight velocity. "Requesting permission to cast off into Hyperspace," he said, downloading their latest position relative to Zebulon Mu into the launch's autohelm.

"Permission granted," Calhoun answered. "You may cast off when ready."

Brim nodded, then touched a control on the right side of his console. Presently, noises of straining motors sounded through the davit attachments. Wild patterns in the windscreen whirled and changed more rapidly as the launch moved out from behind the protection of Defiant's superstructure and into the ship's photon slipstream. Brim's mind raced back to his tour of blockade duty and the day he cast off in one of old Truculent's launches to capture his first Leaguer ship. He smiled to himself. Even below LightSpeed, those operations had been ticklish. The davits were controlled from the destroyer's bridge, and often coordination between the launch and launcher was not the best. Ivan Kalisnakov's specially built cradle allowed him to control everything himself.

When the motors fell silent, Calhoun nodded in the display. "You are now clear of the ship," he said.

"Casting off," Brim said.

"Good luck, you young pup," Calhoun said quietly. Then the display went blank as an connection was broken with Defiant. Shortly afterward, Brim nearly lost his meem with toe onset of weightlessness, but be managed-for at least the ten billionth time-to force his protesting stomach into angry submission. He shook his head and laughed at this most embarrassing of his manifold weaknesses. Local gravity was a wonderful thing-and one of the best reasons he could think of for rarely leaving large starships unless they were on the ground.

After nearly half a metacycle, toe frenzied patterns in the Hyperscreens began to disintegrate, then erupted into an angry crimson fabric of sparks that coalesced finally into a normal starscape as the launch slowed through Sheldon's Great Constant and passed the Daya-Peraf transition. Brim's LightSpeed indicator read precisely 0.99 when mighty Zebulon Mu filled the windscreens with a streaming brilliance that seemed to light the entire Universe. Presently, he switched off the autohelm and took the controls himself. "Anything like a cargo ship registering on the proximity scanner?" he asked.

"Nothing, Lieutenant," Barbousse answered, squinting into a display at the top center of his console.

"I'll continue on around until something shows up," the Carescrian said, steering the launch around the huge star. Even traveling at nearly LightSpeed, it took nearly five cycles to locate the merchant ship.

"I've located her. Lieutenant," Barbousse reported tensely. "But she surely doesn't have much altitude anymore."

"How bad off is she?" Brim asked, altering course toward (be stricken merchantman.

Barbousse pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his bead. "Probably," he said, "we won't have much time before she's too far into the star's gravity envelope to fly her out."

"And," Ursis added from the display, "we don't want to be within a standard light year of here if that cargo of power supplies goes up in the photosphere. The resulting flare will melt whole planets."

Brim grimaced. "I'll keep that in mind, Nik," he promised as they bored down into the brilliance. "Believe me!"

S.S. Providential was typical of the big Vergonian merchantmen constructed back during the Twenties. She had a long, black hull shaped like a spindle with a sharp bow and rounded stem. A blunt, single-unit deckhouse in corrugated white hullmetal began just aft of her short foredeck and straddled me hull nearly all the way to her stern. Forward, the structure was approximately five levels in height and surmounted by a control bridge that extended beyond the limits of the deckhouse to both port and starboard like short, thick fins.

According to Ursis's HoloCards, the ship was 407 irals in length, 44 irals at maximum horizontal beam, and displaced 34,351 milstons empty. She was powered by two arcane Grandoffler triple-phisotron Drive units-anyone could see that by the three focusing rings mounted aft of each Drive outlet. She also had the dubious distinction of being the largest ship in Imperial service with twin-Drives of the type.

Up close, it was clear that Providential's fires were extinguished, at least externally. "With a quenching system like that, sir," Barbousse said in an awestruck voice, "radiation fires simply couldn't burn very long. Just look at those big N-ray emitters-all over the hull. And they're still on-every one of them!"

"Doesn't say much for the crew," Brim observed.

Ursis grinned from the display. "Easy for you to say, Wilf Brim." He laughed. "But not everyone gets his start in a Carescrian ore barge, either. Terror is only a relative thing."

Brim chuckled wryly. "I guess you've got a point," he admitted, but he still didn't approve of abandoning a ship until it was about to self-destruct.

For the next ten cycles, they inspected the starship's exterior from every angle, peering carefully at each of the three ragged, stove-in holes where the ship had been hit. "All right,"

Brim said, when they reached the big ship's stem, "what's the verdict? Shall we set down on her for a closer inspection?"

Ursis nodded. "I can see little risk in that," he said.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse agreed. "How about inside that open cargo hatch over there in the deckhouse-right under the bridge? It'll save us a lot of radiation from the gas giant."

"Good idea," Brim agreed, and maneuvered along the bull to a hovering position over the foredeck in front of the cargo ship's main deckhouse. Switching on the launch's powerful landing lights, he pointed the nose of the ship into the yawning hatch.

"Looks like lot of big crates on oversized pallets, sir," Barbousse observed. "About the right size for Antimatter power supplies, I'd judge."

Brim nodded agreement. The huge, octahedroid crates were secured to the deck on either side of an aisle that Brim guessed might be slightly wider than one of the pallets themselves. He frowned-was it wide enough for the launch?

"Going to be close, sir," Barbousse observed.

"Yeah," Brim said, nodding agreement, "xaxtdamned close." But no closer in many respects than he'd been quite used to only a few years previously. Ore barges weren't allocated wide berths on Carescria-expensive structures like that decreased profitability of the mines. And both barges and Helmsmen were considered to be expendable commodities-a routine business expense. Presently, he narrowed his eyes, took one last look at the antigravs, then nodded. "She'll fit," he declared.

"Probably," Ursis growled from the passenger compartment, "you will want to avoid bumping those crates too vigorously."

Brim nodded and concentrated on easing the launch through the doors. "I'll watch it," he said.

"We have about two point seven metacycles, Lieutenant," Barbousse announced, peering into a display. "Gravity's gettin' worse every moment."

Brim nodded, totally concentrating all his mental resources on the controls as he maneuvered carefully into the opening....

Suddenly, Barbousse spoke up. "Lieutenant Ursis, if you would check our clearance to port, I can monitor starboard."

"Good idea," Ursis rumbled, looking up from the display. "I would say we have perhaps an iral of clearance here."

"And at least two on this side, Lieutenant," Barbousse added.

Brim eased slightly to starboard, hardly daring to touch the controls.

"Better now on this side," Ursis reported.

"You still have an iral and a half over here, Lieutenant," Barbousse said.

Brim nodded. "Thanks," he mumbled, then cautiously applied a slight forward thrust vector to the spin-gravs. The launch crept slowly between the towering crates, its landing lights transforming the dark interior of the hold into a two-dimensional cartoon. When the nacelles were centered on the second crate in from the hatch, Brim let the little craft settle gently to the deck. It was like parking a skimmer in a narrow alley between two large, windowless buildings. "All right, everybody," he announced, taking the first breath he could remember for at least a half metacycle, "helmets on-this is as far as she goes." He pulled the spin-gravs back to idle, enabled the gravity brakes, and set up the control panel for a quick getaway. Then he wriggled out of his seat restraints and followed Barbousse to the cargo deck. While the big rating closed the hatches, Brim placed a glove on Ursis's broad shoulder. "Do those HoloCards show any sort of route to the bridge, Nik?" he asked.

Ursis grinned through the visor of his battle suit. "I think so," his voice announced hollowly in Brim's helmet. He looked around as if taking his bearings from the light of the open hatch, then pointed the handlight directly overhead. "Six levels up," he said.

"Won-der-ful," Brim said. "Anything more specific than that?

"Well," the Bear chuckled, "there are indications of a crew lift directly over... that way." He pointed to the starboard wall of the hold: "I suggest we try that first."

"Lead on," Brim said; motioning Barbousse to follow. "If we end up lost, we can at least blame you while we burn up in the star. It'll be a lot more satisfaction that way."

"Not to worry, Wilf Ansor," the Bear said, starting out between the huge pallets at a rolling gate. "Science has proved that a person can survive almost anything-except death, of course."

"Are you comforted?" Brim asked, turning to Barbousse in the near darkness behind him.

"Absolutely, Lieutenant Ursis," Barbousse said with a grin. "Everything comforts me."

"See?" Ursis growled.

"Hmmpf...."

After passing their third building-sized crate, they came to the starboard bulkhead: a solid wall of seamless hullmetal nearly fifty irals high. Ursis consulted the HoloCards for a moment. "To the right," he said presently. "Make sure I don't miss the lift."

"How about that red sign ahead, beggin the gentlemen's pardon?" Barbousse piped up.

"It's little more than a glow."

"1 see it now...." Brim said, squinting at the red light ahead. "What does it say?"

"'Crew Lift,' in Vergonian," Ursis translated presently. "And as dim as it appears to be, I am reasonably certain that the ship's emergency power supply is beginning to dissipate."

He began to move along the wall even faster, rolling from side to side in the surprisingly agile manner of Bears in a hurry. "We shall have to reach the bridge directly," he said,

"before the ship closes itself down to protect its logic systems. Undoing that sort of situation takes a whole crew-and more metacycles than remain to our use."

At last, they arrived at the dim red light and the heavy-looking hatch it marked. Ursis immediately turned four stout levers to C'OTT ("Open" in Vergonian, Brim surmised), then tugged on the latch mechanism-nearly pulling himself from his feet. The door remained firmly in place.

"What's the matter?" Brim asked.

"I don't know," Ursis grunted, testing the levers and pulling on the latch mechanism again.

Still the panel remained in place. "By the rancid, garbage-clotted beard of Voot himself," he swore sharply, "I think the xaxtdamned thing is locked!"

He tugged once more, then shook his head. "Perhaps I am doing something wrong. You should check my work, Wilf Ansor."

Brim took the Bear's place before the hatch. He first inspected the levers-each one was loose and in an open position-then he placed both hands on the latch mechanism and pulled. The latch moved freely, but the door remained immovable, still clearly secured.

"Sweet thraggling Universe," he said through clenched teeth. "Now what?"

"May I have a try at it?" Barbousse asked.

"Absolutely," Brim said in a disgusted voice. "We might as well all have a go."

"Thank you, sir," Barbousse said, stepping before the batch. "If the Lieutenants will stand back a few paces..." he added presently, and unslung a heavy blast truncheon from his back. "I think this will take care of the inner lock."

"Where'd you get that?" Brim asked with arched eyebrows.

"Oh, I picked it up on m' way to the launch," Barbousse said, aiming the powerful weapon at the latch mechanism. "I stowed it in the cabin-thought it might come in handy, like." Then he turned his head to one side. "Watch the eyes, now," he warned. Instantly the hold was bathed in a fulgurating green brilliance and the whole latch side of the door dissolved in a shower of sparks and molten metal that splashed harmlessly off their battle suits but incinerated the Imperial comet at Brim's left breast. "There," Barbousse said presently, kicking the glowing remains of the door aside with his boot.

"You surely have a way with locks," Brim commented in an awed voice.

"Clearly, precision work," Ursis added.

"Thank you, Lieutenants," the big rating said, slinging the truncheon over his back and leading the way into a small alcove with a circular door at the far side. Beside the door was a vertical row of seven sensors labeled with Vergonian symbols. "I suppose this lighted one is where we are," he said, pointing to the bottom sensor.

Ursis frowned and silently peered at each symbol in turn, beginning from the top. "Yes,"

he said momentarily, "and the top one reads 'Control Bridge,' roughly translated."

Barbousse mashed toe top button....

It took what seemed like a year for the car to finally arrive-and a great deal longer than that for it to spiral its way to the top. But at last-nearly thirty-five cycles after Brim landed the launch-the three Defiants stood on Providentiol's bridge. Not much time remained at all.

Brim had only begun work at the Helmsman's console when Barbousse once more interrupted his concentration.

"Um, I hate to bother you gentlemen," the big rating began hesitantly.

Brim turned in his recliner, Barbousse never interrupted unless he had something galaxy-shaking to say. "What?"' he asked with a grin.

"Well, sir," Barbousse said, holding three of the HoloCards in his hand like a talisman.

"Beggin' the Lieutenants' pardons, but-as I mentioned before-m' calculations say that we have somethin' less than a metacycle before we've got to be underway." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Um, otherwise, at the rate we're fallin', those two crazy triple-phisotron Drive units-the 'Grandofflers'-won't be able to push this rustbucket out of the gravity sphere anymore. Those popping n' creaking noises you hear every once in a while are the hull plates beginnin' to work from the stress."

"Voof," Ursis exclaimed, "I too have heard those noises." He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his great muzzle. "It gives us something less than twenty cycles after a failure on this ship to fly away in the launch before it too is no longer able to escape the star. We must indeed hurry." Immediately, he returned to his instruments.

"Thanks, friend," Brim said, throwing the big rating a quick salute.

Barbousse reddened through his visor. "Wasn't nothin', Lieutenant," he mumbled.

"Garbage," Brim said with a grin, turning back to his console, where he quickly lost himself studying the archaic flight instruments. He devoutly thanked the Universe that starship controls all pretty much operated the same sort of steering mechanisms. First he located the autopilot master switch-it was off, which accounted for the ship's perilously low altitude. Before he switched it on, however, he had to establish the settings it would be expected to hold. Rapidly, he reset the roll, pitch, and yaw controls at neutral, then forced the artificial horizon to realign itself with the galactic disk. Turning to the left console, he mentally calculated a spherical course to permit the ship's escape with a minimum expenditure of energy, then registered the parameters-by thumbwheels!-in the heading window. At last-after an especially bothersome groan from the ship's hull-he located all four trim wheels and noted their relative positions. Clearly, they had been set by the crew to offset latent gyroscopic torque generated by the hulking Grandoffler Drives-why anybody had ever built such contraptions!... Then, settling back in the recliner, he checked the entire array of instruments and nodded to himself. He was about to inform Ursis that the helm was ready for flight when Barbousse's deep voice again broke the silence of the bridge. But this time there was an edge to the man's voice that he'd never heard before.

"I think there's somethin' wrong with m' bloody eyes," Barbousse gasped. "Sweet thraggling Universe. It's all wobbly outside...."

Brim looked up to see me big rating staring out the starboard Hyperscreens with a positively awestruck look on his face. "What's the matter?..." he began, but stopped in midsentence when at the same time Ursis half rose from his console and began peering out the Hyperscreen, too-also with an amazed look on his face.

"My vision is likewise wobbly," the Bear exclaimed presently, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. "What is that out there?"

Frowning with concern, Brim rose from his recliner and quickly joined the others beside a starboard console. He required only one glance through the Hyperscreens. "By the beard!"

he swore, rubbing his eyes. "1 can't look directly at it, either...." Outside, perhaps three hundred irals off the starboard boat deck, was the shimmering, half-seen ghost of a small starship-and for some reason, his eyes refused to focus on it properly. He shook his head and peered into the emptiness beyond the bow. All the stars in the shoal appeared in sharp focus. Yet when he tried to look at the ship off to port, it seemed to be ephemeral. Some of the brighter constellations were actually shining through its hull! As if it were from another dimension. His heart thumped with sudden apprehension. Perhaps the crazy fiction writers weren't so far off after all! Or..."Do you suppose we're looking at a bender?" he whispered.

Ursis smote his forehead. "I vould bet on it!" he exclaimed. "And somewhere this ship is clearly radiating something that it cannot bend!"

"Do you suppose they know that?" Brim asked sharply.

The Bear shook his head and smiled sardonically. "No..." he said slowly. "I believe that they do not. And... look, they are drawing closer."

"If only we knew what it was that they cannot bend," Brim said over a whole chorus of creaking hull plates.

"Whatever it is," Ursis rumbled, "we must at least notify the Fleet that something of the sort exists." He turned to Barbousse. "Utrillo," he ordered, "see if you can prepare the KA'PPA set for use. I was about to restore the ship's main power when you spotted this apparition. I shall finish the work immediately."

"Aye, Lieutenant," Barbousse said, moving slowly off to the communications console.

The big star was now making itself felt through the ship's weakened local gravity.

Amid a nearly continuous dissonance of sepulchral groans and clamor from the overstressed hull, Brim continued to watch the little ship as it slowly approached Providential's starboard rail.

"Stand by to switch power from storage cells to the normal reactor," Ursis warned.

"Ready, sir," Barbousse answered.

Suddenly-at the exact tick the whirring consoles went silent on the bridge-the little ship disappeared completely, then rematerialized a moment later in the same position when the consoles resumed operation. Now, however, the bender was considerably more visible, with only the brightest stars shining through its ghostly hull. Suddenly, Brim felt at least a milston lighter in the ship's revitalized local gravity. "What'd you just do?" he asked.

"Restored primary power to the mains," Ursis said hurriedly, then turned to Barbousse.

"Utrillo, see if you can get a message off to-"

"Hold off a moment, Nik," Brim interrupted, pointing out the Hyperscreens at the bender.

"I think whatever else you did to the mains, you also put the bender back into... what do they call it when the ship's invisible?"

'"Spectral mode,'" Ursis said, frowning out at the little ship and shaking his head. "But it is still perfectly visible, Wilf Ansor. See for yourself."

"I know full well what it looks like now, you stubborn Sodeskayan," Brim answered hotly,

"but it wasn't that way a cycle ago when you momentarily shut off power to everything.

Remember, I was looking...."

Ursis held up a hand of supplication. "I do not doubt your word, friend. Believe me. During the moment of switchover, everything on board the ship lost power-including whatever we've got on board that is transmitting those radiations the bender can't bend."

"Speaking of which," Brim added, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb, "the Leaguer is a lot more visible now, for some reason."

"So it is," Ursis agreed. "Therefore, our mysterious radiating source must also be getting more power." He shook his head in frustration. "What in the filthy name of David L. Voot do you suppose it could be?'

"I wonder, gentlemen," Barbousse interjected, looking up from a large utility console at the rear of the bridge, "if it might be the N-rays this ship is sprayin' all over the Universe? I've been checking around, and those Vergonians shut most everythin' else down cold, like..."

Brim looked at Ursis and shrugged ignorance.

"The N-ray projectors are still emitting?" Ursis asked.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse said, "at least accordin' to these five switches they are. The diagram here shows the mains are wide open."

"You may have found it, then," the Bear answered, getting to his feet. "Switch them off-all of them-and we'll have a look through the Hyperscreens."

"Aye, sir," Barbousse answered. Presently, a series of sharp clicks sounded from the rear of the bridge. "How's that?" the big rating asked.

Brim peered at the enemy ship just in time to see it go completely invisible again. "It's gone." he exclaimed in amazement.

"By the ice lizard's toe!" Ursis said. "So it is, Utrillo. Turn them on again."

Barbousse switched the N-ray mains on again, and the ship immediately reappeared.

"Switch them off again."

"Aye, sir."

"Aha! On again, please."

"Aye, sir."

"And off again."

"Aye, sir."

"Barbousse figured it out!" Brim cheered. "Look, the bender's disappeared again."

"That seems so," Ursis said, nodding his head thoughtfully, "It seems that the damned Leaguers have not tested their new vehicle thoroughly." A rumbling chuckle escaped his lips. "It makes sense when I think about it, too. N-rays are nothing but highly compressed beams of photons that act by swamping electron energy that must be present to sustain the uncollapse of an electro-collapsite like hullmetal. Imagine what happens when such a highly packed beam hits a bender."

Brim frowned. "I guess it saturates the bender, too, doesn't it?"

"Correct, my furless friend," Ursis said. "The bender simply cannot retransmit so many quantums at one time-and some of them reflect." He peered through the Hyperscreens.

"Ah-ha-see: he has now reappeared again." He turned to Barbousse at the utility console and waited until a particularly noisy creaking spent itself somewhere in the decking beneath his feet. "Perhaps we should stop the testing now, my friend," he suggested, "before something gives us away."

"I didn't do anything that time, Lieutenant Ursis," Barbousse protested. "The N-ray mains are still closed."

"Then she's come out of spectral mode on her own," Brim stated through clenched teeth.

"Probably looking us over to see if we're worth finishing off." Grimly, he peered through the Hyperscreens and listened to the hull breaking up below. The bender was small-perhaps 115 irals in length. And narrow: no more than ten irals in diameter-little more than three times the height of a man. An awkward-looking control bridge jutted vertically from the hull almost dead amidships. It was topped by a stubby KA'PPA antenna. A row of small Hyperscreen panels extended around its forward curve like a toothy smile. Aft, the tower returned to the hull in two steps, each surmounted by an ugly-looking disruptor. Brim easily identified the top one as a rapid-firing 37-mmi Tupfer-Schwandl. The lower weapon was much larger: probably one of the long-nosed Schneidler 98s he'd run up against on A'zurn-he'd never seen one up close. At either side of the hull, obese nacelles welled outward like great, swollen tumors. These clearly housed the Drive components; each ended some twenty irals abaft the control bridge in finned reverser rings.

And every square milli-iral of the ship's surface (including gratings in front of the Hyperscreens) was covered by a fine pattern of tiny, rectangular logic units-literally millions of diem. Steady waves of feeble ruby light flowed over these from the bow to the stem in regularly timed sequences.

As Brim watched, the ship began to swivel around until it pointed directly at the cargo ship's hull amidships. Suddenly, there was movement on the port side of its narrow, knifelike bow plate as one of two rectangular doors opened inward. Moments later, the ship began to glide backward until it was perhaps half a c'lenyt distant.

"She's going to put a torpedo into us even before this blasted hull collapses in on itself,"

Brim muttered through clenched teeth. "And there's no way we can get down to the launch in time to do anything about it." Then he shook his head and pounded a fist on the Hyperscreen ledge. "Barbousse," he shouted. "Get that KA'PPA going now. Maybe we can still do the Leaguers a little damage...."

"Aye, sir," Barbousse said, jumping for the communications console. Moments later, when Brim arrived at the rear of the bridge, the KA'PPA gear was already humming while Ursis furiously hammered a two-fingered description of the Leaguer ship into its buffers.

"Get ready to send this," the Bear warned. "I may be about to meet my esteemed ancestors, but until then I still have the fastest two fingers in the galaxy."

"The Leaguers'll see our KA'PPA rings go out for sure, Lieutenant," Barbousse warned.

KA'PPA transmissions-the only known technique of nearly instantaneous communication at galactic distances-began as a series of glimmering rings that expanded from the antenna like waves from a pebble tossed into a calm pond. In the darkness of outer space, they were hard to miss.

"So they see," Ursis said, shrugging phlegmatically. "They will send their torpedo one way or another. But with the special cargo we have below, at least we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that the Leaguers will go up with us...." He rapidly keyed another few symbols, then turned to Barbousse. "Ready to send," he said.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse responded, reaching for the transmission key.

"Wait!" Brim exclaimed suddenly. "I think they're shutting the torpedo doors."

"Sweet thraggling crag wolves," Ursis roared, seizing Barbousse's arm at the last possible click. "Now what?"

"I don't know," Brim said, his heart thumping as if it were about to burst through his chest.

"But they're now closed completely."

"Hmm," Ursis rumbled thoughtfully. "I wonder..."

"What?"

"Perhaps our friends in the Leaguer ship have now calculated how soon Providential will crash into the gas giant behind us."

"Voot's beard! I'll bet that's it," Brim exclaimed. "So far as they're concerned, we're not worth a torpedo. Old Zebuton Mu down there will soon reduce us to subatomics free of charge."

"Which, of course, it will," Ursis said, looking at his timepiece. "We don't have much more than a half metacycle before the Leaguers will be quite correct." He turned to Barbousse.

"From the sounds of the hull, perhaps you should retain that KA'PPA buffer I entered. We may yet need it...."

"Aye, sir," Barbousse agreed.

"He's on his way back again," Brim wanted from the Hyperscreens.

"Excellent," Ursis said. "Perhaps he will tire of looking at as soon and leave. We dare not move the ship while he is still in the vicinity-otherwise, he will decide to use those torpedoes quickly."

While Brim watched, the bender pulled in close to starboard, then made a quick circuit of the ship and ended up once more alongside-this time no more than sixty irals from the bridge wing. Now he could clearly see the rows of protective devices lining the enemy's hull.

Each was rectangular in shape and divided into six quadrants with a tiny ruby light that pulsed at the intersection of the dividers. And on the bridge-behind the protective grid-he could see men shading their eyes and looking through the Hyperscreens. They were pointing at him. "We've been spotted!" he warned.

Ursis sauntered up and joined Brim at the Hyperscreens. "Indeed?" he said, peering out at the other ship. He snorted, "Not only have they spotted us, they are laughing at our plight-perhaps by now they have heard the hull creaking with their own ears."

"Sweet Universe!" Brim swore. "They are laughing, the bastards! The absolute bastards!" Then he snapped his fingers. "But it also means that they missed the launch on their flyby inspection!"

"Apparently so," Ursis said calmly. "One hopes, however, that they don't remain to watch us burn."

"Something like that could ruin the whole afternoon," Brim grumbled, nodding his head.

"Friend Barbousse," Ursis said while the deck vibrated under their boots, "switch on the N-ray mains. I have an idea."

"N-ray mains are on. Lieutenant," Barbousse reported presently.

"Thank you," the Bear said, turning to Brim. "Now, Wilf Ansor, you and I are going to wave at them as if we expect to be saved. Are you ready?"

Brim raised his eyebrows. "You mean you want me to wave to those bastards? What if they actually decide to help us?"

"Judging from the size of their starship," Ursis shouted over a renewed attack of cracking and groaning, "I'd be willing to bet a Sodeskayan dascha they simply don't have enough room on board."

"You've got a point," Brim conceded. "All right, come on, Utrillo, let's all wave...."

In the next few moments, the three comrades desperately waved their arms and pointed at the roiling photosphere of Zebulon Mu only a few thousand c'lenyts below them. They couldn't have been more clear if they'd been able to call for help in the Leaguer's native language of Vertrucht. And the Leaguers continued to laugh....

At length, the ugly little ship went spectral again-although she still remained quite visible in the powerful illumination of Providential's N-ray systems.

Brim and Ursis stopped waving immediately. "Do you suppose he knows we can still see him?" Brim asked rhetorically.

"I doubt it," Ursis answered. "But that, is probably of small consequence to them. I am sure that they also think that our KA'PPA system is nonoperational. Otherwise, we would have sent a warning message by now-which they could have seen going out. Is this not so?"

Brim grinned. "Sounds right to me," he answered, turning back to the Hyperscreens in time to see the little ship accelerate away and quickly discorporate into true spectral mode as it outran the effect of Providential's N-ray system. "She's gone," he said in a sudden wave of relief.

Ursis was out of the COMM console in a matter of dicks. "Send the KA'PPA immediately, friend Barbousse," he rumbled as he strode hurriedly to the systems console.

"We have so far only avoided one of the dangers facing us," he added, raising a titular index finger next to his ear. "Now we must remove ourselves from the menace of this xaxtdamned star before we become the infinitesimal kernel of a large stellar flare."

"The antigrav systems are now ready for flight," Ursis rumbled only cycles after returning to his console. "Wilf, you may power up your flight controls at any time."

"She's ready to move," Brim replied, throwing all the flight switches with one sweep of his hand. Suddenly, the deck began to throb under his feet with a reassuringly steady beat as the generators coupled to their mains. He switched on the autopilot, and with renewed creaking and groaning the abused hull of the merchantman obediently oriented itself to the galactic disk. Moments later, steering engines struggled to align the ship along a vector that would produce Brim's desired course while countering the savage gravity outside. "All right, Nik, slow ahead both...."

"Slow ahead both."

The ship began a cacophony of protesting creaks and groans, often vibrating so badly that Brim could hardly see the instruments before him. Aft, however, a haze of green streaming away against the glare from the star boded well for the state of the propulsion gear. "Looks like we're moving," Brim whispered, half afraid to speak. "Quarter speed ahead, both."

"Quarter speed ahead, both."

Soon, the ship began to steady on course and the vibrations settled considerably. "She's balancing," Brim said with a happy grin. "Listen-the hull's not creaking so badly. Let's have half speed ahead and see if we can't make some distance."

"Half speed ahead," Ursis said. Even he sounded happy for once.

Shortly thereafter, Brim was able to order full speed ahead, and within the next half metacycle, they switched to Hyperlight Drive and a heading for Hador-Haelic. It had been a long day indeed....

Chapter 6

THE D-SHIP

On the third day out from Zebulon Mu, Brim eased S.S. Providential into a parking orbit some two hundred c'lenyts above the surface of Haelic, then watched Ursis and Barbousse shut off most of her systems. He had orders to leave the once-derelict cargo liner in orbit so she could be inspected for structural damage before anyone attempted a landfall. Her critical cargo of antimatter power supplies was much too valuable and potentially destructive to risk in a hull that might not make it all the way down in one piece....

Later, as he lined up the attack launch on a landing vector over Atalanta, he listened to his two comrades trading details over the intercom about an N-ray generator they'd dreamed up-one that could focus its output in the manner of a searchlight instead of a radiation extinguisher. They planned to build a prototype from spare parts available nearly anywhere in the field. He was tempted to interject his own thoughts concerning Randall amplifiers and automatic focusing logic when a woman's voice interrupted from the console.

"Fleet Launch 325: wind out of three five zero at one one: vector two zero five to G-pool nine eight; you are cleared to land."

"Fleet Launch 325, wind three five zero at fifteen; vector three zero five-thank you, ma'am," he called out, easing off power for his final letdown to the base. The Gradgroat-Norchelite monastery and its high golden spire glided past under the port nacelle, and from somewhere in the recesses of his mind he dredged up the mysterious Gradygroat motto: "In destruction is resurrection; the path of power leads through truth." He shook his head. Whatever meaning the words once might have possessed was certainly lost on him now.

He smiled to himself when Defiant's graceful lines defined themselves ahead in the distance-almost lost against the massive silhouettes of two battlecruisers moored nearby.

Collingswood's latest warship was rapidly gaining a reputation as one of the most handsome vessels in the Fleet.

Through the side Hyperscreen he spied a colorful maze of little streets and alleys below, enclosed by a rambling wall. Claudia lived in a section like that. He glanced at the panel clock-she'd be going home about this time, too. Absently, he wondered how she planned to spend her evening, but quickly put that sort of dangerous speculation from his mind.

Fascinating as she might be-and he had to admit that she was definitely fascinating-her evenings were none of his business. Shaking his head, he trimmed the ship to neutral, then energized the Collective. "All right, everybody," he announced, "strap in. I'm about to set her down."

"Aye, sir," Barbousse replied from right-hand console.

"You are maybe planning for a rough landfall, Wilf Ansor?" Ursis teased over the intraship.

"Only in the passenger compartment," Brim countered. "Barbousse and I don't have a thing to worry about up here in the bridge."

"Smart-aleck Helmsmen..."

Brim grinned as he switched both spin-gravs into vertical mode. From here on in, momentum from his descent would provide all the forward speed required. "We'll need the coolant radiators set to dense atmosphere," he warned as he checked his instruments.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse answered, adjusting the radiator flap switches at the top of his console. From either side of the flight bridge, powerful electric motors whined and the noise of the slipstream quieted considerably.

Brim banked a few degrees to port for the crosswind and eased the Collective until he established a glidepath-then held it steady all the way past City Mount Hill and out across, the inland portion of the Fleet base. Just short of Defiant's gravity pool, he simultaneously pulled the nose up and raised the Collective. Scant moments later-with vibration from the thundering spin-gravs pounding the soles of his boots-the launch glided to a stop, then settled gently onto her cradle.

"Smo-o-o-oth, Lieutenant," Barbousse commented, reaching up to switch off power to the COMM systems.

"Nothing to it," Brim said modestly-but he was a little pleased with himself, too.

Outside, four yellow-suited ground handlers in blue skullcaps and protective gloves were now at work securing the launch to its special cradle while a shapely blond ensign flounced out across the boat deck toward them. She was dressed in the tight, jet-black coveralls of the Imperial Intelligence Services.

Brim frowned to himself. "Looks like we won't have long to wait for our debriefing," he remarked, watching safe indicators light on the tie-down pane!.

"Could be worse-beggin' the Lieutenant's pardon," Barbousse said as he eyed the ensign appreciatively. "They might have sent somebody, that looks like Y. Adolphus Fillmore."

"You have a point there, friend," Brim chuckled. "You definitely have a point."

Moments later, the blonde pulled open both hatches. "We have a staff car in the parking lot, Lieutenant," she said, smiling up into the flight bridge. "I'm afraid all three of you are under strict quarantine until we've had a long chat."

Ursis chuckled from the door of the passenger compartment. " 'Snow caves and lightning often mean warm friends,' as they say on the Mother Planets," he growled gently. "No doubt the Intelligence mavens are most anxious to discuss N-rays."

"Most anxious, you big smartie," the woman affirmed with a grin. Ursis was a large Bear by anybody's reckoning: one who could clearly kill & roan with a single swipe of his hand. Yet he seldom invoked a sense of fear in anyone-unless he wanted to.

"Never heard of such interest in fire-fighting Bear," Brim commented laconically. While he finished shutting down the launch's systems, he couldn't help ogling the blond officer. She was a good-looking woman: amply built with a creamy and curly hair. From the launch's little flight bridge, she might even be taken for Margot. As if anybody could be taken for Margot.

He grinned in sudden anticipation. At least two messages from Avalon would be waiting. It had been a long convoy. Then he grimaced. It also promised to be a long debriefing session before he got a look at those messages. Wearily, he climbed through the hatch and followed the Ensign toward a companionway. First came the war...

True to Brim's predictions, the Intelligence people required a lot of time before they were convinced that no more information could be extracted from the three Blue Capes, either as a group or individually. When he was finally free to return to Defiant-in an early watch of the morning-he learned that his two comrades had been released more than a metacycle previously.

Outside, it was darkest night, and-of course-the message center was closed. He shrugged phlegmatically. Margot's messages would keep for one more evening, but the delay was still a disappointment. As he waited at the tram stop-Intelligence provided no limousines on the way back!-City Mount Hill was a mass of lights, despite a permanent alert status at the base. Clearly, he mused, Atalantans placed great faith in the two battlecruisers moored nearby. With the advent of benders, however, he doubted their blind faith was still justified; at least until the Fleet learned more about N-rays.

Of course, most civilians didn't yet know about benders, either...

He took a deep draught of fresh night air. The breeze was from landward and carried with it smells of foliage, polluted canals, dust, the distant city... Once more, his mind turned to Claudia. She was part of that city-and somehow she was on his mind a lot more than she should be....

At last, he flagged down a tram, and within twenty cycles Defiant hove into view through the windscreen. Beyond loomed the mighty shapes of two Greyffin IV-class battle cruisers: Gwir Neithwr and Princess Sherraine, now that he had a chance to look. He smiled wryly to himself. No Carescrian Helmsmen aboard those proud beauties, he'd wager. Capital ships were still unchallenged bastion of the privileged. Oh, he'd visited a few of them. But once on board, his hosts always firmly gave him to understand-with great finesse, of course-that he was there only to look. The patronizing treatment he received on those magnificent ships still bothered him-made him feel cheap. For the thousandth time he shrugged aside me ugly harridan of resentment. All things would eventually change in the face of this war-as would ancient prejudices against people like Carescrians. The people of Greyffin IV's Empire needed every assistance they could get these days-from anyone who could help. And sooner or later, they would also have to ante up. He smiled to himself. He'd already had tremendous boosts from patrician officers like Regula Collingswood and Nik Ursis-as well as First Star Lord Beorn Wyrood. When the war was finally over, he trusted that these same patricians would make sure that justice was done....

Within the metacycle, he'd signed back aboard Defiant and treated himself to a long, luxurious shower. Soon afterward, he was comfortably situated in his own bunk again.

Perhaps, he thought as he dropped off to sleep, the controls of a battlecruiser weren't that far from his grasp. Like everything else in the Universe, all one needed was a bit of talent, a lot of hard work, and a measure of good luck-the last at exactly the proper time....

Even though he was free during most of the following watch cycle, Brim roused himself early and downloaded his mail only moments after the message center opened. He eagerly watched as header after header scrolled through his display, but among the usual solicitations for Academy class gifts, announcements, advertisements from uniform makers, and the like, only one was sourced "Margot Effer'wyck, Lt., I.F. @ Admiralty/Avalon." And it had been sent nearly a week ago.... Frowning, he opened it to the globular display. When Margot's face filled the screen, her eyes were tired and she looked... defeated, somehow.

"Wilf," she began softly. "I am just beginning to understand how dearly I love you-now that I must totally exclude you from my life for a time." She suddenly sniffed and wiped her nose-which had taken on a definitely red hue against her otherwise creamy white skin. She shook her bead. "I shall not make a third attempt to record these words without tears. That seems to be impossible today." She paused again while she wiped her nose....

Brim almost stopped the message before she could speak again; he could guess what was coming.

"With my marriage to Rogan only weeks away, dearest," she continued presently, "I can no longer continue our correspondence-at least until such time as I can somehow regain a semblance of my personal privacy." She shook her head angrily now. "My life is no longer my own," she said with a wry grimace. "Royalty pays dearly for its privileges, Wilf, and privacy is part of that price. I can no more compose a love message-especially the kind you expect, my spoiled lover-than I can fly a starship. I am reduced to finishing this in a secure conference room at work-during the brief interim between an audience with my future motherin-law, the Grand Duchess, and a meeting with broadcast representatives who will tell me how to act at my own wedding." She laughed softly. "But then, it's not really much of a wedding, my darling, is it? Not when the bride is totally in love with you...."

A chime rang, and she reached out past Brim's field of view. "Yes, I'm coming," she snapped angrily. "But I require another few moments to finish what I am doing, and you will wait. Do you understand?" She grimaced as she returned her gaze to the display. "I must go, now," she said hurriedly. "I have no idea when you will next hear from me, but the time will certainly be measured in months; perhaps even years." Her lip trembled for a moment,

"Meanwhile, dearest, please remember I love you-and only you." The chime sounded insistently. "That can never change, no matter what you may see or think you see." Then she shook her head. "Good-bye for now, Wilf-may the Universe watch over you and keep you safe until I am once more in your arms." Moments later, with chimes again ringing harshly in the background, the display went dark....

Numbly, Brim shut down his message system, then spent the remainder of his daylight wandering aimlessly through the huge Fleet base on foot without really seeing or caring for anything around him. To the end of his years, he could recall only muzzy, unconnected scenes from that dismal expedition into nowhere. When he finally did return to Defiant during the late afternoon, he buried himself in work until the last watch was over-afraid to occupy his mind with anything more sensitive than the business of being a Helmsman....

The following morning, Brim returned to the bridge early and-except for brief visits by Aram and Fritz Galen-toiled without serious interruption through the better part of the next three watches. Finally, rumblings from his stomach served as reminder that he hadn't eaten since the previous morning. Shaking his head, he looked up to discover sunset streaming through the Hyperscreens to paint the deserted consoles in shades of deep shadow and glowing amber-just as Defiant's Chairman interrupted the stillness. "Lieutenant Brim?" the voice inquired.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman?"

"Captain Collingswood requests that you join Lieutenant Ursis and Torpedoman Barbousse in her cabin as soon as practical."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," Brim said, walking off toward the companionway. His stomach could wait.

Ursis and Barbousse were waiting for him in the corridor. As usual, soft music was drifting from Collingswood's partially open door. Brim smiled to himself. She never seemed to be without music if she could help it. It fit, somehow.

Barbousse knocked politely.

"Come in and sit down, gentlemen," the Captain called out. "Don't stand on ceremony."

Brim followed the others through the door and took a chair at a comer of her cluttered oak desk. Collingswood wore the same threadbare gray sweater she was wearing years ago the day he reported aboard old Truculent, It still looked just as elegant as it did then. He supposed that the elegance of old gray sweaters on people like Regula Collingswood had a lot to do with what they called "class."

Thank you for coming at such short notice," she said, settling back in her chair and crossing her legs comfortably. "It was my intention to commend all three of you personally a long time before now, but the processes your interrogations set in motion the other night kept me rather more occupied than expected." She turned to materialize a globular display.

"At least by now I have reviewed your testimony sufficiently that I not need to bother anyone for still another personal recap of his part of the mission...." She frowned over her glasses at each of the Blue Capes in turn, then smiled and shook her head in apparent incredulity.

"Rather," she said presently, "it is my guess that each of you will be much more interested in a KA'PPA message that I received early this afternoon from the Admiralty. I'm afraid my display here is the only one on board that can decipher the special code; it's why I have asked you to come to my cabin. We can talk once you finish."

Brim nodded, then began to read:

K140981KANCCK

(TOP SECRET NOFORN COURTLAND]

FM: ADMKALTYCOMINT

TO: COLLINGSWOOD@CL.921:HAELIC

INFO: COMFLEETOPS

«23MSAF8ASKMHVF-ASLK-SDOIFNQWMN/193B»

1. TASKFORCE RESULTS:

SPECIAL TASKFORCE STB-12 COMPLETES PHASE ONE OF LEAGUE BENDER

STUDY BASED ON EYEWITNESS REPORTS RECEIVED FROM LTS. BRIM / URSIS

AND CHIEF TORPEDOMAN UTRILLO BARBOUSSE (NOTE: BARBOUSSE

PROMOTION EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY; DOCUMENTATION FOLLOWS UNDER

SEPARATE UNCLASSIFIED COVER.) ALL INFORMATION RECEIVED CORRELATES

ACCURATELY; IMPERIAL GRAPHIC CENTER (IGC) PRESENTLY PREPARING

DRAWINGS FOR IMMEDIATE DISTRIBUTION THROUGH HYPERLJGHT COURIER.

PERFORMANCE DATA SIMULATION SUGGESTS ADOLPHUS FILLMORE ESTIMATES

92 PERCENT CORRECT. ALL UNITS WILL USE THESE ESTIMATES UNTIL

FIRSTHAND LABORATORY INFORMATION AVAILABLE (SEE 'SPECIAL REQUEST

SECTION, BELOW).

2. CLASSIFIED PERSONNEL ACTIONS:

EXTRAORDINARY CITATIONS TO BE PLACED IN FILES OF LTS. BRIM/ URSIS AND

CHIEF TORPEDOMAN UTRILLO BARBOUSSE COVERING HIGHLY INTELLIGENT

TEAM HANDLING OF THIS CRITICAL SITUATION.

3. FOCUSING N-RAY PROJECTOR:

INITIAL LABORATORY TESTS/SIMULATIONS SUGGEST URSIS/BARBOUSSE N-RAY

PROJECTOR COMPLETELY WORKABLE. EXTENDED SIMULATION INDICATES

SOME REWORK OF RANDALL AMPLIFIERS NECESSARY FOR MAXIMUM

EFFICIENCY. WILL ENSURE PROJECTORS CAN BE MANUFACTURED IN THE FIELD

FROM STANDARD PARTS. ALL UNITS MUST CONSTRUCT THIS EQUIPMENT

IMMEDIATELY ON COMPLETION OF NOTICE.

4. SPECIAL REQUEST:

YOUR SPECIAL REQUEST UNDER ACTIVE CONSIDERATION BY ADMIRALTY

PROJECT BOARD. WILL NOTIFY OF DECISION SOONEST.

[END TOP SECRET NOPORN COURTLAND]

HIGHEST PERSONAL REGARDS TO COLLINGSWOOD

BORODOV SENDS

1428021KANCCK

"First," Ursis remarked breaking the silence of the cabin, "it seems that congratulations are due our new Chief Torpedoman!"

"Yes!" Collingswood exclaimed with a grin. "What have you to say for yourself, Utrillo Barbousse?"

Barbousse sat for a moment, dumbfounded before he found his voice. Finally, he smiled and looked about the room with color rising to his cheeks. "I don't know what to say, Captain," he answered simply. "I am almost as much surprised as I am honored."

"You certainly earned that promotion, Utrillo," Collingswood said.

"Indeed," Brim added, forcing himself out of his depression. "Don't forget who discovered the N-ray mains were still emitting."

Barbousse was visibly uncomfortable now. "I-it's good to know t-they liked our plans for the N-ray searchlight...." he stammered, rigid with embarrassment.

"Ah, yes," Ursis deflected energetically in a good-natured attempt to relieve the man's discomposure. "Approved by an Admiralty task force, no less. And chaired by my old boss Borodov, would you believe?" He grinned. "Truculent, it seems, remains in all our lives, does it not?"

"So she does," Brim reflected, his mind drifting helplessly to the wardroom party at which he met Margot Effer'wyck. "So she does." Then he fought himself to a draw and glanced at Collingswood. "Were you possibly thinking of letting us in on that 'special request' of yours, Captain?"

Collingswood smiled. "I thought you would find that last part intriguing," she said, changing the contents of the display. "This is the message I sent that prompted it." She took off her glasses and began to clean them carefully with a dainty white handkerchief.

"KA'PPA's text-only limitations permit no flowery niceties," she added, "so I shall ask that you forgive the wording-and the content. Nothing personal, of course. It's just that I simply don't trust my own eyesight, either."

Brim frowned, wondering what she meant by that. Then he began to read again....

K092106KGLNNV

(TOP SECRET NOFORN COURTLAND]

FM: COLLINGSWOOD@CL.92l:HAELIC

TO: BORODOV@ADMIRALTY:COMINT

INFO: COMFLEETOPS

<<3QM5BFNCYA98PW+EBKJ.VDFG98/Q2W3947M>>

1. PERSONAL REVIEW LEADS TO CONCLUSION THAT PRESENT BENDER DATA SET TOO SPECULATIVE DESPITE HIGH RELIABILITY OF PERSONNEL INVOLVED. I QUESTION ACCURACY OF INFORMATION COLLECTED UNDER EXTREME, LIFE-THREATENING PRESSURE.

2. EXEC. OFFICER CALHOUN SUGGESTS OUTFITTING DECOY SHIP TO CAPTURE ACTUAL BENDER NOW THAT N-RAY MAKES ACTIVE SIGHTINGS POSSIBLE: ARMAMENT HIDDEN UNTIL BENDER APPROACHES FOR CLOSE ATTACK/INSPECTION.

3. SEVERAL SUITABLE SHIPS PRESENTLY AVAILABLE AT ATALANTIAN BASE: S.S. BYRON. MOREAS, AROSA SKY, PRIZE, VULCANA, AND VON STUBEN.

[END TOP SECRET NOFORN COURTLAND]

HIGHEST PERSONAL REGARDS TO BORODOV

COLLINGSWOOD SENDS

1016041KGLNNV

"All right," Collingswood asked at length, "what do you think?"

"I certainty have no problem with your doubts about memories Captain," Brim said truthfully. "I even agree, if that's what you want to know."

"About the D-ship, gentlemen...."

"Yes, the D-ship," Ursis said. "Well, 'One must always kiss an ice maiden on the lips before he knows how cold her nose is,' as we often say on the Mother Planets. I assume this decoy ship you have in mind is to operate in the time-honored fashion?"

"It is, Nikolas," Collingswood answered, "if you refer to harmless-looking merchant vessels fitted with concealed armament. They've been used from time immemorial for luring pirates and privateers to close range where they can be identified and then destroyed."

"That fits my idea perfectly, Captain," the Bear declared.

"And yours, Wilf?"

Brim nodded. "That is my understanding also, Captain-although I've never seen one, so far as I can remember."

Collingswood smiled. "If you saw a successful D-ship, Wilf, you might not recognize it."

"You have a point, there, Captain," Brim admitted with a smite.

"Chief, are you following this?" Collingswood asked.

Barbousse reddened. "Urn," he stammered, "well, Captain, I did put in a few cruises on Voot's Mariah, now that you mention it. We, um, decoyed quite a few pirates in the days before the war."

Collingswood's brows rose. "You served on Voot's Mariah?" she asked in astonishment.

" Why, I've heard it said that she was the greatest D-ship of all time."

"We were pretty proud of her, ma'am."

"I can certainly believe that," she said slowly. "Then you must know all about D-ships."

"A little, Captain."

"Tell us about Mariah, Chief."

Barbousse looked around the cabin with embarrassment. "Well, Captain," he started.

"T-there isn't really much to tell. Old Mariah started out as a star packet.... Solid little ship-built someplace in Godthaab, as I remember.... Urn, maybe the big yard at Siddoth."

He shrugged self-consciously. "She mounted three main disruptors-one in the bows, one in the stern, and one amidships." At this, he smiled and his eyes suddenly focused somewhere far in the past. "She had this little Vanthauser 1.88 up forward-rigged to look like a stowed cargo hoist. Haven't made disruptors like that for at least a hundred years now. But in the right bands, they could shoot the wings off a fly at ten c'lenyts."

"Those 'right' hands weren't your hands by any chance, were they, Utrillo?" Ursis asked with a grin.

Barbousse reddened. "Well," he stammered, "I don't mean to brag, Lieutenant Ursis..."

"Chief," Collingswood interrupted gently. "I doubt if you're capable of bragging. Now, what other armament did she carry?"

"Urn," Barbousse hesitated, his face turning a bright crimson, "aft she carried a rapid-firing Keuffer 91-mmi twin mount. That was hidden under a collapsible deckhouse, but the crew could bring it to action in six clicks-wearing battle suits, too." He scratched his head for a moment. "An', yes... she carried a big 125 amidships under the shell of a launch."

He laughed. "We had to be awfully accurate with the 125, though. It used so much energy that the ship's generators needed almost five cycles to recharge between firings."

"Would you go out in a D-ship again?" Collingswood asked. "It was a pretty hazardous duty, wasn't it?"

Barbousse nodded and smiled. "Aye, ma'am-to both your questions."

"Hmm," she said, glancing at Ursis, men Brim. "And you, gentlemen?"

Brim looked at the Bear. "Nik," he said, "I have this feeling that I am about to hear us volunteer for a number of dangerous missions," he said, grinning in spite of himself.

Ursis laughed. "Indeed, Wilf Ansor, I believe I am about to hear the same thing.

Strange..."

"Only if I get Admiralty clearance for such a mission," Collingswood interjected with a laugh. "And a ship. Until then, you three and the D-ship's prospective skipper are at least relatively safe from my more perilous schemes."

"Her skipper!" Brim asked, suddenly curious.

"Of course," Ursis answered. "Your countryman, Baxter Oglethorp Calhoun, unless I miss my guess...."

"How did you know that?" Collingswood exclaimed in amazement.

"Pure conjecture, Captain," Ursis said, grinning. "Commander Calhoun's background in the 'salvage' business made me feel that he might be, shall we say, specially qualified for such a job."

Collingswood looked at him for a long moment and nodded ever so slightly. "I see," she said, breaking into a knowing smile. "I see...." Then, shaking her head and chuckling, she turned toward her work station in a clear sign of dismissal. That will do for now, gentlemen,"

she said, peering at the old-fashioned timepiece on her wall. "I shall let all of you know as soon as I hear one way or another."

"Thank you, Captain," Brim said amid the scraping of chairs, then followed the other two into the corridor. "What was that all about, Nik?" he asked as he closed the door behind him.

Ursis chuckled, watching Barbousse hurry back to his N-ray prototype in the repair shop below. "Only a little wager I made one evening at a party," he explained, grinning until his fang gems sparkled in the overhead lights. "I predicted that Number One's previous occupation would one day prove to be highly valuable to Defiant and her mission," he said.

"And I am about to be proven right."

Brim rubbed his chin and frowned. "I think Calhoun said he was in the 'salvage' business at one time, didn't he?"

"That is what I remember," the Bear answered.

Brim narrowed his eyes and frowned for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Of course," he said, shaking his head. "How could I have missed it? I'm from Carescria, even.

The polite word for 'piracy' there is 'presalvage.'"

Ursis shrugged. "Often what is closest to one's nose is actually most distant."

"Well, he certainly ought to know about D-ships, then," Brim declared.

Soon afterward, the two comrades parted company. Both had a great deal of work to do before Collingswood received the answer to her proposal. And with old Borodov on the Task Force, they were reasonably sure they knew what that would be.

K324976HJGCCK

[TOP SECRET NOFORN COURTLAND/CAMPBELL]

FM: ADMRALTYCOMINT

TO: COLLINGSWOOD@CL.921:HAEUC

INFO; COMFLEETOPS

<<98RQWEIH92CNU98U4-QOW213HCPQ3CO-CMQ95C>>

1. SPECIAL REQUEST FOR 'D-SHIP' APPROVED UNDER PROJECT CODE NAME

'CAMPBELL'.

2. FUND L-533 ESTABLISHED TO COVER 'CAMPBELL' EXPENSES. INITIAL

AMOUNT UNDER SEPARATE UNCLASSIFIED COVER.

3. STARSHIP S.S. 'PRIZE' ASSIGNED AS LEAST LIKELY TO COMPROMISE

PROJECT PURPOSE.

4. CLAUDIA J. VALEMONT (MOR/CTV/FLEETOPS4) ASSIGNED TEMPORARY DUTY

BASE PROJECT OFFICER FOR ALL MATERIAL. SUPPORT, AND CIVILIAN SERVICES

RQMTS.

5. INITIAL D-SHIP COMBAT CREW MUST SOURCE PROM 'DEFIANT' CREW

CONTINGENT.

6. COMFLEETOPS EXPECTS 'PRIZE' WILL BE READY FOR ACTION WITHIN 40

STANDARD DAYS.

[END TOP SECRET NOFORN COURTLAND/CAMPBELL]

BEST OF LUCK TO COLLINGSWOOD

BORODOV SENDS

K325003HJGCCK

"Well," Collingswood said as she peered around her crowded cabin, "I wanted everyone to read it together, for it seems as if we shall have our project-even if it must be ready for action within forty days. All that remains is to get on with everything-while we maintain our primary mission as an escort vessel." She looked at the dark-haired figure sitting to her left.

"Claudia," she asked, "you're a relative latecomer to the project, but I assume some of this makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Only in the broadest terms, Captain," the Atalantian Yard Manager admitted with a smile. "Dr. Borodov's office at the Admiralty sent a long message just as I was on my way over here, but I've yet to read it." She glanced at Calhoun. "If you hadn't sent Lieutenant Brim to meet me, I should be completely in the dark."

"Wilf will mak' sure ye ha' all the facts, my dear," Calhoun assured her. "Won't ye, Lieutenant?" he added with a knowing look.

"Count on it, sir," the younger Carescrian answered, feeling his cheeks bum. "I've promised to fill in the details while we drive over to inspect S.S. Prize. We're due at the salvage yard directly following this meeting." He looked around him. "Nik, Utrillo, you're coming with us?"

Ursis shook his head. "Not this time, Wilf," he said, "the Chief and I have test time in the radiation lab.... But you and Miss Valemont should begin learning everything about the ship immediately. With only forty days to work, we don't have a lot of time to lose."

"Agreed," Brim said, hoping the elation he felt about spending an unshared afternoon with Claudia didn't show up too much on his face-even if it also made him feel slightly guilty.

"We'll start going over her this afternoon."

"All right, people," Collingswood said, holding up her hand. "I promised I should keep this meeting to an absolute minimum of wasted time-and I shall. Defiant is due out on patrol in precisely six days, so we Blue Capes must work with all deliberate speed-and a little more.

Claudia will bear most of the refit burden here while we are off trying to discourage Gorn-Hoffs from the convoy lanes." She smiled and winked at the Haelacian. "We shall have another brief meeting again tomorrow morning at the top of the Morning watch to discuss today's progress-make it the wardroom this time, so we can breakfast together. Oh, and by the bye," she added, "because we do retain our primary mission as an escort ship. I shall employ other members of the crew only as their services become necessary-by leaving them behind if necessary. So, if the work force appears to be a bit short of Blue Capes at present, take heart. Things will improve as the project progresses...."

Brim followed Claudia through the door, sheepishly aware of her powerful sensuality. He readily acknowledged that she was a true, hardworking professional in every sense of rite word; ironically, it was her very professionalism that he found most attractive. He'd encountered lots of good-looking females around the galaxy. Very few of them, lamentably, had what it took to be very interesting out of bed as well as in. Taking a deep breath, he resolved he would maintain a professional relationship with her at all costs-for Margot, if for no other reason. "I'm making the assumption that you know where this Prize is moored," he said, guiding her into the companionway.

She grinned over her shoulder. "If you'll show me the way out of this maze you call a starship, I'll promise to find S.S. Prize. It seems to be the least I can do as Project Officer."

She laughed a little self-consciously. "Perhaps after I get a chance to read that message from Dr. Borodov I can be a little more useful."

Brim abruptly stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked her in the eye, frowning.

"You really don't remember the way out," he asked, "do you?"

Claudia glanced both ways along the long corridor and shook her head. "I was in so much of a hurry when I came that I didn't pay all that much attention," she admitted ruefully.

"Good," Brim said with an evil leer. "In that case, before I lead you to freedom you will also have to promise to chauffeur me wherever we go today-I don't have a staff car."

"Universe," Claudia swore in mock rage. "I just knew you'd take advantage of me the first chance you got!"

"Basically," Brim retorted, "we Fleet people are all without honor when it comes to walking halfway across a base the size of this one."

Claudia laid the back of her hand against her forehead. "All right, you cad," she said theatrically, "I shall drive, but oh, the shame of giving in so easily!"

Giggling like schoolchildren, they made their way to the brow. There was always so much to talk about when he was with this beautiful woman. It never failed to make him feel a little guilty-when he thought about it....

Shortly before the turn of the watch, Claudia parked her skimmer and disappeared inside a dirty brick tower to inquire about the ship's location. Beyond stretched an ugly square c'lenyt of radiation-blackened clay and dead weeds where obsolete starships were stored until it was time to tow them to a breaker's yard. Brim had noticed the dull rows of ancient vessels from the air, parked side by side on the bare earth. No gravity pools graced the base salvage yard. Instead, old ships were propped up at wild angles by forests of rough wooden poles. Most were old C-and V-class destroyers, with a few angular Resolute-type monitors, but there were also whole rows of the graceful little ED-4 packet ships that were so popular in his grandfather's day. Interposed among these were a number of ancient-looking merchantmen of all possible shapes and sizes. Brim always found something melancholy about the area when he soared past it on takeoff or landing, but now-with time to contemplate the corroding old hulks from close range-it was downright depressing.

Claudia returned in a few moments carrying a voice recorder, two handlights, and a large electronic key-all of which she handed to Brim while she climbed back into the skimmer.

"Row fifteen, slot thirty-one," she said, starting off toward the opening gate. "I've become pretty objective about most everything on this old base," she added, setting her jaw, "but I still find something perfectly obscene about the salvage yard." After that, she drove in silence.

As soon as they were inside the compound, Brim understood why. He could literally smell the dead starships: dried lubricants, reactors leaking coolants, long-fused logics, and occasionally the faint stench of decay-battle-damaged ships were often hopelessly soaked in blood. Everywhere he could see peeling paint, dented and patched hullmetal, yawning scuttles, weeds growing from recesses in the hulls, and empty Hyperscreen frames gaping sightlessly at a sky upon which they would never again embark. In the eerie silence of this grotesque boneyard, wind moaned around unkempt deckhouses, cycled loose hatches with creaking hinges, and rattled shards of metal on broken decks high overhead. Squealing little animals with naked tails and huge ragged ears scurried out of the skimmer's path in the weeds ahead. Brim shuddered in spite of himself. "I see what you mean," he said with an involuntary grimace.

A little apart and at the far end of row fifteen stood a lone civilian ED-4. The most widely used commercial vessels of a bygone era-and long afterward-ED-4s had the snub-nosed bow and elongated, teardrop hull that characterized a whole generation of starships, Their flight bridges with old-fashioned V-shaped Hyperscreens forward were faired smoothly into the top of their hulls, and large side ports gave them the frowning, raptorlike countenance that whole generations of children associated with the romance of starflight. Actually, the clean, streamlined shape reduced reentry temperatures to safe and comfortable levels for the metallurgy of the day.

This one looked as if she had so far been spared from most of the parts scavengers, although both her great teardrop nacelles were stripped of their Drives. The last SGR-1820 crystals had been produced years in the past, but an active market in spares made replacements relatively easy to obtain. And aside from her missing crystals, it was clear the old ship hadn't been around the salvage yard very long. Her hullmetal was even burnished to a reasonable sheen.

Propped up here on the ground, she rested with a kind of innate dignity, although every ED-4 that had ever been built-and there were a lot of them-possessed the unique sort of grace and beauty that even the best builders design only by accident. Though he'd never had the opportunity to fly one, Brim knew from long experience that her hull was exactly one-hundred-sixty irals in length and twenty-five irals in diameter. Not large as starships went, but perfect for nearly every light cargo job in a whole peacetime galaxy. Big liners carried the glamorous cargo between major ports, but at least a thousand times more commerce still traveled everywhere else in little ships like ED-4s. They'd caused a revolution in space when they were first introduced.