Galactic Convoy

Claudia broke into his reverie. "We're here, Wilf," she said in a hushed voice, "or had you already noticed?"

"I'd noticed," Brim answered, eyeing the old-fashioned characters that spelled "Prize" just short of the old starship's bows. He spoke in the same hushed voice Claudia had used.

There was something about this particular vessel that seemed to demand respect.

Presently, they walked over to the hull; closer up, her age showed-there were countless little dents on her bow from collisions with a billion-odd grains of space debris over the years. And up on the bridge, her big portside Hyperscreen had been holed, probably when she was laid up. But antennas and atmosphere probes were still neatly in place beneath her chin, and someone had thoughtfully stuffed wadding in some of her larger intakes-as if on the odd chance that she might someday be called upon to fly again.... Claudia touched a button on the strange-looking key and a ground-level hatch dropped slowly outward, stopping before it was fully open because the old ship's teardrop hull rested in a nose-high attitude.

After a rapid walk-around, they climbed on board and made their way up the canted decks by handlight to the bridge. It was clear that no one had been on board for a considerable time. The air inside the vessel's corridors and companionways was dead-as stale as if it hadn't moved in centuries. It was definitely not, Brim noted, the sort of cozy darkness be would choose for a social evening with his lovely companion. He paused at the hatch to the bridge and looked for the old ship's nameplate; it was just inside. He rubbed away a coating of dust that appeared to have settled all over everything from the broken Hyperscreen.

S.S. PRIZE

SERIAL NO. 4

CLOVERFIELD

51783

"This is the number-four ship," Brim gasped under his breath. "They must have built ten thousand of them. She's-let's see-two hundred twelve standard years old. Voot's beard, Claudia, someone must have flown her here, too."

Claudia nodded. "That's right, Wilf," she said. "I got a chance to read about her when she was delivered. Quite a ship, our old Prize."

"I want to hear," Brim said, brushing dust from the old-fashioned Helmsman's console.

There were even levers and digital readouts!

"Well, for one thing," Claudia related, unconsciously leaning back against a navigation console until her nipples protruded distinctly through her coveralls, "Prize was a real celebrity in her day."

Brim desperately struggled to keep his eyes locked to her face. He set his jaw and ground his teeth as he settled himself in the Helmsman's recliner, then felt his cheeks burn as he remembered-too late-the covering of dust....

"A lot of famous people stood right here on this very bridge, Wilf," Claudia continued, quickly stifling a smile. "Would you believe that she carried Cortez Desterro to Avalon after his discovery of the Edrington Tetrad? Or that August Thackary Paladin himself flew her from Vornhold to Throon a few months after his circumnavigation of the galaxy?" Her eyes lit with an inner excitement. "She even won some sort of trophy-for helping open the Eoreadian sector. She was special. And then, for the longest time she just disappeared: no log entries or anything. But we know she was in use almost constantly, recording time on her automatic spaceframe counters. Voot only knows where she wandered all those years. She was seen in at least a dozen dominions-and served Universe knows what purposes." Claudia shook her bead. "The Xervellos Cluster-she was registered there for nearly eighteen years, you know-is still knee-deep in the slave trade, and..." she threw up her hands, "who knows what else?"

While she spoke, Brim found himself frowning up at her in the dim light that streamed in through the dirt-caked Hyperscreens-and his fascination this time had nothing to do with her tight coveralls or anything like them. Here was a Claudia he hadn't really expected to meet: someone who loved starships the way he did. "You know a lot about the old girl, don't you?"

he asked. "Especially for somebody who isn't on a flight crew."

She smiled wistfully and looked out through the old V-shaped Hyperscreens. "You don't necessarily have to be a Helmsman to love starships, Wilf Brim," she said. "We all mate do the best we can with what gifts the Universe provides us-I just happen to be better at yard management than piloting."

Brim felt his face bum. "Sony," he said.

She held up her hand palm first. "It's all right," she said, aiming her head just slightly.

"You're no different than the other thousand or so Helmsmen I've encountered." Then she softened. "And now, Lieutenant Brim," she continued with a smile, "it is high time we get to the job at hand. Captain Collingswood will expect some sort of report about this old starship-other than the list of celebrities she once carried. And I have an appointment for tonight that I do not expect to miss. All right?..."

Brim felt a sudden rush of emotion that felt a lot like jealousy. He squelched that quickly enough. He had no claim on this woman, even if he was strongly attracted to her.... "All right," he agreed, hoping she hadn't noticed his hesitation. "We might as well start here on the bridge."

For almost three metacycles, the two recorded a reasonably careful inspection of the old ship and her general condition. The bridge was missing a few consoles, but Claudia was pretty sure those would be available on some of the other ED-4s in the Salvage Yard. And although most of the passenger and cargo decks below had been completely stripped out, the ship would certainly never serve as a transport again, so this was no great loss either.

Moreover, her Laterals and single Vertical appeared to have been untouched since the day she was last shut down. The most important news, though, was that she seemed solid as the day she was built- very solid. Only warships were constructed with that sort of strength anymore.

They returned to Defiant in the early evening-during the shift-break commuter rush.

Claudia was clearly anxious to be on her way, so Brim took the recorder with him as be stepped from her skimmer. "I'll do the editing for us this evening," he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"I really appreciate that," she said with a hurried smile. "I'll try to join you in the wardroom a little early tomorrow to go over it before the meeting.'' Moments later, she was off in a whirling cloud of dusty sand, skillfully darting nimbly through the heavy traffic like a destroyer among a fleet of battleships.

After she had driven out of sight, Brim jammed his hands in his pockets and made his way to the wardroom, when he knew Ursis and Flynn would be sipping meem prior to supper. He shook his head; somehow, every time he parted company with Claudia Valemont, he got the same empty, lonely reeling in the pit of his stomach. As he stopped at Grimsby's pantry for his own split of meem, he took a deep breath and frowned. He was getting far too involved with the lovely Atalantian. It was high time he simply put her out of his mind-which he attempted by joining his two friends at their table a few moments later.

It didn't work....

Later that evening, after he finished editing their recorded voice report, his fitful sleep was constantly troubled by visions of someone-whose face be never was able to see-rutting noisily with the beautiful Atalantian on the bunk beside him. It made for a very long and very lonely night.

The following morning, Claudia showed up only a few moments before the meeting began, whispering an embarrassed apology for sleeping later than she had planned. Her bloodshot eyes looked as tired as Brim felt-and try as he might to convince himself otherwise, he knew in his heart of hearts that his dream had been all too accurate.

Using a number of her local contacts, Claudia soon located a huge, dilapidated warehouse in Atalanta's ancient waterfront district that was perfect for Defiant's new enterprise. The weathered brick building featured both an ample wharf on a main canal and an indoor gravity pool that, once properly refurbished, could accommodate an ED-4.

Collingswood immediately leased the building for "Payless Starmotive Salvage" through the local Intelligence field office. By common consent, Barbousse won a fine old bottle of Logish Meem for the name that only just edged out Brim's "Imperial Rigging and Refurbishment."

As soon as the lease was official, Ursis and a crew of systems specialists from Defiant moved in to repair the decrepit gravity pool. They were supplied with parts trucked in from Fleet-base stores aboard civilian skimmers hastily painted with the logo "Apex Starship Supply." Finally, the new "businessmen" contracted for Prize to be towed from the Salvage Yard by a commercial salvaging firm. It was a tired crew that watched from their pier while a tug from Atalanta All-Watch Towing and Salvage maneuvered Prize up the big ramp in the seawall. They had been at work for only five standard days-thirty-five remained-but the Blue Capes were due out for convoy duty the next morning. War had a way of getting in the way of everything.

Little more than a week later, Brim found himself back in one of the building's loft offices poring over a set of system diagrams. He now had a bandage around his head and a severely burned left arm whose replacement skin was still quite tender. Defiant had suffered serious damage during her latest convoy and would be out of commission for at least a week.. After making landfall with only the starboard Lateral in operation, he had turned her over to the shipwrights, men headed directly for the Payless warehouse.

Below him, centered in littered disorder on the main floor, Prize floated on her newly renovated gravity pool amid the shattering discord of power cutters and hullmetal forming tools. The smoky air was alive with odors of fusing metal, Hyperscreen sealant, hot lubricants, and the usual toasted logics. Crews of brightly dressed "Atalantian locals" busily worked on her hull from hovering power scaffolds. Thick bundles of glowing cables ran from every open port to rows of kaleidoscopic checkout consoles manned by an improbable assortment of "waterfront toughs." The old ship's waist hatches had been enlarged considerably, and already the snouts of powerful 122-mmi twin-mounts protruded from the openings. Near the bow and stem, still-crated 90-mmi rapid-firing antitank disruptors lay on the stained brick flooring waiting to be installed behind removable caps.

While Brim studied the diagrams, a movement caught his eye. Peering through the filthy windows, he watched a huge flatbed barge lumber around the corner of the canal, its powerful gravity engines shaking the floor beneath his feet. The only cargo on her decks consisted of two heavy looking crates, each stenciled SOR-1820 HYPERDRIVE CRYSTAL (REMANUFACTURED). As the cumbersome vehicle warped onto the Payless wharf, a suspiciously professional group of "civilian" dockworkers secured the great, awkward vessel, and a shapely woman dressed in worn coveralls advertising "Ace Salvage and Parts" climbed to the dock. The latter made her way into the work area and continued across the floor to a steep metal staircase that led to his loft. Even with her long hair in a bun, it could only be Claudia.

"Wilf," she exclaimed over the construction noise as she stepped from the staircase,

"then it was Defiant I saw landing earlier this afternoon." She frowned and glanced at his dressings. "I heard she took a couple of hits this time. How badly were you hurt?"

Brim nodded. "I'm all right," he said grimly. "I just happened to be down with Ursis when the Leaguers took out our starboard Lateral. We both got a little singed-but nobody was killed." Then he frowned. "They do say she'll take a whole week to fix, though."

She smiled and shook her head. "Just so long as you didn't get killed," she said. "And keep in mind, Mr. Wilf Impatience, that Defiant's the first of her type," she added defensively.

"Whoever heads up her repair crew will literally write the manual for everything they accomplish. Second time's always easier."

"I understand," Brim said. "But I think everybody in me Fleet expects that you people can perform magic on a regular basis. You know..." He gestured toward Prize below.

She stood beside him on the rail and nodded happily. "Not bad for less man three weeks' magic, is it?"

"You must be killing yourselves," Brim observed.

Claudia laughed. "It's a lot safer than having the Leaguers try to do it for you," she said as a hullmetal trimmer began a long, noisy cut.

"Huh?"

"I SAID..." Then she put her mouth close to Brim's ear. "Let's go out on the Wharf," she said. "It's quieter there...."

Brim nodded, then followed her down the long flight of stairs and across the bricks to a rear door. Outside, the air was still thick with acrid smells of burning rubble-an all-clear from Atlanta's latest raid had sounded only metacycles earlier. Compared to the confusion inside, however, the bustling wharf was like a haven of repose. "How do you stand it in there?" he asked.

"These," she said, pulling earplugs from her coveralls. "Otherwise, I'd be deaf." Then she grinned. "The Intransigent party wasn't quite that noisy, Wilf Brim," she said, suddenly serious, "but it did get us an evening away from all of this for a while."

Brim felt his heart leap. "Didn't it, though?" he agreed. "Maybe we ought to do something like that again. Soon...."

"I sort of hoped you might take the hint," she admitted, her brown eyes sparkling.

Brim grinned. "My pleasure," he said. "But I think you'd better say when-I'm the one with a flexible schedule."

"All right," she said, "let's see..." She frowned for a moment. "Not tonight, that's for certain. Everyone in The Section is going to watch Princess Effer'wyck's wedding-the BroadcastPac came in on your convoy, you know."

Brim nodded, grinding his teeth. He didn't need to be reminded about that. "Yeah," he answered grimly. "I suppose I'll watch in the wardroom...."

"What's the matter with the royal wedding?" Claudia challenged defensively. "You sound as if you don't approve."

Brim smothered a bitter laugh. "Oh... nothing like that," be lied, avoiding her eyes. "It's just that, ah, I probably have duty tonight, myself." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Well, I hope you don't have to miss it," she said, raising her eyebrows. "From what I've beard about the preparations, Avalon hasn't put on a spectacle like it since before the war.

And Universe knows we Imperials can stand a little something beautiful in our lives these days."

"I imagine this Imperial might survive..." he grumbled.

Abruptly her face became serious and she touched his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered gently. "I guess things look a lot different when one has nearly gotten himself vaporized."

Unconsciously, Brim took her hand-it was small and warm in his. "Let's see if we can schedule that evening together," he temporized.

Claudia nodded-without removing her hand from his. "I guess it's not going to be for the rest of this week, either," she said presently. "About a year ago, I signed up to chair an Operations seminar. It starts tomorrow afternoon and runs through the rest of the next thirty watches. There's simply no way I can get out of it."

"How about the evenings?" Brim guiltily heard himself ask.

Claudia laughed. "That's when the seminar is, Wilf," she answered. " Nothing changes my day schedule-especially with this crazy Payless Project your skipper has on me. Prize has to be finished in a little more than three weeks, you know."

Brim nodded. "Just my luck," he said, forcing a smile. "When you get to your office, you'll learn that Defiant is due out at the end of the week."

"I had a feeling it might be something like that," she answered with a frown. "I guess that does it for this trip." Then she brightened. "But I haven't any more seminars scheduled for a month-and you will be back."

"You bet I'll be back," Brim said. "Especially if I have something special to look forward to-like another evening with you."

"Come on, Claudia!" someone interrupted from the barge. "Let's get this rustbucket on the road. She's due back in two metacycles-and you have to sign the release papers."

Claudia grimaced. "I'm afraid I've got to return the barge, Wilf," she said.

"Yeah," Brim mumbled, mesmerized by her brown eyes.

"Hmm, ...perhaps you'd better let go of my hand before I turn around and everyone can see," she whispered.

"Voo't beard," Brim said, feeling his cheeks burn. "I'm, ah..." He cleared his throat. "Ah... sorry."

The man in the barge was waving again. "Hey Claudia. We need to go!"

"Don't be sorry," Claudia said with a little smile. "I thought it was nice." Then she turned and hurried onto the deck of the barge. Moments later, the huge vehicle lumbered out into the stream. Just before it disappeared around a bend of the canal, Claudia looked back and waved.

Brim could feel the warmth all the way back to Defiant....

That evening, after he ran out of excuses for being anywhere else, Brim trudged reluctantly to Defiant's wardroom-determined to sit out Margot's wedding ceremony as if it were nothing more than an interesting spectacle. Every officer who could spare as much as a half metacycle was already there, staring raptly at a huge three-dimensional monitor Provodnik rigged for the occasion in the center of the room. By the time he purchased a bottle of meem at Grimsby's pantry, he could see that most of the interminable prewedding rituals had already been broadcast and the main event was about to begin. He took a seat near the door between Ursis and Calhoun, then poured himself a deep draught of meem and braced himself for the worst.

It didn't work....

His first glimpse of Margot in the monitor was like a searing tongue of flame-and there was no protection from love. She was so beautiful in her wedding gown that everyone in the wardroom gasped.

"By Voot himself-isn't she a picture!"

"Oh, look at the gown! And she's wearing the Stone of the Empire."

"Yeah. She is, isn't she?"

Brim remembered the huge StarBlaze pendant-she'd worn it the first night they'd shared her bed.... His mind raced back, filling for a moment with delightful recollections. Then abruptly he tried to imagine what she might be doing bow-at that very instant! The BroadcastPac had been compiled days ago. He shook his head. He knew what he'd be doing in the same circumstances.... He took another healthy swig of meem.

Then he felt a hand squeeze his arm. "You are a brave man, Wilf Ansor," Ursis said in a quiet voice, "and also a fool. Is this pride of yours worth all the pain it brings?"

Brim shut his eyes. "I don't know what you mean," he whispered, then took another great draught of meem.

"The way I see it," Ursis continued, "whether or not you care how I see things-is that you are suffering because you don't want people to know how melancholy you are about watching Margot Effer'wyck marry someone else."

Brim opened his eyes and frowned. "Whatever gave you an idea like that?" he bristled.

Ursis smiled sadly and shook his head. "Only Chief Barbousse and I know about your, shall we say, 'friendship' with Her Highness. We were the ones returning with you from the Typro missionin the captured scout ship-when Princess Effer'wyck extended your invitation to Avalon. Remember?"

"Yeah," Brim whispered, clenching his teeth as he watched Baron Rogan LaKarn-impossibly handsome and bemedaled-put his arm around that gorgeous waist....

"Accordingly," Ursis concluded through the side of his mouth, "I am the only one in this room who could possibly know, what you are trying to hide-and you have already failed to hoodwink me." He puffed thoughtfully on his Zempa pipe. "Or am I wrong, friend Wilf Ansor?

Can it be true that you want to watch this 'friend' of yours marry Rogan LaKarn?"

"Xaxtdamned Bears," Brim grumped under his breath. He poured himself another generous draught of meem, but abruptly set the goblet on the table, nodding to himself.

There was no way he could drink this kind of sadness away. After a few moments, he looked over at his Sodeskayan friend. "If anyone needs me, Nik, I'll be in the simulators.'' With that, he corked the meem bottle, set it in front of Calhoun, then slipped out into the hallway.

He never did see the actual wedding.

Signing out of the ship for a three-day "recuperative" leave-he had six days coming to him because of his wound-he made straight for the simulator building. There, he configured one of the older flight-bridge simulators as an ED-4-he was again amazed by the levers and gaugelike instrument readouts that materialized-then buried himself in practice for two solid days at the old-fashioned console. When at last he returned to Defiant-in the early-morning darkness before the change in the watch-he had become an expert ED-4 Helmsman, by simulator standards, if nothing else. Stopping at the deserted wardroom, he checked out a bottle of meem from the ever-present Grimsby, then made his way to his cabin. There, he drank himself into insensibility at his desk and slept the clock around.

The following morning, he awoke-miraculously-in his bunk. Even more miraculously, his clothes were hanging fresh and clean in his closet. Precisely one metacycle later, he reported on the bridge for duty-still somewhat numb, but once again in total control of himself and his Universe. And though he had his suspicions, he never did attempt to discover who was responsible for tucking him in his bunk and cleaning his clothes. Some favors were best left unthanked....

Atalanta's reconstruction of Prize continued unswervingly. Defiant flew her next convoy mission without sustaining so much as a scratch in battle damage. Then suddenly the forty days was over, Throughout the hectic rebuilding program. Brim and Claudia had encountered each other often, but only by chance in passing when they could find a few moments to exchange greetings-and a wistful "one of these days!..."

At the same time, the war's pace had picked up considerably. Not only did attacks on Atalanta increase in violence and frequency, but Intelligence reports indicated that Nergol Triannic's preparations for The Great Assault were now almost complete. In fact, Cloud Fleet units were beginning to embark even before rework on Prize was complete. The first to sortie was Vice Admiral Liat-Modal's 91st Troop Transport group that departed the League's capital planet of Tarrott. Immediately, he set course for what the Admiralty expected would prove to be a main assembly point where the formidable old starsailor could await further orders before setting off for the actual battles. His carefully shadowed armada included fifteen troop carriers, nineteen transport vessels and supply ships, auxiliary warships, and escort vessels-nearly one hundred in total. The transports carried a landing force of more than ninety thousand specially equipped shock troops, a third of whom were said to be Controllers, for the occupation of Haelic-and then Avalon. These were under the command of Marshal Ogen z'Kassierii-known as "The Butcher of Rennigal" for his bloody occupation of that star system early in the war.

Subsequent to Liat-Modal's departure, Imperial Fleet units began to arrive in Atalanta with astonishing regularity. The 19th, 43rd, and 61st Destroyer Flotillas were followed by the 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron and then both divisions of the powerful 4th Battle Squadron.

After this, all Leaguer raids came to an abrupt halt.

On the convoy lanes, however, a different story had begun. The new benders were now making their unseen presence felt acutely, and there were few defenses against them. It was imperative that a bender be captured immediately, and Prize constituted the best Imperial hope for that.

A little after dawn on the thirty-ninth day-following the tumultuous arrival of Admiral Penda's 1st Battle Squadron at the already crowded base-Collingswood traveled to the Payless warehouse with Calhoun in tow. Brim, Ursis, and Barbousse had been at work there for the last week, toiling the clock around with Claudia and her civilian shipwrights.

I.F.S. Prize was almost ready to fly.

"Well, Claudia," the Captain said with a pleased smile, "the old girl looks most impressive."

"Thanks, Captain," Claudia responded wearily. "Except for a launch, she's ready to fly again. Isn't she, Wilf?"

Brim nodded. "We've got Barbousse out beating the bushes for something about the same size as our attack launch. But little ones like that are hard to find anymore."

Collingswood frowned. "Am I to understand that Prize might be held up because you can't find a launch for her?" site asked.

Claudia frowned. "I'm afraid that's right, Captain," she admitted. "We can't get an Admiralty sign-off without one-and we need that before they'll even let the tower clear her for takeoff."

"Fleet regulations," Brim explained, shaking his head grumpily. "We can't take her up without a launch, even though I don't particularly need one. ED-4s are so maneuverable that most Helmsmen use the launch chamber for extra payload." He. shook his head angrily. "I've argued the point for a week now with some stupid clerk in the xaxtdamned Admiralty.

Wouldn't be surprised if her name was Voot."

"Specifically, the woman quotes Fleet Ordinance Regulations Number ED-2/3/4.998.12p, A and B," Ursis rumbled. "Series AGN-32, to be exact."

Chuckling, Collingswood stepped over one last checkout cable and entered the old starship. "Well," she said, "I believe I have an answer to your problems-at least until we can get the Admiralty to redesignate old Prize as some sort of special-mark ED-4 that doesn't carry a launch." She looked at Brim. "I shall lend you back Defiant's attack launch. Since we took delivery, the little ship has served mostly as a private space yacht. That is correct, isn't it, Wilf?"

"Aye, Captain."

"That takes care of that," she said, symbolically dusting her hands. "Now come show me the rest of the ship...." Collingswood had a way of solving problems like that.

Inside, Prize little resembled the abandoned hulk she had been only forty days beforehand in the salvage yard. Every interior surface had either been shined or coated with standard Fleet Gray #619 (INTERIOR). Forward, her tiny flight bridge was unaltered except for the addition of new, more powerful communications gear and standard Fleet KA'PPA COMM panels between the two Helmsman's consoles.

Outside, however, she was a different story. Not a hull plate had been refinished. With exception of a new Hyperscreen panel, every stain and dent the old ship brought with her from the Salvage Yard was intact. One had to look closely indeed to discover the tremendously enlarged waist hatches for her 122-mmi twin-mounts. These could, of course, have been normal enough modifications during an ED-4's many years of hard duty all over a galaxy. ED buffs-and they did exist in considerable numbers-might also have noticed a slightly enlarged KA'PPA antenna in its streamlined housing under her chin-or the beautifully machined hatches in her bow and stern behind which the 90-mmi antitank disruptors were mounted. Brim had been most unhappy about the latter. They were simply done too well for a ship her age. But by the time he discovered them, every one of the shipwrights had fallen hopelessly in love with the graceful old ship, so he'd simply let it drop.

The most noticeable features were rather outsized dorsal and ventral anticollision beacons mounted amidships. Prize looked as if she belonged to someone who-at one time or another-had experienced a very close call and was making sure it didn't happen again. In reality, the "beacons" were focusing N-ray generators, disguised to the degree that they even included large, strobing beacons as part of each assembly. Brim did approve of the way each was constructed of stained hullmetal to match the rest of her hull. After they were mounted, the pair looked as if they might have been installed at the factory.

While Claudia showed Collingswood around the warehouse, Calhoun called Ursis and Barbousse together with Brim just outside the gangway. "Is auld Prize really ready to fly, noo, gentlemen?" he asked, looking forward around the gentle curve of the hull. "You've had scarce forty days to ge' her in order." Suddenly he turned and nodded to Brim. "Wha' do ye think, laddie?"

Brim frowned for a moment. "I guess I'm ready to take her up, Cal," he replied. "Just as soon as we move her to the harbor." Then he grinned and held up his index finger. "But only if Nik also agrees that she's ready to go."

"All right, Nik, how aboot ye?"

The Bear shrugged. "She tests out as if she's ready to fly, Number One," he said. "But I won't have anything better than test data to go on until we get her into space and the systems go under some sort of load."

"Ye're willin' to fly under such circumstances, tho'?" Calhoun asked.

"With Brim at the controls, of course," Ursis replied with a shrug.

"An' ye, Chief?"

Barbousse grinned. "I'll go just about anywhere with these two gentlemen," he said.

Calhoun laughed while the building trembled to the thunder of more heavy starships arriving in formation. "Probably I'm crazy." he continued when be could be heard again, "but if the three o' ye are willing to bet your necks in that auld bird, I guess I am, too. How many mair innocents we risk gettin' this gr'at auld bucket of bolts off the water?"

"Well," Brim answered, scratching his head. "I'll need a backup Helmsman, for certain.

I've had Ardelle Jennings in the ED-4 simulators since we got back from patrol. She's good enough technically for long cruises, but she needs a lot more experience improvising." He nodded for a moment, then raised his eyebrows. "That way," he added, "I can also put Galen Fritz in Defiant's left seat for a while-with Aram and Angelene to back him up."

Calhoun nodded. "Sounds like guid choices to me, Wilf. How about you, Nik?"

Ursis chose Alvin Gambler, one of the younger systems officers, as his backup-a human, no less-after which Barbousse named a small crew of quartermasters, signalmen, and disruptor crews.

"You'll be in charge o' the ratings, Chief," Calhoun directed.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse answered as if he'd been in charge all his life. Brim smiled-there was a lot more to Utrillo Barbousse than met the eye. A lot more....

"A'right, gentlemen," Calhoun said with a smile. "I wu'ld suggest that ye round up your crews immediately. We are goin' to move this ship to the harbor right after sundown-an' be on our way into space afore dawn. Any questions?"

"No questions," Brim answered in unison with the others. He grinned when Collingswood and Claudia returned to the gangway. He could tell by the look on the latter's face that she knew, too. She winked surreptitiously. Tonight was the night they had plans to finally get together.

"Claudia tells me that she thinks she can have Prize provisioned by sundown, Cal," she said. "How about your crew?"

"They'll be ready, Captain," Calhoun answered. "All they need now is thy orders."

Collingswood smiled. "They have them, then," she declared. "Go to it, gentlemen. Our civilian friends have worked miracles with old Prize, here. Now it's our turn. Bring us back a bender!..."

Brim met Claudia on his way to the street door. She'd clearly been waiting for him.

"One of these days," she said with a wistful grin.

"One of these days," Brim affirmed, touching her hand as he passed. Clicks later, he settled into the old taxi they used for transportation, Barbousse gunned the grav, and they were off for Defiant.

Later that evening with the sweet rumble of two ancient Galaxy 10-320-B1C gravity generators in his ears, Brim squeezed between Ursis at the systems console and Calhoun in the commander's seat, then settled himself behind the controls of the ED-4. "All set?" he asked, turning to Jennings at the right-hand Helmsman's console.

"Just like the simulators, Wilf," Jennings assured him. "Nothing to it."

"How about you, Nik?" he asked.

The Bear looked up from his instruments for a moment with a pleased grin on his face.

"Just listen to old Galaxy's purring down there-like a couple of extra-large rothcats. She's ready to go."

Brim swiveled in his seat. "On your command, Cal," he said.

The older Carescrian glanced at his timepiece and nodded, "Let's be on our way, laddie," he said.

"Aye, sir," Brim answered, scanning the ancient control panel. He took a last look at the

'tween-decks monitors, then activated a ground link. "Stand by to move ship," he ordered.

Below, someone in the sizeable throng waved, and moments later the huge ramp door began to slide up into the ceiling.

"The door is open," a voice announced presently from the control panel. "At your orders...."

"Wheel is amidships; trim is neutral. Ready to proceed, sir," Jennings announced-all professional Helmsman's Academy now.

"Hands to stations," Brim ordered over the ship's intraship. "Special duty starmen prepare for departure." From the open door at the rear of the bridge, he could hear alarms and the sound of running feet as space hands made last-moment adjustments to spare gear and focused the ship's gravity fenders. Powerful electric motors whirred and the deck began to pulse beneath his boots as Ursis raised the ship a few irals to clear the pool. Outside, ground crews were running here and there, singling up mooring beams and umbilicals from pool-side.

Brim swallowed hard and braced himself. "Switching to internal gravity," he warned.

Moments later, a wave of nausea swept over him as Prize dipped momentarily, then regained her hover. He blinked his watering eyes clear and took a long, deep breath. "Cast off, fore and aft," he ordered into the ground link.

Simultaneously, all mooring beams winked out and a ground technician yanked the last umbilical, expertly catching the long cable in three looping coils before its plug end could touch the brick floor.

Brim slid the Hyperscreen panel open beside him. Then, half leaning out of the opening, he carefully backed Prize out of the warehouse-only just negotiating the narrow doorway and the sides of the ramp as he eased the old starship into the chilly night. Swinging her stern around to parallel the stream, he drew abreast of the spray-swept Payless pier at the same moment that a familiar long-haired figure stepped into the glow of a Karlsson lamp and peered out toward him.

With a free hand, Brim waved through the Hyperscreen frame while he cycled the generators to FORWARD.

Claudia must have been able to see him; she waved back.

"Friend of yours?" Calhoun chuckled quietly.

"You might say," Brim answered noncommittally. A moment later, Prize began to pick up speed and headed into the main canal. Just before she nosed into the first turn, he leaned out the Hyperscreen frame and peered back toward the Payless wharf-barely in time to see the figure under the Karlsson lamp throw him a kiss. Then she and Payless both disappeared behind another dreary warehouse....

Presently, the canal emptied into Grand Harbor and Brim set up a high-speed taxi toward the takeoff vector. A stiff hibernal breeze was now blowing through his still-open Hyperscreen frame, filling the bridge with smells of the sea. Brim soaked up the sensations of the old ship: her generators vibrating his boots, the distant splashing of her gravity footprint twenty-five irals below the hull. Presently, a voice interrupted from the COMM console. "S.S. Prize: Atalanta Tower. Taxi into position and hold nineteen right, traffic landing two five left."

"Position and hold nineteen right, S.S. Prize," Brim answered, sliding the Hyperscreen panel shut and activating the seal. Claudia's distant figure blowing a kiss appeared momentarily before his mind's eye, but the pretakeoff checklist kept him too busy to dwell on such thoughts-appealing as they were.

Within moments, a ruby light appeared in the distance and blinked three times. "S.S. Prize cleared for takeoff," sounded from the COMM console.

"S.S. Prize," Brim acknowledged, advancing the power levers to MAXIMUM TAKEOFF.

He grinned as the old starship began to speed over the water. "One of these days, Claudia," he whispered to himself. "One of these days." Somehow, there never seemed to be time for anything but war....

Chapter 7

I.F.S. PRIZE

Within days, Prize settled on station, audaciously cruising the main trade routes to and from Haelic in an ironic attempt to counter an entirely new technology with one of the oldest ruses known to warfare. And true to Ursis's conjecture, Calhoun accepted the challenge as if he had been dealing with D-ships all his life.

The elder Carescrian did everything he could think of to get into contact with a bender.

Each day, a special bureau in the Admiralty collated all reports that even suggested bender activity, then KA'PPAed the lot in a specially coded message to Prize. Calhoun personally plotted each of these "sightings" in case the Leaguers might be employing any sort of "system" with their new ships. But except that they sometimes worked in pairs, it seemed clear that-during this early period of their deployment, at least-each bender captain was free to devise his own system.

Frequently the old ship traveled under markings of neutral civilizations such as Lixor, Vornardian, or Rhodor-a strategy requiring much preparation that was often carried out under the most difficult circumstances imaginable. Nationality markings had to be removed-then reapplied-often while the ship was at Hyperspeed. This necessitated use of special, highly caustic chemical coatings applied in the absence of all but the most basic safety techniques. In addition, both nacelles usually required some sort of special modification. At minimum, the port of registry had to be changed on her nameplates with painfully correct language translations, and the KA'PPA antenna was constantly returned, just a hair off either way, to give the ship disparate transmission signatures. They even removed her Reynolds Pivot Marks-required by intragalactic legislation to visibly indicate the hull's pivot point. Most neutral "tramp" transports didn't bother with such niceties.

At first, the Admiralty theorized that benders might well be forced to navigate by internal gyros, especially in spectral mode, and would therefore be forced to reaffirm their positions with considerable frequency. Accordingly, Calhoun concentrated his initial efforts off some of the larger, more well-known navigational beacons at intersections of major trade routes.

He tried schemes such as dampening off both Drive and generator systems, then drifting as if the old ship were out of control or disabled. And, indeed, Prize's powerful KA'PPA receiver did intercept two benders talking to each other-one of them even sounded as if it were fairly close. In the end, however, no contact was made.

On another occasion, they thought to encourage a bender attack by making clear KA'PPA signals to their "owners" in Haelic: HAVE BEEN DELAYED BY GRAVITY STORM; AM NOW AT GT*21/-18:154; EXPECT TO ARRIVE PAYLESS WHARF HAELIC 2ND WATCH THREE DAYS.

By prearrangement, they were answered from Payless Starmotive With: MESSAGE RECEIVED. YOUR VALUABLE CARGO ANTICIPATED THROUOHOUT CITY.

The ruse failed utterly; perhaps, as Ursis conjectured, benders didn't monitor all possible frequencies.

Prize finally flushed her first quarry by broadcasting another series of distress messages on the intergalactic emergency frequency. This time, she reported a sham failure in the ship's navigational system and requested a position verification. Brim and Jennings had the D-ship running well below LightSpeed just off a powerful binary star. As a third interval of messages flashed out from their KA'PPA tower, Brim heard Barbousse report a target bearing from directly aft. The Chief's voice brought instantaneous silence to the bridge. "It's a bender, Commander Calhoun," he said from the intercom. "I've cycled the N-ray searchlight three times now, and every time he's disappeared."

"Very well. Chief," Calhoun acknowledged. "Keep him in sight." A moment later, alarms sounded throughout the ship, and presently the aft gun crew could be heard muttering over the intercom.

"Target bearing Green ninety-eight. Apex ninety-five, range one hundred ten percent and steady...."

"Slow her a mite, Wilf," Calhoun suggested. "Let's see if we can't lure them a wee bit closer."

Brim nodded and retarded Prize's speed a few notches.

"Target bearing Green ninety-seven. Apex ninety-eight, range one hundred six percent.

Look lively now, she's closing...."

Brim carefully retarded the power levers again.

"Target bearing Green ninety-six. Apex ninety-seven, range... Uh-oh-wait: she's slowing."

An unpronounceable Lhtrhian oath fouled the intercom for a moment, then, "Range One hundred ten percent... range one hundred thirteen percent... range one hundred fifteen and steady."

Brim bit his lip. He knew he'd caused the Leaguer captain to reduce speed by his own impatience; clearly the man had been closing with Prize through carelessness alone. "My fault," he muttered to nobody in particular.

"Patience, laddie," Calhoun said softly. "We'll gat him yet."

But in fact they didn't. The two ships cautiously toyed with each other for more than two metacycles before the bender apparently tired of their arduous game, reversing course and disappearing into the starry blackness before Prize could get off a single shot. During the entire episode, the Leaguers had never come within range of the 90-mmi antitank disruptors concealed behind Prize's tail cone.

Afterward, Brim found if nearly impossible to put the episode from his mind-especially since he blamed himself for depriving the disruptor crew of their only chance to get off a shot. Two days later, he was still dwelling on his blunder as he sat with Calhoun, Ursis, and Barbousse in the ship's tiny canteen. "If we're all agreed that the Leaguers still don't know we can see them," he said, "then I fait to understand why neither of them would come any closer."

"For that matter, I wonder why they did'na take at least a couple of shots at us." Calhoun added with a frown.

"Possibly because we weren't in range of their disruptors," Ursis interjected. "They certainly weren't within range of ours."

"We were indeed close enough to launch a torpedo," Calhoun observed.

Ursis nodded, puffing thoughtfully on his Zempa pipe. "Unless the Leaguers had already used their entire supply on the supply lanes," he answered. "The convoys are certainly running at peak volume these days."

Barbousse abruptly scratched his head and nodded as if he had just reached a decision.

"Beggin' the gentlemen's pardon," he said, "but I wonder if there's still a third factor to consider."

"What might that be, Chief?" Calhoun asked, peering over his glasses.

"Novice crews, Commander," Barbousse stated. "I've been watchin' the reports about those benders. An' I get the idea they haven't been operational for much more than a couple of months-at the most. Is that true?"

That's the information I hae," Calhoun answered, looking at the other two Blue Capes.

"Wilf? Nik? How aboot it?"

Both nodded accord.

"Well, sirs," Barbousse continued presently, "if that is true, then I'll estimate that there aren't more'n ten or fifteen bender crews in the whole League that have even finished their initial training cruises yet. An' most of those are probably research teams that don't normally fly combat missions at all. The ones we're running into right now are only trying out their space legs-on training missions, like."

Ursis snapped his fingers. "That makes abundant sense, Chief," he exclaimed.

"Inexperienced crews could easily cause their own discovery-and the price of that would be far greater than any possible gain from destroying old Prize here or even S.S. Providential."

"Absolutely," Calhoun agreed with a nod. "If someone opened fire at a ship and failed to cleanly destroy it with the first shot-or at least knock out its KA'PPA-then the resulting distress message might weel reveal the Leaguer's whole bender program afore they e'en develop a proper strategy."

Barbousse nodded. "I guess that's what's been going around in my head," he said.

"Well, if it turns out that you've guessed right," Calhoun said following a few moments of thought, "and I hae a strong feeling that you have-then it also means that we aren't aboot to lure ane within shootin' distance, at least very easily...."

"That may not matter," Brim interrupted with a frown. "Maybe we don't need to lure them any closer." He looked around the room. "The crazy attack launch Captain Collingswood gave us mounts a Brentanno 75-mmi with a whole array of .303 balsters. And with those spin-gravs, she'll out-accelerate just about anything in the galaxy. If we set things up right, we can probably move enough firepower into range before the Leaguers even realize what's going on."

Calhoun grinned. "Somehow, I suspected that you might hae something like that on your mind, laddie," he said. "But you'll be badly outgunned if that first bender the three of you spotted off Zebulon Mu is any sort o' standard configuration. Ane hit anywhere on your wee thin-skinned launch, and it's vaporized-along with you."

"I certainly can't deny that," Brim admitted grimly. "But we would have surprise on our side. As well as a green Leaguer crew." He looked at Barbousse. "What do you think, Chief? Would you be willing to try it?"

"I'm ready any time, Lieutenant," Barbousse assured him with a grin. "All we need is a bender."

Little more than a day later, with Jennings running the ship from the right-hand console.

Brim restlessly scanned a long, bleak asteroid shoal off to starboard. It seemed to go on forever. After intercepting coded messages from what was clearly a Leaguer ship in their immediate vicinity, Prize had been operating for some metacycles now under the colors of neutral Vishu-Berniaga, exchanging faked distress messages on the intergalactic emergency frequency.

He listened to the smooth rumble of the old ship's generators, felt their steady vibrations through his feet. Somewhere behind him, feet scraped the deck and a hatch slammed shut.

He checked the proximity warning-nothing. Outside, a few points off the bow, ruby and green beacons strobed from a distant asteroid promontory. Prudently swiveling his head, he peered around the vicinity with his own eyes: only stars-and the seemingly infinite shoal.

"Do you think we ought to start the crystals?" Jennings asked nervously from the right seat. "If that Leaguer message came from a regular warship, we may have to get out of here on an instant's notice."

Brim smiled and shook his head. "Wouldn't be much use," he said softly. "We aren't about to outrun any military starship launched in the last hundred years-except maybe a bender in spectral mode. And if it's one of those, we want to be caught...." He studied the tail monitor-nothing there, either, save a receding cone of stars. "How's the gravity gradient out there?" he asked.

Jennings checked her course indicator, then turned to answer. But before she could utter a word, the ship's alarm sounded deafeningly and a lookout's voice crackled from the intercom.

"Unidentified starship bearing yellow nadir three at violet, blue-violet apex ten."

"Action stations!" Calhoun shouted into the blower. "Action stations!"

Brim looked up in time to watch a now-familiar shape turn sharply and pull into formation about five thousand irals off Prize's port bow-well beyond the range of her disruptors. This bender, however, immediately trained both its powerful disruptors directly, it seemed, at his head. Gritting his teeth, he waited for the incredible shock of their first hits....

A full metacycle later, however, the bender still hadn't fired a shot-nor had it come out of spectral mode. Brim had long since decided that he might survive the encounter after all and was now watching the enemy ship with a great deal of interest. He had attempted to close with the enemy ship a number of times since the original sighting, but no matter how subtly he handled his controls, the bender skittishly moved off in a like direction. If Barbousse's guess concerning neophyte crews were correct, this was still another Leaguer on a training mission.

"The bastard Leaguer Helmsmen are probably practicin' their covert hunting routines,"

Calhoun muttered in the tense silence of the bridge.

"If they stick to that and forget the disruptors, it's all right with me," Jennings declared.

"Unfortunately, we're here to capture them," Calhoun countered, "while they seem to be quite weel satisfied keepin' their distance. That means we've got to lure them within range."

"And then pop off a couple of bursts to disable their ship without vaporizing all the secrets aboard," Ursis put in, shaking his head gravely. "Chief, those firing teams have a tall order indeed."

Barbousse grinned. "They'll give it their best shot, beggin' the gentlemen's pardon."

Brim groaned. "I knew I should have volunteered for old Hagbut's ground forces," he said, shaking his head.

"You may actually mean that aefore we're through with this ane," Calhoun commented.

"Those Leaguers over there luik like they're settlin' in for the winter. Mind you, they're in no particular hurry; they think they're invisible. An' since we hae no idea-yet-how fast that oddball ship can accelerate, we can't very well light out after them, either. It's been a long time since old Prize here has been known for fast getaways. It would be a damme shame to let the Leaguers know how well we can see their new ships-until we get at least a couple of reasonable shots off at them."

The next megacycles were a tremendous test of crew discipline. Jennings put the situation as well as any when she declared that she felt strange being used as "live bait."

Calhoun chuckled, "You're right," he agreed, pursing his tips, "and nothin' improves a fisherman's luck than fish that are in a bitin' mood." He thought for a moment. "What do you suppose we might do to make ourselves mair interestin' to our quarry over there?"

"Well," Jennings replied, "for starters, we could send a work crew out to 'repair' something on the hull-in those civilian space suits they packed for us."

"Good idea, lass," Calhoun said, nodding his head. He touched the intercom. "Chief Barbousse to the bridge-on the double!"

Less than twenty cycles later, the big rating-and a party of seven "Vishu-Berniaga civilians"-could be seen floating around the port Drive nacelle as they replaced one perfectly serviceable plasma generator assembly with another just like it. His "fumbling" team of professional Blue Capes took nearly two metacycles to accomplish a task that they could easily finish under normal circumstances in barely a quarter of the time.

At length, Calhoun ordered them to finish up and come back inside before the Leaguers became suspicious. "Only a team o' Personnel Officers could be so bumble-headed," he complained, shaking his head, "an' even Leaguers do na send those types out if they want anythin' important done."

After six full metacycles, the Leaguers still had made no overt actions-except for maneuvering to precisely match Prize's purposely irregular course toward Atalanta, and remaining tantalizingly beyond me range of her disruptors. Finally, Brim could endure no longer. "Cal," he said, checking his timepiece, "how about the Chief and I going after the bastards in our launch?"

Calhoun frowned for a moment and shut his eyes. "For certain I ha'na come up with another approach that's half so promising," he said, "e'en though it's a mite maer dangerous than I like." He took off his glasses and polished them for a moment with great concentration. Then, shrugging more to himself than anyone else, he looked up and smiled grimly. "All right, laddie," he said, "give your helm over to Ardelle. I think the time has come that you and your friend the Chief ha' a go at it. Tell me wha' you plan to do-I know you've been thinkin' o't for days, noo."

"Aye, sir," Brim replied. "Ardelle, the helm is yours-ships is trimmed neutral."

As Jennings assumed the controls, Brim glanced at the bender paralleling their course and pursed his lips. "I haven't really done all that much planning, Cal," he admitted at length.

"The Chief and I aren't going to have a lot of time for anything but the most basic dogfighting." He pursed his lips while he rang for Barbousse to meet him at the launch. "As things seem to be right now, I think we'll have the starboard hatch opened first so the Leaguers can't see what we're doing, then I'll run up the launch's spin-gravs until she's just starting to overrun her gravity brakes. At that point, Barbousse'll give somebody a signal to swap the Imperial Comet for our Vishu-Berniaga colors and open the port hatch- fast. The way that launch of ours takes off, I don't think our Leaguers will have much chance to escape before we've at least popped a couple of volleys their way, even if they decide to come out of spectral mode."

Calhoun nodded. "Sounds good so far," he said. "Then what?"

"Well," Brim answered, "I don't know what kind of armor benders carry, but if we accomplish nothing else, any hits we score will sure raise Voot with those little logic units she has all over her hull."

"Aye," Calhoun agreed. "An' if the boffins are right in their guessin', she may be a wee easier to see afterward." He frowned for a moment, then nodded toward the bender. "But after you mak your first run, laddie-then what? Yon bender hae quite a sting from wha I can see."

Brim glanced across at the disrupters mounted on the enemy ship's control bridge. "After that first run, Cal, I don't have much in the way of plans. Possibilities become xaxtdamned near infinite at that point."

Calhoun nodded, then pointed an accusing index finger directly at Brim's chest. "Aye, child," he said, "so they do. But they are precisely why you maun keep your mind's eye firmly on the purpose of your mission. Otherwise you are liable to lead with your chin and waste yourself- plus your ship." His gray eyes narrowed. "I ha' na' heard you speak o' anythin' luik a mission yet. That should ha' been the first thing you' told me aboot. You do ha' an overall goal in mind, do you na'?"

Bran frowned. "Of course I do, Cal," he objected. "We're supposed to capture a bender."

"Aye, right you are, laddie," Calhoun replied calmly. "But that wasn't the first thing on your mind, as I remember. Shootin' was." He shook his head sternly. "That sort of blind bravery ha' served you well in the past-and make no mistake, lad, it wull again, in the future. But you maun be able to do mair than just shoot somethin' to pieces." He raised an eyebrow.

"Today, you may cause only enough damage to deprive yon Leaguers of a means to escape. The real mission is to get a bender safely back to Atalanta an' the intelligence units waitin' there. After you finish with the Leaguers, the rest of us will bring Prize alongside their ship an' board it. I'll grant that burned, twisted wreckage wad be a lot easier for us to board-but it wull be neither interestin' nor useful to the Intelligence people. Do you understand?"

"But..."

Calhoun looked Brim directly in the eye. "I knew that you had all the details somewhere in the back of your mind, you stubborn chield. But it was na' foremost. An' in the entire Universe, nothin' is so important as your mission- notttin'. We have only time to do things right-very little has been set aside for mistakes. Do you understand, laddie?"

Brim nodded his head. "Now I understand," he answered. In fact, he did....

"And the rest of ye?" Calhoun asked, looking from Jennings to Ursis. "The lesson was na'

just for young Brim here."

"I understand, Cal."

"I, too, understand, Number One."

"Good," Calhoun said. "Noo, young Brim. Let me hear those plans of yours again. From the beginning, if you please."

Mind racing, Brim glanced quickly through the Hyperscreens. Outside, their bender was still keeping perfect formation. He nodded, then turned to Calhoun. "What I want to accomplish overall, Cal," he said, "is to keep that bender over there from escaping until you can land a boarding party from Prize- with minimum damage to any of the three ships...."

"Aye, laddie- that's the stuff. Noo, how do you propose to go aboot such a thing?"

Brim closed his eyes, examining every detail he could conjure. Finally he nodded, looking Calhoun square in the face. "On our first run-right out of the hatch, so to speak," he said, I'll have Barbousse concentrate his fire on their KA'PPA antenna. That'll stop them from warning their friends back home that benders may not bend quite everything. Next, I suppose we'll try to take out those disruptors behind the control bridge. After that, we'll concentrate on the Drive nacelles." He nodded. "My best guess says that the 'bending'

mechanisms are located amidships, near the power supplies, so we'll keep away from there as much as possible. Then," he added with a shrug, "we'll try to get her to stop, or at least cut her power so she can be boarded. I don't think there'll be much trouble getting that idea over to them. Disruptors speak a pretty Universal language."

Calhoun chuckled grimly. "Ye hae a true point there, laddie," he said. "Noo, what can we do in old Prize to help you?"

"Well," Brim answered with a grin, "aside from boarding-if the Leaguers do start to move off, I'll expect you to follow as close on their tail as you can. Prize has the only N-ray searchlights. We never had time to mount one on the launch."

"Well done, young, Brim," Calhoun said, glancing out at the bender, himself. "Now, I think, perhaps you are ready for your mission. Go to it, laddie."

Brim nodded and pursed his lips. "Thanks, Number One," be said. "I'll see what I can do."

Barbousse was directing a team of handlers at the launch when Brim arrived at a dead run. The chamber had already been evacuated, and everyone was wearing battle suits.

"She's unstrapped, Lieutenant," Barbousse's voice crackled through Brim's headset. "I've got the main bus energized, an' the disruptors are all checked out."

Brim noted that the protective tip covers had been removed, and he grinned in spite of his haste. "Good work, Chief," he chuckled. "Let's be at it." With that, he hoisted himself through the hatch and settled into the Helmsman's console.

Scant clicks later, Barbousse took his place in the right-hand seat, men pulled the door closed-just as the Prize's starboard hatch cover rolled into the open position. "Everybody's clear," he reported a few moments later.

Brim started the auxiliary power unit, then pressed the master switch and watched his instruments come alive. Next, he toggled the bright-orange energy-charge lever and gated the power impeller. Clicks later, the Grav panel read ENERGIZED.

"Plasma set," Barbousse reported.

"Stand by, then," Brim warned, switching the starter circuits to PORT, "here comes the port generator."

"Standing by port," Barbousse echoed.

Brim hit the start and energy boost in unison; instantly, me big spin-grav whined, its interrupter strobing.... One... two... three....The strobing began to speed up, reflecting from the chamber walls with a dazzling fireworks display. Eight... nine... ten.... He mashed the enable button-the spin-grav fired, then caught, shaking the launch's starframe with a steady rhythm while the interrupter became a bright blur and slid closed.

"Stand by starboard," Brim warned above the thunder of the idling spin-grav.

"Starboard," Barbousse echoed.

Brim switched the starter circuits, then hit start and energy boost. The starboard spin-grav whined, strobed... At the tenth flash of its interrupter, he mashed enable; it fired, but suddenly flashes from its interrupter slackened and almost stopped. More plasma!

Heart in his mouth, Brim worked the energy charge vigorously until the spin-grav started to fire again. This time, it caught-and ran. Brim moved the energy levers a fraction; the deck began to throb beneath his feet as the big generators synchronized and smoothed.

He nodded at Barbousse-who grinned and held his right thumb vertically in the Universal sign of total approval. "Stand by to switch insignia," he reminded the handlers in the control room. Then he lifted the little ship an iral or so above the deck and swiveled until her nosecap was a few irats short of Prize's port hatch cover with her tail protruding from the starboard side. For a moment, Brim chuckled to himself, imagined that the old ship must appear as if she were calving. Then-standing on the gravity brakes for all he was worth-he eased the power levers forward.

Moments later-long before the levers were even halfway along their arc-the launch began to totter and stumble forward toward the closed hatch. Grinding his teeth as he pushed harder on the brakes, Brim glanced at Barbousse. "Those disruptors enabled?" he asked tersely.

"They will be, Lieutenant," the big rating assured him, "soon as we're out of the hatch."

Brim made a final check of his instruments-all normal; the launch was as ready as he could make her.... He nodded to himself, then bellowed into his voice pickup. "Open the port hatch," he ordered, "NOW!"

As the hatch began to rise, Brim tested his grip on the power levers. No room to slip up right now, he reminded himself. At the high power settings he planned to use, if both levers didn't go forward at precisely equal rates, the resulting asymmetrical thrust would whirl the touchy little launch around like a child's pinwheel-probably overstressing its spaceframe; and certainly killing both himself and the chief. "Halfway raised, Lieutenant."

"Check halfway." The launch was bucking against its gravity brakes like something alive.

"Sixty percent raised...."

"Check sixty." He glanced at the door. A few more irals should clear their flight bridge. He could see the bender in the distance now. He knew they were watching closely, and wondered what they thought of this.

"Seventy..."

That was it. "Hang on, Chief!" Brim cried, his heart thudding in his chest. During the next moment, he shoved his power levers all the way forward to the stop at MAXIMUM, then clenched his teeth. The big spin-gravs spooled up swiftly until they sounded like two bull Gynnets in rutting season, shaking the launch's spaceframe wildly and vibrating the deck until it became difficult to keep his feet on the pedals. When Brim was certain the brakes would no longer hold, he lifted his feet and suddenly found himself and the Chief hurtling through space like projectiles from an old-fashioned chemical cannon.

"Disruptors energized, Lieutenant," Barbousse shouted a moment later, peering intently into the ranging display. "I'm givin' 'em all three rings on the sight to make sure!"

Ahead, the bender expanded in the windscreens like some shadowy insect of unbelievable dimensions and abhorrence. Close up, its surface was laced by a hideous network of gray tubes in various thicknesses-and the whole shrouded in glimmering, florid scales. In spite of himself, Brim felt an instinctive shudder start up his back. There was something obscene about benders-something that affected his most primitive emotions; he felt an insane urge to smash it.

Following what seemed like an eternity, the seventy-five began to fire. Within clicks, the 303s were also clattering beneath the deck. A string of glittering flashes appeared at the bender's Drive nacelle, where a number of the "scales" flew off in her wake. "Chief!" Brim cried over the discord and confusion, "get the KA'PPA tower first! We're almost past him."

"Aye sir," Barbousse shouted. "Soon as I can-I'm sort of calibratin' on the fly, so ta' speak!"

Immediately, the flashes began to "walk" up the hull, but it was nearly too late. The Leaguers had begun slowly turning away from them now, presenting a smaller target with each passing click. Abruptly-while Brim reflexively held his breath in anticipation-they flashed over the bender's control bridge. His last image was of a disintegrating KA'PPA tower, and two wicked-looking disruptors ponderously indexing around toward him.

"Good shot, Chief!" he cried jubilantly, hauling the launch around for a second strafing run. Then his heart suddenly leaped into his mouth. All he could see was the never-ending panorama of stars and the old ED-4 hurtling along toward them in the distance. The bender was gone!

"Voot's hairy ass!" he shouted in dismay. "We've got to get back to Prize! She's got the only N-rays!" Icy fingers gripped his chest as he strained his eyes toward the distant starship. What if the old transport couldn't keep up?... Very close to something that felt a lot like panic, he measured her rate of approach, then breathed a long sigh of relief. She was bowling along like a Sodeskayan avalanche!

Suddenly, space astern came alive with a torrent of powerful explosions that followed the launch's track in an erratic but determined fusillade. "The bastards aren't accurate, but they're sure determined-beggin' the lieutenant's pardon," Barbousse observed grimly, looking over his shoulder as Brim rolled into an even steeper bank and tightened his turn. "If you could point the nose a bit more to port, sir-an' about plus five apex-I think I can get a shot at where those volleys seem ta' be comin' from."

Brim gladly obliged.

Instantly, the seventy-five began to thunder again-with disastrous results for the bender.

By the fifth salvo, a bright sparkling of hits commenced in what appeared to be totally empty space. Abruptly, the Leaguer ship became visible by the light of a nearby star, then went spectral again.

"Good shot!" Brim shouted.

"We pranged 'em, all right, Lieutenant!" Barbousse shouted excitedly as he continued to fire the seventy-five with deadly accuracy. Moments later, the bender again cycled through visible to spectral-and then again as more and more hits continued to glitter in the distance.

The Leaguers stopped firing abruptly-but Barbousse increased the rate of his lethal barrage....

On the moment, Calhoun's admonition rang in Brim's ear: Today, you may cause only enough damage to deprive yon Leaguers of a means to escape. The real mission is to get a bender safely back to Atalanta...."

He was about to shout out an order when Barbousse stopped shooting on his own.

"It's gone," the Chief said with a frown of concern. "It's just plain gone\"

. "What happened?" Brim asked, putting the launch back on coarse for Prize and its N-ray illumination.

"I don't know," Barbousse answered, staring off past Brim into the starry darkness. "All of a sudden, it stopped flying a predictable course-and I lost it." He looked across the console at Brim and grimaced. "It was just like somebody new took over at the controls."

His voice was cut off precipitously by a furious volley of disruptor fire-this time close enough to rock the launch violently. On its heels came a second barrage, even closer. Brim put the helm over and shoved the power levers all the way forward- just outrunning a third volley that would have burst in precisely the space they would next have occupied.

"Somebody new just took over at the disruptors there, too!" he growled.

"Swing her back to vector blue. Lieutenant," Barbousse growled, peering into his display.

"I'll stop the sons of grok-fuls!"

"Not firing blind like that!" Brim groaned. "You might hit something vital and blast her to pieces." He shook his head desperately. "I've got to get us back into Prize's N-ray beams so you can see what to fire at-straightaway!" Outside, another furious salvo tossed their launch on its side, the concussion blasting streamlined covers from their port nacelle and altering its thrust vector. Immediately out of control, the little spaceship pivoted viciously around its damaged spin-grav-less than a click before space once again erupted in an enormous discharge that smashed them sideways like a Vixlean shuttlecock, shattering the canopy in an avalanche of spinning crystal shards. Blinded for the moment by the flash, Brim sightlessly fought with the controls, desperately struggling to retrim the launch before her wild oscillations fractured the spaceframe.

"I see the bastards!" Barbousse suddenly yelled. "Try an' hold 'er, sir-right where she is!"

Brim bit his lips and sweat poured down his forehead as he strained to wrest control from the launch's runaway physics. With the port generator stuttering along at half power, he somehow willed the stars to stop sliding sideways until... There it was! Dead ahead and lighted by Prize as if it were high afternoon. The bender was coming about slowly, but directly bow on to them, her aft-facing disruptors masked by the tall control bridge.

On the instant, Barbousse opened fire again, and this time he needed no calibrations. At his first shots, the bender's control bridge erupted in a glittering shower of Hyperscreen crystals. Then the launch plunged diagonally under the hull. This time, however, Barbousse continued his withering fire on the other side. The top of the control bridge-and both its disruptors-were now visible in the bright starlight, protruding from starry emptiness above a jagged line where the bender's logic chips were no longer functional. Below this, numerous "holes" in the vastness of space revealed those areas the Chief had previously hit while firing blind.

Firing with the precision of a master surgeon, Barbousse next rendered both Leaguer disruptors inoperative with a well-placed inferno of radiation and shock. As Brim circled 'round for another firing run, the weapons could be seen dangling loosely from blackened mountings, their firing chambers glowing red hot and completely open to space. They would never fire again....

Peering over his control panels, Brim at last found time to search for Prize. He discovered her straightaway, now fairly bristling with her powerful disruptors, and vectoring in at top speed toward the bender from green zero. Unavoidably, she was also squarely in the path of a torpedo attack! Brim soon found he wasn't the only one who had grasped the opportunity for a devastating bow-on shot-the bender's torpedo doors were sliding open even as he glanced their way!

"She's gonna' fire a torpedo," Barbousse swore. "We can't stand back and let 'em do that, Lieutenant!"

"Put a shot past the bridge, Chief," Brim ordered grimly. "Then if they don't shut the doors, take out the whole bridge!"

"With pleasure, Lieutenant," Barbousse grunted through clenched teeth as he peered intently into the disruptor display, "but I hope he leaves 'em open, all the same!" Shortly, the seventy-five spoke once, and a tremendous, fulgurating explosion tore the fabric of space only irals from the bender's bridge. When the sparkling radiation cleared, every logic grating covering the Hyperscreens appeared to be gone, and at least three of the ten panels were now empty frames. "Oof," Barbousse muttered under his breath, "perhaps that was a mite too close...."

Brim chuckled in spite of his anxiety. "I'll give them a count of five to react, Chief," he cautioned. "They may be a bit shaken up in there. One... two... three..." Precisely on the count of four, the bender's image became crystal clear as she came out of spectral mode.

Moments later, a figure dressed in gray battle gear appeared at one of the blown-out Hyperscreens and placed its hands atop its head in a clear gesture of surrender.

Simultaneously, both torpedo doors slid closed.

"Now what?" Brim asked with a shrug.

Barbousse shook his head. "I don't know, Lieutenant. D'you suppose they might try to scuttle her or somethin'?"

Brim tried to scratch his head, but the closed helmet of his battle suit got in the way. "I suppose that's a definite possibility, Chief," he said, hoping Barbousse had missed his little gaffe, "especially if they have Controllers aboard."

"Those dudes in the black uniforms with the TimeWeed habit, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah," Brim acknowledged. "It rots their minds-at least that part that has anything to do with ethics." He shook his head. "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to interfere with much else. If that bender really was on a training mission, it's my guess that Controllers were doing the training."

"Maybe it was Controllers who took over the disruptors when they almost got us," Barbousse said.

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Brim speculated. Those bastards are good- and wholly dedicated to Triannic's League. I'll wager there's one horrendous struggle going on inside that bender right now about surrendering. You'll want to keep our disruptors ready to fire just in case the wrong side wins."

Barbousse leered evilly. "Wouldn't I love that," he said, fingering the trigger mechanism of his seventy-five.

Only clicks later, the Blue Capes watched thirty-odd, gray-suited figures clamber through two deck hatches, dragging the limp forms of three others clad in jet black.

Brim had his answer when the first two stretched what appeared to be a white hammock between them and began to shake it vigorously in a clear message of surrender. "Smart move, Hab'thalls," Brim whispered in the Leaguers' native language of Vertrucht.

"What in the name of Voot?..." Barbousse interrupted, pointing suddenly to one of the black-suited figures that had regained its knees and was painfully crawling toward the rear hatch, unnoticed by the other Leaguers.

"Thanks, Chief-we'd probably better keep an eye on that one," Brim said, drawing his sidearm as the crawling figure reached the open hatch and pointed something small and heavy-looking through its aperture.

"It's a blaster!" Barbousse warned, reaching for his own side arm. "He's gonna scuttle her!"

Brim was quicker. Leaning from the shattered canopy of the launch, he fired two powerful bursts from his ancient side-action blaster, disintegrating the Controller's upper torso in a roiling pink spray that was highlighted by spinning fragments of helmet and other debris he chose not to identify. The Leaguer's blaster twirled off into space like a child's toy top.

Forward, gray-suited crewmen clambered for cover behind any shelter they could locate, and the hammock wavers tripled their efforts to be noticed. Brim bolstered his weapon and waved to the frightened Leaguers, then turned to Barbousse and winked. "Send to Prize" he ordered, " 'One slightly damaged bender-under entirely new management!'"

Within a quarter metacycle, Jennings warped Prize smartly alongside the bender while Brim and Barbousse circled slowly in the launch, indexing their powerful seventy-five from stem to stern over the ever-organized Gray Leaguers, who had by now aligned themselves into two neat lines and were standing patiently with their hands on their heads.

Presently, hatches opened in the side of the ED-4 and a gangway slid across the void. At once, blue-suited boarding crews with high-amplitude blast pikes clambered to the opposite deck. They were led by two tall figures. One was slim and strode much in the manner of Calhoun, the other could only be Ursis. Both made directly for the open hatches, roughly pushing gray-suited prisoners out of the way as they ran. While salvage teams, rigged stout optical bollards at the bender's bow, others followed Calhoun and Ursis below.

After a number of tension-filled cycles, two blue-suited figures appeared at empty Hyperscreen frames on the bridge and waved in the direction of the launch. At the same moment, Calhoun's voice boomed in Brim's ear from the short-range channel. "Damme guid work, you twa'," the elder Carescrian asserted. "An' young Brim: your mission is accomplished, indeed. Ursis informs me yon bender logic remains intact."

"Barbousse did all the shooting," Brim answered, clapping his grinning companion on the shoulder.

"'Tis guid," Calhoun replied. "We'll see that you both gat a wee credit." Below, on the bender's deck, Blue Capes were conducting the surviving Leaguers across Prize's gangway to a specially constructed brig on the middle deck.

"Anybody left inside?" Brim asked.

"Dead meat only," Calhoun answered. "But twa' o' those wounded Controllers out on deck wull probably live." He laughed grimly. "No doubt, the Intelligence people wull luik forward to meetin' both."

"All six of them appear to have been on the bridge when you fired the shot that took out their Hyperscreens," Ursis interjected. "Three survived the blast, but each had serious wounds from crystal sprinters. They say that the one you shot at the rear hatch was their captain-a Provost, no less."

"Ye both might also be interested to know that we found scuttlin' charges just inside that same hatch, too," Calhoun added. "So whichever of you zapp'd the bastard also guess'd well. He'd ha' taken everyone with him-includin' yourselves wi' a charge the likes o' that ane...."

Soon after this conversation, Calhoun returned to Prize and sped off into a spherical patrol approximately one c'lenyt out from the bender. Brim and Barbousse were ordered to follow, limping along in their damaged launch as best they could manage. As Calhoun explained, "If Leaguer vessels do actually, travel in pairs-an' this ane's mate closes in for a closer look, I don't want yon crazy-looking ship of yours to scare them off. Who knows, we might e'en add a second trophy to our spoils."

After an amazingly short stretch of time, Prize was relieved from her patrol duties by all three of the Greyffin IV-class battlecruisers: Princess Sherraine, Gwir Neithwr, and Greyffin IV. The mighty squadron of capital starships had clearly been lingering out of sight in the event that Calhoun's old ED-4 did-however serendipitously-land a catch. The real importance of the mission became clearer still when these three magnificent warships were joined by none other than Diathom from the Vice Admiral Plutron's Fifth Battle Squadron, one of the most powerful warships in the Fleet. After circling the ugly little bender a number of times, each of the great vessels ponderously lumbered out to form the corners of a huge square-twenty c'lenyts on a side-that no force less than a full battle fleet could threaten.

Significantly, each mounted a number of strategically located N-ray searchlights that-except for power and size-resembled quite closely those designed by Ursis and Barbousse.

As Prize coasted back alongside the bender and rerigged her gangway to its deck, still a fifth colossal vessel hove purposefully into view: S.S. Gomper Throdorian, an enormous transport hauler owned by IGL Starlines and "called up" to military service shortly after the beginning of hostilities. This angular starship-nearly 526 irals in length and 75 in breadth-reminded Brim of nothing so much as a huge brick that paid casual deference to atmospheric realities with a moderately rounded bow. She extended some twelve decks from keel to upper deck, and was surmounted by a veritable clutter of low deck houses, massive derricks, and scores of gantry cranes-with a massive, overhung bridge placed close enough to her bows that she actually took on a brooding visage. As was the case with many large cargo carriers of the day, her bows swung open when it was necessary to accommodate oversized cargo-such as a bender.

Brim shook his head as he parked the launch some hundred irals out from their kill.

"Chief," he said wearily, "what do you say we put this poor old launch back aboard Prize now? I doubt if the Admiralty requires our little seventy-five anymore. They've got enough 408-mmi disruptors out there to start a new war."

Barbousse nodded. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he said with a broad grin, "but I think I'll settle for the war we've got. You get too many of them going on, and it might get difficult keepin' track of who's shootin' at ya."

Within the metacycle, two-hundred-year-old Prize- eminently successful D-ship, famed passenger liner, and one-time candidate for the breaker's yard-was on her way back to Atalanta flying Haelician colors. With PAYLESS STARMOTIVE neatly lettered on either flank, she was primed to embark on an entirely new career as a warship targeted against a whole new technology. Somehow, when Brim stopped to think about it, nothing seemed especially remarkable about the situation-especially when he considered the actual circumstances. War was always absurd-from its very origins....

As Helic's disk filled the old-fashioned V-shaped Hyperscreens, Brim slowed Prize to approach speed and began his letdown to Atalanta. Liat-Modal's troop transports were now at their staging area, with the ground troops already engaged in "secret" maneuvers.

Admiral Penda had taken official charge of the Hador-Haelic perimeter, and efforts to fortify Atalanta seemed to be racing toward an ultimate climax. He checked his instruments, then glanced at the clock. The port city was still at least a full half-day from the planet's light/dark terminator. There was even a good chance Claudia might be waiting at Payless when he arrived....

He was not disappointed. As soon as be taxied in from the main canal, he could easily pick her out among the others waving enthusiastic welcome from their blustery wharf-even through the spray-streaked Hyperscreens. Twenty cycles later, with Prize safely moored inside, he followed Ursis over the brow and onto the main floor. Claudia was waiting. The Bear stopped for his accustomed hug and kiss, then hurried off toward the iron staircase and a noisy celebration that was already well underway in the loft.

"Congratulations, hero," she whispered, pushing aside a luxurious strand of brown hair and taking his arm. "You should be terribly proud of yourself."

Brim smiled and looked into her brown eyes. "I guess I do feel pretty good about everything,'" he admitted, "but Barbousse did do all of the shooting."

"Except for the last shot," she corrected with a little wink, "the one that saved the whole mission." She grinned. "You see, I've heard the report already."

Brim felt his face burn. "Well..." he stumbled. Then he brightened. "Hmm," he said, raising his index finger and grinning. "I'll bet there's one thing that you don't know, smart aleck."

"What's that?" she asked with mock impudence.

"Did you know that the mission has made today the 'one of these days' that we've been promising each other?" he asked.

"Oh, Wilf," she groaned suddenly, her happy smile turning to a grimace, "you've always arrived before on some, ah, preset convoy schedule... you know. This time-well, nobody had any idea when you'd be back, and..."

Brim squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment "I think I understand," he said sadly. "It wasn't very long ago that I didn't have any idea when we'd be back, either." Then he bit his lip. "I guess this isn't going to be the day, is it?"

Claudia's face reddened for a moment; then she smiled and pushed her hair over her shoulders. "Well," she said, looking down at the old brick floor of the warehouse, "I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't have plans for tonight...." Then suddenly she frowned and peered directly into his face. "I have been looking forward to another night out with you, Wilf Brim-for a long time now," she declared with a determined shrug, "and... well, I suppose it wouldn't be the first time I've told a white lie."

Brim grimaced and held up his hand and started to protest. "Claudia..."

"No 'Claudias' about it, Mister Brim," she interrupted with a determined grin. "And since your Defiant is not due back until sometime tomorrow, I shall pick you up here by the street entrance at..." she glanced at her timepiece, "the beginning of Twilight watch. How about that?"

Brim chuckled and nodded happily. "Claudia, you lovely lady," he said, "I feel so honored that I'll be here, even if Payless isn't."

"Good," she said with a wink. "Now go on up to the party while I make a quick personal call. I'll join you in a very few cycles...."

That evening, Claudia was as good as her word. Her little skimmer-looking even more battered than Brim remembered it-pulled up under the Payless Starmotive Salvage sign precisely as the Twilight watch began. A chill autumnal evening had just begun to hide the shabby streets in shades of dark mauve and shadow, and hints of coal and wood smoke hung in the still air. When she leaned over and opened the passenger door, she looked even more beautiful than Brim remembered. She was dressed in a bulky white sweater, dark woolen skirt, black stockings, and high boots. Silken tresses of brown hair framed her soft oval face like a graceful hood. "Need a ride, sailor?" she said, batting her long eyelashes in a mock display of sensual fireworks that-feigned or not-set Brim's blood to pounding in his ears.

"More than anything else I can think of," he answered, hoisting himself inside. For a long moment, he sat mutely staring at her. "By the very stars," he whispered at length, "you are beautiful, aren't you?"

Claudia pursed her lips in a pouting smile. "Flattery will get you nearly anywhere, Mister Brim," she said-he was dressed in mufti left over from the mission-"unless I happen to freeze to death before you stop letting all the heat out."

"Sony," he said, slamming the door. "But I'm only a simple starsailor."

" Only a simple starsailor, eh?..."

"Honestly, I am-I don't even know where we're going."

Claudia's eyes sparkled. "Well," she said as she navigated through the twisted streets, "I had originally planned to dine in one of the more genteel City Mount cabarets tonight. But since you are only a simple starsailor, I suppose you'll probably be more comfortable in some place more casually comfortable-like my apartment. How does that sound?"

Brim sighed as he relaxed in the shabby seat. No Helmsman's recliner had ever seemed as comfortable. "I can think of nothing so incontestably elegant, madam," he answered, "or half so pleasing."

Claudia lived in an ancient, three-level dwelling that fronted the intersection of two cobblestone alleyways in her beloved Rocotzian section of Atalanta. By the glow of nearby streetlamps, the old building's walls appeared to be splendidly sculpted in bas-relief. Tiny trees-now winter-bare-were tastefully located in ornate balconies and on either side of an elaborately arched entrance. The surrounding streets-designed for transportation a thousand years gone-were crowded with a variety of parked vehicles that for a few moments threatened to force them a considerable distance away. However, just as Brim was preparing himself for a significant hike, she finessed the skimmer into an incredibly small opening between an arrogant-looking limousine and a dilapidated delivery vehicle less than a block from their door. He saluted this masterful Helmsmanship with loud applause. Then they picked their way over the uneven paving blocks, laughing and talking about every subject imaginable-except the war.

Her flat occupied all of the top floor, two double doors in its dusky, old-fashioned drawing room providing unobstructed views of the darkened harbor-now occasionally lighted by flashes of lightning from a storm out to sea. The ceilings were delicate trompe l'oeil scrolls connected to painted cameos framed in white and touched with gilt against backgrounds of pastel mauve, sapphire, and jade. The curtains, furniture, and carpets all blended into one exquisite-totally feminine-whole. An ornate comer fireplace in dainty tiles blazed cheerily between the doors-its glow seemed to warm the whole of Brim's war-torn Universe. Velvety music wove patterns of incredible elegance through air spiced by wood smoke, perfume, and the yeasty odor of baking bread. "Like it?" she asked.

"I love it," Brim uttered quietly as he shed his coat. "It's beautiful-like its owner."

She smiled warmly and blew him a kiss. "I asked the caretaker to start the wood before we got here," she said, settling into the corner of a great plush couch that fronted the fire. "It seems his timing was perfect." She lit an aromatic mu'occo cigarette and indicated a wall cabinet between two ancient-looking oil paintings. "I have both e'lande and what my dealer assures me is some perfectly respectable Logish Meem over there. And, Mr. Brim, if you'll be so good as to pour, I shall patriotically start with e'lande."

"I admire that kind of patriotism," Brim declared with mock solemnity as he strode across the room. "Fortunately, the national Carescrian beverage is water, mostly polluted, so I enjoy considerable patriotic latitude." He opened an ornate door. In the glimmer of hovering GlowOrbs, a half-dozen shelves crowded by liqueur containers of every possible shape and hue surrounded three sides of a waist-high counter. This latter held a pair of crystal goblets, an ornate decanter of clear liquid that smelled like e'lande when he pulled the stopper, and a half-dozen flasks of elderly-looking Logish Meem. Choosing the latter for himself, he filled each of the goblets and carried them to the couch. "To the 'one of these days' that finally came true," he said, delivering the e'lande to her manicured hand, then touching the rim of her goblet with his.

"To tonight," she said, looking up at him. She saluted with her goblet and then sipped.

At that moment, she was so painfully sensuous that Brim fete himself losing control of his emotions. Taking both a deep breath and a long draught of meem, he stepped to the double doors and looked out at the scattering of lights that fronted the bay. While he stared, a luminous cascade bust into life far out on the water, lengthened, then accelerated across the darkness until it vaulted into the starry sky, echoes from its passage ranting the door's crystal panes as he stared in utter fascination. Eventually, its navigation light disappeared among the stars, and then he felt her standing close beside him.

"You do love starflight, don't you?" she asked quietly.

"It's about all I know," he answered, looking into her brown eyes. Suddenly, as if someone else were in control, he set his goblet on a nearby table and drew her gently into his arms, the sensual fragrance of perfume heavy in his nostrils. She came with no hesitation, molding herself easily to his chest and searching his eyes, mouth open slightly and lips pouted. "May 1 kiss you?" he whispered.

"I think you'd better," she sighed in a low voice, then delicately placed her free arm around his neck and covered his mouth with hers. Her breath was an erotic blend of mu'occo and e'lande as she kneaded his lips gently.

Of a sudden, he found himself trembling like a raw fifteen-year-old boy. He tightened his embrace while he pressed her lips until he could feel her teeth against his. Her breathing began to shorten and her mouth opened wider. His breath shortened, too-considerably-while his heart began to pound against his chest.

Then the pressure on his neck ebbed and her lips withdrew as she took a deep breath.

Her eyes opened and blinked slowly before she dropped her arm and leaned back in his embrace, nodding wide-eyed at the goblet of e'lande she was holding at a perilous angle.

"Wilf Brim," she said with an embarrassed little smile, "if we keep that up, I am going to spill e'lande all over my carpet and..." She gestured with her hand. "Well, you know-we haven't even had supper."

"One more," Brim begged.

"One more like that, and by the time I feel like cooking again, everything will be burned to a crisp."

Brim released her after a final embrace, and they retired to opposite ends of the couch to kick off their shoes and finish their drinks. There was still a whole Universe of interesting things to laugh and talk about, but now Brim could no longer force himself to take his eyes from her legs. Nor did she seem to be very committed to smoothing her skirt any farther toward her knees than the position at which it had originally come to rest when she sat in the deep cushions.

In due time, Brim refilled their goblets, then-at the insistent tone of a hidden tuner-followed Claudia into the kitchen. Much of the tantalizing room was lined by carved wooden cupboards and pantries adorned with copper implements of every size and description.

One end was dominated by a large black-metal stove, clearly operated by an old-fashioned flame mechanism. He smiled. Somehow, he was not a bit surprised, although the little he knew about this woman was closely related to starship technology and Hyperlight Drives.

Donning a ruffled apron and huge flowered mittens, Claudia opened the oven and removed two golden-brown loaves of bread that she set on a nearby counter to cool. They filled the air with a yeasty scent so agonizingly delicious that Brim found he could-to some degree-forget how tantalizingly provocative this naturally sensuous woman could be.

In short order, she prepared the remainder of their supper while Brim reposed like crowned royalty in a stout wooden chair, watching with the rapt fascination of the uninitiated.

Truly, he had very little, experience with such a cookery-or cook. After Kabul Anak's early raids, he had known only institutional cooking-when he could get even that. Now, he found himself totally absorbed in warmth and pungent, mouthwatering odors while he watched an extravagantly beautiful woman bustling in the most outlandish example of a kitchen that he could imagine. "Small Universe," he thought to himself.

Eventually-only just short of his commencing to gnaw on his chair-Claudia directed him to fill two fresh meem goblets at an exquisite glass table in still another softly lighted room.

Then, with great bustle and fanfare, she fetched a steaming tureen of soup and served their plates beneath ornate silver hemispheres. Subsequently, considerable food, Logish Meem, and time disappeared before their conversation rallied to anywhere near its previous level.

Much later, after a thoroughly preposterous dessert-that Claudia admitted she had purchased-they retired to the couch and the fire for liqueurs. This time, Brim permitted no distance between them. He felt wonderfully full and just the slightest bit tipsy after their second bottle of Logish Meem. Beside him, Claudia relaxed on the cushions, drawing on a mu'occo cigarette in a long silver holder. Her cheeks had adopted a healthy blush as she stared into the fire and her skirt revealed significant expanses of black-stockinged leg above her knees. Without a word, Brim placed his arm around her shoulders.

Only after long moments did she turn to look up at him-studying his face with a grave expression in her brown eyes. Abruptly, she seemed to reach some conclusion, for she straightaway placed her liqueur on the end table and quashed out the half-finished mu'occo in a spicy puff of smoke. With a little half-smile, she next took the liqueur from his hand and set it beside her own, then leaned back in the crook of his arm and took a deep breath-her eyes fairly sparkling. "You are a very handsome and desirable man, Mr. Brim," she signed.

"When are you going to ask me for another kiss?"

Almost before he realized what he was doing. Brim affectionately pulled her close and covered her partially open mouth with his. This time, they began gently and tentatively, but when Brim found his lips again pressing wet inner membranes, his heart begin to hammer once more in his chest and he discovered his resolve evaporating before he'd gotten it fairly in use.

Suddenly, she threw both arms around his neck and squeezed almost desperately. After that, things became a lot less gentle and tentative.

"This could get out of hand," he mumbled shakily, opening his eyes for a moment.

"I know," she whispered, blinking once or twice. "I think it already has."

In spite of himself, Brim felt his hand slide to cup her breast. It was much larger than it appeared-delightfully heavy and firm as he gently fondled its sensual curve.... Then his breathing suddenly went all out of control, and he found himself fairly gasping for air.

"S-stop, Wilf," she murmured, pushing his wrist away, "not our first time, please."

"S-sorry..." he stuttered, struggling desperately with himself, but his passion continued to grow with each moment-and clearly, so did hers.

Once again, he cupped her breast, his heart now thundering in his ears like a runaway Drive.

Twisting her body slightly in his arms, she touched his wrist once more-and her hand lingered there for a moment. Then, with a smothered sigh she slowly drew her sweater up and out of the way. "What harm can it do," she whispered, her voice now, urgent and out of breath. "You couldn't help knowing how much I've wanted you."

"Universe..." Brim whispered, feeling the incredibly soft nakedness of her skin warm his trembling hand. Moments after he started to gently finger her taut, swollen nipple, she thrust her tongue into his mouth with an animal urgency, and her hand dropped to his crotch. After a moment of fumbling, she gave a little gasp and grasped him even tighter. He was ready....

Long after they completed their first-quite violent-coupling, Brim and Claudia clung to each other in trembling silence while coals from the fire snapped and spit in the fireplace. At last, he arose and threw another log on the fire. As she lay back on the rumpled cushions in the firelight, her moist body shone in a flickering study of soft shadows and rounded highlights.

Brim marveled silently as he feasted his eyes on the loveliness before him-had he purposely tried to discover Margot's opposite, he couldn't have made a better job of it.

Where one's beauty was blond and ephemeral, the other's was luxuriously dark and hirsute.

Margot's breasts were small and pointed with pink nipples while Claudia's were large and round, tipped by great dark aureoles and generous paps. Margot herself was a large woman with truly sensual grandness; Claudia, on the other hand, was small and well proportioned, graced by just a touch of plumpness-precisely where it belonged. Both, however, were quite alike in one important element: when sufficiently aroused they could make fierce and intemperate love-in the most deliciously unrestrained and licentious expressions of pure carnality be could imagine....

Brim and Claudia dozed and made love until false dawn lightened the stormy horizon out to sea. He was again relaxed in a corner of the couch, wistfully delighting in her unique beauty by firelight, when his ears caught a familiar thunder in the air- Defiant. Covering himself with his discarded coat, he stepped quietly to the rain-streaked doors-just in time to recognize a unique shape as it thundered out of the clouds. Clearance lamps glowing brightly in the darkness, the graceful cruiser swept over Grand Harbor in a perfect arc-like a ship a tenth her size. Only Aram would be flying her that way, Brim thought with a grin. As her landing lights split the streaming darkness with three powerful beams of dazzling silver, he could almost hear the litany in the young A'zurnian's mind: one seventy on the airspeed-not a whisker more or less-and four threes on the Verticals; turn crosswind at five-hundred irals, then simultaneously reset the Verticals to exactly one thousand and turn for a tight downwind....

Claudia stirred on the sofa, and he turned to face her. She had opened her eyes to frown at him again, still completely unmindful of her nakedness-as if they had been living together for years. "That was Defiant, wasn't it," she asked.

"It was," he said with a smile. "How could you tell?"

"By watching you, Wilf Brim," she said a little proudly. "I think perhaps I have learned to read you."

Brim placed his coat on an end table and sat beside her, still wholly awestruck by the consummate beauty manifested before him. He took her hand and looked into her eyes.

"What else do you read?" he asked.

Her face broke into a little smile, and she squeezed his fingers. "Do you really want to know?" she asked with a serious look.

"I really want to know," Brim said, grinning as he gently rubbed the delightful mound of her stomach.

"Hmmm," she said, wiggling pleasurably under his hand, "one thing I read there is a most profound love for deep space-and all the ships that ply it. But then," she declared with a faraway look, "I already told you about that." Suddenly she frowned a moment, smiling a little wistfully. "No woman will ever completely possess you because of it, either."

"I wonder," Brim said thoughtfully, finding himself drawn inexorably across half a galaxy to the Torond, "if that might not be all too true...." Abruptly, he stopped rubbing. "What else do you read in my face?" he asked.

"Well," Claudia declared in a quiet voice, "sometimes your eyes are full of sadness, Wilf.

I guess I've always wondered if there was someone already in your life." She smiled wistfully.

"I suppose I've always been afraid there was." Suddenly, she frowned and pursed her lips.

Brim shook his head for a moment, gently leaning forward to place his hands on her shoulders. "I won't lie to you," he said, brushing her lips with his. "There is someone whom I think I love, but she is awfully far away and..."

An indignant look suddenly crossed Claudia's face. "Someone you love?" she asked indignantly, pushing him back to a sitting position. "Great Universe," she said angrily, indicating the surfeit of crumpled tissues littering the floor. "I've lost track of how many times we've made love tonight-what would she think of you now?" She raised her eyebrows and peered down at his hand on her stomach. "What would she think of me?" She groaned.

"You could at least have told me before we started this, Wilf Brim. I'll admit that I was every bit as horny as you-but even so, I'm not used to spending the night on my back entertaining somebody else's man!" She glared into his face. "Do you have any idea how easy this sort of thing is for a single girl in a port city like Atalanta? If I wanted to get laid, I didn't need to come to you."

Brim started to open his mouth, but she held up a silencing hand. "I'm not finished yet, you hypocrite," she said, drawing up her knees. "I could have a different man here every night if I wanted to-but I've got a hell of a lot more pride than that. I don't sleep with just anybody. And let me tell you-I never do it with a man that I think belongs to another woman." She shook her head. "She's a long way off, eh? Well, you poor baby! Why didn't you take care of yourself at Payless before you came here?..."

Brim ground his teeth and remained silent until she seemed to be finished. Then he firmly put his hand on her arm.

She scowled, but let the hand remain.

"You didn't let me finish, Claudia," he said in good time, looking her directly in her eyes.

"All right," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I didn't." She glowered. "But is there anything else to say?"

"There is," Brim answered calmly. "I'll admit that my brains have been hanging between my legs tonight," he said. "And pretty much everything you've been thinking about me is true. But," he added, raising his index finger in front of her face, "when I said 'she is far away,' I didn't mean only far away in distance. She has recently married someone else...."

Claudia's carefully plucked eyebrows rose suddenly and she pushed back into the cushions. "Married!" she gasped.

"Married," Brim assured her.

"Oh, Voot!" Claudia muttered in a much subdued voice. "I'm sorry. I guess, then, she wouldn't mind much at all, would she?"

"You can be quite sure of that," Brim answered. "In fact," he added, staring off into the room thoughtfully, "I rather suspect that she'd be glad we've gotten together this way." He gently drew her fingers to his lips-they smelled strongly of love. "There," he whispered, "now you know my secret. Can we still at least be friends?"

She looked thoughtfully into his eyes and pursed her lips. "Yes," she said after a time,

"we must be friends, that's very important to me, I find. But only friends, even when we share a bed-or a couch." She smiled. "I have a few other acquaintances in town," she said evenly.

"I broke a date with one of them yesterday afternoon."

"No permanent plans with anybody?' Brim asked.

"None," Claudia said emphatically. "Otherwise, you and I wouldn't have sullied my couch the way we have. When it comes time for me to settle down, Wilf, then he'll be the one."

He nodded. "I think I'm finally beginning to know you a little bit," he said simply.

"Good," she said, "and now, Mr. Brim, there's something I want to know about you."

"What's that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Promise to tell me the truth?"

Brim grinned. "And hope to die," he declared.

"All right," she said, looking him directly in the face. "When you are-" she shrugged "-you know, panting and groaning like you do..."

"Yes?" She had little room to go on about his panting and groaning, he thought with a private smile.

"Well...who are you thinking about?" she demanded. "Her or me?"

Brim laughed. "You," he assured, "every time."

She smiled broadly again with her teeth on her lower lip. "I actually think that you might be telling the truth." she said.

"Thanks," Brim said. "I am-but I guess there's no way I can prove it."

"Well," Claudia began, her face coloring for a moment. "If you're really interested, there is something you can do to make me feel sure of your words."

"What's that?" Brim asked seriously. "I think I'd do damned near anything...." His voice abruptly trailed off when Claudia drew her knees up again.

"Prove it, Wilf Brim," she demanded in an urgent whisper. "One more time...."

As morning sun began to stream through the windows, Brim shared a badly needed shower with Claudia, then relaxed on her bed-for the first time-to watch her toilette and discuss the relationship they seemed to have defined during the night. "How could I stay angry with you, Wilf?" she asked through a half-dozen hair pins held in her teeth. Frowning, she inspected her coiffure in a large mirror behind her cluttered bureau. "I wanted you as much as you seemed to want me." She brushed a few last strokes, then carefully inserted the pins one by one. "And," she added at length, "whether or not you know it-or even particularly care-you gave me the most wonderfully scandalous night I have ever spent. I could forgive nearly anything for that." Grinning in spite of a sudden blush, she bent slightly to peer down at her crotch. "I shall be quite tender there, I suspect...."

Within the metacycle-in ample time to report for morning watch-Brim returned to Defiant with a light heart, the sure knowledge that he had made a lifelong friend, and a moderately strained back. The latter, he realized, was part and parcel of this most delightful and intimate new relationship. He wouldn't have changed things if he could!

Late in the week, Collingswood invited Claudia and a number of her civilian associates on the Payless Affair-as Project Campbell had come to be known-to a top-secret awards ceremony in Defiant's secured wardroom. There, amid rousing cheers and applause, she presented Calhoun, Ursis, and Barbousse with Imperial Comets for their work against the

"latest threat from the League," as their engraved citations read. Following this, she summoned a thoroughly surprised Wilf Brim to the forward end of the room and handed him a shining golden envelope embossed with the Great Seal of the Empire.

Embarrassed and a little flustered by the unexpected attention, Brim concentrated on opening the splendid envelope instead of listening carefully to what she had to say. Only the words "Emperor's Cross" and a thunderous round of applause registered before he removed the presentation material-a personal note from Greyffin IV, summoning him to Avalon "as soon as events permit" to personally receive the medal itself.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Brim was quick to discount his part of the mission, but Collingswood only laughed and would hear none of his protestations. "Sorry, Lieutenant Brim," she said with a grin. "You will have to take that up with the Emperor himself when you get to Avalon...."

That evening Brim-once again dressed in mufti-escorted Claudia to the Payless warehouse where old Prize was commissioned an official Imperial vessel and delivered to the Admiralty Intelligence Operations Division. Subsequently, she would continue in the extraordinarily hazardous D-ship role to which she had been modified-manned exclusively by volunteers from the covert side of "The Firm," as COMINTEL was known, and operated from a secret location. At the-unspecified-conclusion of these duties, ownership would automatically transfer to the sprawling Imperial War Museum in Avalon, where she would go on permanent display as an important historical artifact.

Following the ceremonies, Brim stood on the Payless wharf, sheltering Claudia from the bitter wind and flying spray with his coat. Out on the canal, Prize was just beginning to gain way over the racing white caps, her old Laterals thundering defiance at the darkness. Just before she vanished in cascades of spray behind the corner warehouses, Claudia's arm clasped his waist tightly, and he turned to find tears streaking her cheeks.

"Those 'volunteers' at The Firm," she said over the diminishing tumult, "I've heard what kind of missions they fly. "We'll never see her again, will we?"

Brim bit his lip. His mind had been following a dismally similar path. "Probably not," he said as the last breakers from the starship's wake cascaded under the wharf and broke on the stone seawall beyond. "Nor will we see the likes of her again, either. Old Prize was special, somehow."

"Strange," Claudia remarked as they turned back to the warehouse, leaning into the teeth of the wind, "but I think it might be better that way. I can't see her ending up in a stuffy museum.... She wouldn't fit there. She'd be.. . bored, Wilf."

Later that night, with Claudia asleep in his arms, Brim smiled wistfully, reflecting on her words. She was right, of course. Every starship he'd ever come to know had her own unique personality-like proud Defiant, and tough old Truculent before her. Even the treacherous Carescrian ore barges.... Prize would likely spend the remainder of her days in one last, great adventure-the kind she had known since the moment she first soared out from the ancient Cloverfield yards more than two hundred years in the past. And then she would vanish forever in a blaze of glory.

He nodded his head and closed his eyes, sinking dreamily into the warmth of Claudia's perfumed fragrance. Not a bad way to go, he thought as sleep began to overtake him. Not a bad way to go at all....

Chapter 8

ANTIQUARIES

Shortly following Prize's departure and the subsequent closing of Payless Starmotive Salvage-"Just when we were starting to get a couple of calls," Barbousse complained with a chuckle-the pace of the war suddenly-and ominously-slackened. Clearly, Kabul Anak was concentrating his forces in preparation for the coming assault. Simultaneously, reports from Imperial spies indicated that small squadrons of Triannic's heavy warships continued to sortie-in support of Liat-Modal's troop transports, it was assumed. But the League's main battle fleet remained stubbornly in harbor near Tarott.

During a rare morning of inactivity- Defiant was not due out until the subsequent daybreak-a note from Claudia informed Brim that she would be late meeting him after work.

He frowned in disappointment; nearly all her evenings had been spoken for since Defiant's latest planetfall, and he was eager for her company. Now at odds and ends until well into the evening watch, he was idling outside the main hatch when Wellington and Ursis suddenly appeared on the brow.

"What's going on?" he asked, gazing indolently over the surrounding expanse of jam-packed gravity pools. Rumor had it that nearly one hundred fifty fleet units had been temporarily relocated to the big base, and even the skies-teemed with ships.

"Until tomorrow morning's takeoff, friend Wilf, very little," Ursis declared over the reverberations of a battleship and three heavy cruisers thundering up from the bay in lofty cascades of spray.

"Actually," Wellington interjected, "Nik and I just now stopped by your cabin and found you were gone. We've signed out to tour the Gradygroat monastery. Would you like to go along?

You could be our guide."

Brim shrugged-he certainly had enough time to kill. "Why not?" he said with a grin. "It's a pretty fascinating place. I'll sign the Good Book and be right with you." Moments later, the three Blue Capes were on their way along the brow toward the swarming public tram stop....

"Voof!" Ursis exclaimed, stepping hesitantly onto the vast circular expanse of the Commons Room. "I have never seen the counterpart of this-not even in the Great Winter Palace at Gromcow."

"I've never even seen Gromcow," Wellington quipped in an awestruck voice. "Great Voot, Wilf, you weren't exaggerating about this place."

Brim only smiled. "There's a lot to look at," he said.

"Indeed," Ursis said, pointing to the Great Dome of the Sky above them. "The light source up there-a Kaptnor G-seed, isn't it?"

"My stars," Wellington gasped, peering up over her glasses, "I believe it is. I've only read about them, of course-miniature accretion disks that emit a luminous beam of energy.

They've focused this one through that funny lens up there-the one that says 'Power.'"

"Apparently so," the Bear said with a look of fascination. "I last saw one during my days at the Dityasburg Institute on Zhiv'ot-where we trapped one for a few days in a special plasma retort." He shook his great furry head and laughed. "And from what I learned there, I would wager that enough energy exists in that one little beam to snuff out an entire planet-or cause a major flareup in the surface of a star."

"Are you serious?" Wellington asked with a frown.

"Completely serious, my dear Dora," Ursis replied. "Properly positioned, the beam from that little G-seed could probably lift this whole monastery off its foundations. In fact," he added, "the golden cone over there-the one with the word 'Truth' carved around its base-is probably the only reason that it doesn't." He nodded his head with an approving smile. "The old Gradgroat-Norchelites provided quite an energy source for their display here-one with enough power to last. I like that kind of engineering!"

"Wait just a cycle, Nik," Wellington demanded, eyeing the reflecting cone and scratching her head. "You say that beam of light could launch this monastery into space? Forget you're a theoretical engineer and explain this to me in terms I can understand."

Ursis smiled-he was quite into his element now. "Clearly, the way our Gradygroats have things set up here, Dora, the cone serves to shatter the main beam into thousands of little ones-which it then reflects harmlessly back to the ceiling as lighted 'stars' for the display of the heavens. But if something were to move that cone," be continued, "the beam would have nothing to defuse its energy, and-this close to its source-would continue right through the floor with enough thrust to lift everything out into space." He laughed. "Such an event would make things dreadfully difficult for the Friars...."

"It would serve the idiots right," Wellington grumped. "The very idea, wasting all that energy to power a preposterous display." She shook her head.

"'Preposterous' is only a relative term," Ursis pronounced sagely, "especially when one deals in religious matters."

"I suppose you're right," Wellington admitted, "but I still think the whole setup's nothing more than a wild flea in Voot's beard. The very idea...."

In the next half metacycle, Brim and Ursis strolled on around the room, taking in all the displays on the ground floor while Wellington lost herself scrutinizing gloriously detailed holomodels of the Gradygroat space cannon. When they'd completed their circuit of the vast circular floor, she was still deep in reflection. "Fascinating," she said as her two comrades approached, "but primitive. It's a classic study in ideal Rycantean design. Weapons makers were wonderfully hardheaded and practical in those days. Little wonder the Admiralty boffins haven't studied it for centuries."

"Did they build cannon that could live up to the legend?" Ursis inquired with a smile. "It is said that the ones in orbit here could vaporize large asteroids with a single round."

Wellington thought for a moment, then nodded accord. "Given enough power, Nik," she declared, "artillery systems like this probably could. They're certainly designed to handle a lot more energy than anything I've ever encountered."

"But would they fire?" Brim asked. "I remember from your classes that nobody was ever sure they'd go off."

"Oh, I think there's little question that they would fire," she declared. "It's simply that no one has discovered how to pump that kind of energy up there to them." She smiled and raised her eyebrows. "You probably also remember from those classes that the forts are solely powered by one, old-fashioned EverGEN unit-and that's barely enough to maintain the environment and keep them oriented toward Hador for warmth." She shrugged and grinned.

"But if they did have a big power plant-something like a large solar flare," she added with a chuckle, "the Gradygroat cannon would undoubtedly be the most powerful weapons in the known universe-by an order of magnitude...." Then she frowned. "Nik," she said, pointing to the ceiling, "do you suppose they somehow ran the space forts from this G-seed, too?"

"Like beaming energy up to the cannon?"

"What do you think?"

The Bear shook his head. "You said it yourself, Dora," he said. "Those big disruptors need something on the order of a solar flare to power them up-and a big one if you wanted to fire from all thirteen forts in a salvo. Beamed energy falls off rapidly. The G-seed here probably couldn't even move anything bigger than a pebble if it were fifty c'lenyts or so distant."

Wellington snapped her finger and grimaced. "1 should have guessed that myself," she said, chuckling good-naturedly and turning to Brim. "I suppose we'll have to fight old Triannic with ships after all, won't we, Wilf?"

Brim put his arm around Wellington's broad shoulders and grinned. "Looks that way," he said. "But with you handling the disruptors, we won't need all that power, anyway."

"Is true," Ursis pronounced with mock sagacity as they moved off toward the monastery gardens. "In this day and age, it is accuracy that counts! Not power."

Later, seated around a diminutive table at one of the outdoor vcee' shops, the three had just finished a round of steaming, sticky-sweet cvcesse' when a fragile-looking Zuzzuou swooped down from the afternoon sky and side-slipped toward the landing area. "I want to watch that landing from close" quarters," Brim said, jumping up from the table. "I'll owe you for the cvcesse'!" Vaulting a hedge and a balustrade, he covered the short distance in good time to watch the cheerfully painted little spaceship settle into place on its gravity pool-savoring the singular sort of design philosophy that could place a high control bridge at the stern of such an angular, top-hampered hull. Smiling, he took in the arched windows-much like the ones on the big tram he'd ridden to the monastery-old-fashioned handrails, exposed docking windlasses, built-up skylights on the cabin roof, and canvas dodgers rigged over the short companionways to the brow. Its Helmsman, a huge brute of a man, was no more mundane than the vehicle he flew. Stationed presently on the cabin roof near the bows, he was vigorously turning a huge Crank jutting upward abaft the starboard landing beacon. Like all Zuzzuou drivers, he wore a great silken turban wound in swirls around a tall scarlet cap that protruded through the top like a mountain through a cloud. His black-and-white striped space suit looked almost drab in comparison.

It was wonderful....

When at some length Brim looked around for his companions, he found them near the passenger gate in rapt conversation with one of the returning Friars. He wasn't surprised-at the vcee', Wellington had vowed to remain at the monastery until she at least talked to one of the monks. Brim chuckled, judging that she'd probably seduce one if she thought it would help. When he neared, it was clear that she'd started by asking about the monastery's strange motto.

"As a simple gunlayer, I have no fixed idea what the motto means, m'lady," the Friar responded politely. He was probably tall and powerfully built, but now his shoulders were bowed with fatigue. His face was lined not so much by age as by deep, habitual concentration, and his eyes were those of a professional sniper-though there was an air of gentleness in every line and feature of his being. "In our faith," he continued, "we are taught to believe that the motto will manifest itself when such becomes necessary."

"And what, Gunner Maas, do you perceive as 'necessary'?" Wellington asked, almost nose to nose with the tired-looking Friar.

"Why... a threat to the existence of our Order, m'lady. What else?"

Wellington smiled wryly and stepped back. "I don't suppose I can think of anything more important than that," she agreed. Then she raised her eyebrows. "And you say the cannon were created for the first occasion that The Order felt threatened from space?"

"Aye m'lady," Maas replied, setting his battered knapsack beside him on the grass in resignation-clearly, the man recognized that no respite would come until he satisfied this most persistent group of tourists. "As The Faith teaches," he said patiently, "when rumors of invasion reached the ancient Gradgroat and Norchelite Templars, they combined forces to build thirteen orbital bulwarks and fortify them with the ultimate space cannon."

Brim nodded to himself-it squared with what Claudia said.

"When was that?" Wellington asked. "I understand it was during the First Age of spaceflight."

Maas raised his eyebrows and smiled. "M'lady knows her history," he said. "We are taught that the last fort was completed in Standard year twelve thirty-five minus."

"Twelve thirty-five minus," Wellington repeated thoughtfully, nodding her head. She shook her head in amazement "More than a thousand years before the founding of today's Empire."

Ursis nodded, returning his gaze to the Friar. "Ancient, to say the least," he commented, rubbing his furry chin. "Nevertheless, it is my understanding that a mere thirteen of these primitive weapons once destroyed an entire invasion fleet. Are they the same thirteen that orbit Haelic even today, Gunner Maas?"

"So teaches The Faith," Maas answered proudly.

"Where did they get such prodigious amounts of energy?" Wellington asked. "I could find only small, auxiliary power plants in the monastery holomodels. And those were barely adequate to meet the demands of the forts themselves-certainly not the cannon."

Maas raised his eyebrows for a moment and nodded agreement. "Your perusal of the holomodels was entirely correct, m'lady. Only rudimentary power is supplied at the forts, and it is barely adequate to satisfy day-to-day survival." He nodded his head. "Unless one is a firm believer in The Faith, it is sometimes difficult to accept the knowledge that all required energy will be supplied when the time of need arrives."

"Of that I am certain," Ursis agreed sympathetically.

"However, if one does believe in The Faith," Maas continued, raising a tutorial index finger, "our Gradgroat-Norchelite Fifth Article of Religion states 'The Space Cannon, that were created for the protection of Civilization, will receive power from Truth when they are again vital to the needs of Civilization-but not before."

"And that's enough for you, Gunner, eh?" Ursis asked deferentially.

"It is," Maas assured him. "It has to be."

"So you everlastingly preserve these huge weapons in preparation for a day on which they may once more be needed," Wellington stated.

"That is true, ma'am," Maas declared solemnly. "We maintain them according to the Holy Metal Book of Specifications."

"And I assume that should both the power and the need appear simultaneously, someone will know how to use the cannon themselves," Ursis declared with a great frown.

"Oh yes, sir," Maas answered emphatically. "Excellent simulators have been in constant use for centuries. Holy Laws require that the forts are always manned by at least two firing crews, each with a minimum of five years' training."

"Even when there's no power to fire the real things?" Wellington asked.

"As I have stated a number of times, m'lady," Maas repeated emphatically, "The Faith assures us that when power is needed, power will be supplied." Then, replacing his backpack on his shoulder, he bowed. "Kind visitors," he said, "I most now take my leave. I have endured life in orbit for two solid months, and I am not yet accustomed to gravity here at the monastery.''

"Wait," Wellington said persistently, "I'm sorry I made such an issue of the power." She placed her hand on the Friar's arm. "One more question, Gunner Maas-please. Hador rides low in the afternoon sky, and we ourselves must soon return to our ship."

"Very well, m'lady," Maas replied good-naturedly. "One more question, then."

"How might one see the space forts?" Wellington asked breathlessly.

"By Zuzzuous, m'lady," Maas replied with a quizzical frown. "Or have I missed your question?"

"Only a little," Wellington said with a smile. "How should I- personally-go about getting up there? Could I ride in one of these Zuzzuous?"

Maas shrugged. "I should never state that such was possible only, for members of The Order, m'lady," he said. "But I believe that to do so would require special intercession by the Abbot." He then saluted from the center of his forehead, bowed once more, and determinedly shuffled off toward the monastery.

Brim raised his eyebrows. "Would you actually take your time to go up there, Dora?" he asked.

"Well, antique weapons are my stock in trade, after all," Wellington reminded him. "And once this war's over, I expect to continue teaching people about them-that's of course if Greyffin wins and I don't get myself permanently zapped in the process." She shrugged. "So maybe there isn't any way now of getting power to those old space cannon. I am still convinced that they did fire at one time, and because of that they're worth looking into." She giggled mischievously. "Especially worthwhile now when the History Faculty budget doesn't have to pay for a trip to Haelic...."

Much later that evening, Brim discussed his day's tour with Claudia-including Wellington's interest in the Gradygroat space cannon.

"She really got herself caught up in the old Gradygroat forts, did she?" Claudia chuckled as she bustled about in the savory aromas of her kitchen. "Well, Wilf, she's not the first to be fascinated-nor likely to be the last. Sometimes I think it's a national pastime."

"She is a recognized expert on antique weapons systems," Brim contended.

"Mmm," Claudia murmured, lifting the lid of a steaming pot, "and I'm-at least-a recognized expert on the preparation of torgo puddings, Wilf Brim. What do you say to that?"

"You are a recognized expert on a lot more than puddings, Claudia Valemont," Brim remarked as he got up from his chair. "But right row, I have very little interest in starship maintenance or anything else along those lines. Moments later, she was in his arms, giggling while he unbuttoned her blouse. As usual, she had neglected to wear anything under it....

After supper, they again relaxed to share liqueurs before her fireplace. "Defiant's due out tomorrow, isn't she?" she asked, nestled in the crook of his arm.

"She is," Brim asserted.

Claudia turned her head to look up at him. "Just in case I forget tonight," she told him, "tell Dora Wellington that I'll have the Abbot's permission for her space-fort visit when you get back." She grinned. "It's the least I can do for her part in making you an Imperial Helmsman-and bringing that talented body of yours here to Atalanta...."

Shortly after Defiant passed through LightSpeed the next morning, Brim received an extraordinary personal KA'PPA message from Avalon-delivered by the hand of the COMM

operator who had received it.

K32168ISANBVA

[UNCLASSIFIED]

FM:IMPEHIAL PALACE

TO:W.A.BRIM@ CL.921:U/W

INFO:COMFLEETOPS, COLLINGSWOOD@CL.921:U/W/

<<129BDNXCGJUCRT783Q-4ASKJ-S-FSDMSLKJ>>

1. LT. BRIM: IT IS OUR PLEASURE TO PERSONALLY SUMMON YOU TO OUR ROYAL

PRESENCE AT THE IMPERIAL PALACE IN AVALON FOR THE PURPOSE OF

TENDERING AN EMPEROR'S CROSS INTO YOUR HANDS IN ACCORDANCE WITH

TRADITIONS OF THE FLEET: AT MORNING WATCH PLUS THREE, 23/51996. YOUR

SPONSOR WILL BE DR. A. A. BORODOV.

2. DUE TO THE EXIGENCIES OF WAR, REGULATION UNIFORM IS REQUIRED.

[END UNCLASSIFIED]

PERSONAL REGARDS

GREYFFIN IV SENDS

Q07WFO-9

A second KA'PPA message arrived on its heels, also personally delivered from the COMM section. This one was marked "Secret" and transmitted by one L.K.G. gNoord, personal secretary to Greyffin IV. It provided coordinates and times at which a courier ship would rendezvous with Defiant to pick up Brim on his way past Avalon-as well as drop him off when Defiant passed on her return trip with the latest convoy. Once be finished reading this message, he actually started to believe he might really be going to Avalon again.

Before the watch was over, everyone, it seemed, felt obliged to traipse through the control bridge, personally congratulating Brim by slapping him on the back or shaking his hand. Both became remarkably tender before he finally turned the controls over to Waldo and escaped to his cabin. There, behind a locked door, he struggled for two solid metacycles to discover some way of letting Margot know he was on his way, but none of his schemes made any sense at all. Unfortunately, the new Baroness of the Torond had been quite specific that she would contact him when the time came do so.

Finally devoid of fresh ideas, he relaxed by browsing idly through his mail. Much was the usual junk, but midway through the list a message from A. A. Borodov caught his eye and he enabled it immediately. In his display, the elderly Sodeskayan's muzzle had become significantly whiter in the year that had passed since he and Brim served on the same ship, but the Bear himself was not changed at all. His message of congratulations was so warm and sincere that Brim could almost feel it. Later, as he continued to scroll through his message list, Brim considered the singular honor old Borodov had accorded him. The elder Sodeskayan was now considered by many to be the most brilliant researcher of the Empire in his field of propulsion physics.

Abruptly, he caught sight of an entry sourced: EMBASSY: THE TOROND. Heart pounding in sudden anticipation, he touched activate, then held his breath waiting for Margot's golden curls to appear in his globular display....

They did not. Instead, the display filled with standard symbols that spelled out an invitation-and not the kind he had expected at all:

TO: Wilf A. Brim, Lt., I.F. @CL. 921

FROM: Rogan LaKarn, Baron, the Torond

@ Embassy of the Torond/Avalon

Your attendance is requested at a ball saluting the Honorable Yossobb Lotord, Emissary to the Court of Mogrund XXIV. In keeping with wartime protocols, regulation uniform dress is requested.

Evening Watch: 25/51996

Embassy of the Torond

Avenue of the Patrons

Avalon

Frowning, Brim immediately understood that Borodov had already notified Margot of his impending arrival. Bears always seemed to know how to handle such affairs. The invitation-on the evening of his audience with Greyffin IV-was clearly her answer, and it contained more man one meaning for Brim. The message itself was mere "boilerplate,"

written for impartial-and impersonal-transmission to a standard guest list by unseen embassy secretaries. The fact that his had been sent separately-a mere Lieutenant's name would never appear on such a list-was sure sign of Margot's hand. However, since no personal touch accompanied it. Brim was also led to the inescapable conclusion that this would finally be the first of their encounters when they would not be able to "touch." Glancing at her tiny holoportrait-one he had torn from a magazine-he wondered how well he would manage the situation. Ominously, he failed to conjure even a single positive speculation.

Three days later, Brim found himself in the jump seat of another speedy little LK-91 as it rumbled in for a flawless, predawn landing on Avalon's Lake Mersin, then taxied smoothly onto a tree-lined gravity pool. He felt a momentary sadness sweep over him as he thought of the last time he'd seen Avalon's military complex-Margot had met him beside one of these pools....

As he carried his lightweight softpack through the packet's main hatch, he spied a massive black limousine at the bottom of the brow reflecting the first rays of a dawning Asterious triad. Easily the most elegant nonflying machine he had ever encountered, it was manned by two tall and athletic drivers who sprang from the front seat and snapped to attention when he reached the foot of the brow. Dressed in formal red coats, and black jodhpurs of Imperial Guardsman, they had the short haircuts, small mean eyes, and arrogant chins that wordlessly suggested the breed of superpatriots who remorselessly followed all orders, under all circumstances. Every drop of Brim's Carescrian blood distrusted both men immediately.

"Lieutenant Brim?" one of them asked politely. He had a long scar across his chin.

Brim nodded, wondering if the man ever smiled.

"May we see your identification, please?" The quiet words were no request.

Wordlessly, Brim proffered the HoloID from his tunic.

Both drivers spent considerable time comparing it to his face before they finally handed it back. "Thank you, Lieutenant," the scarred one said at length, clicking his heels crisply .and climbing into the portside driver's console. The other Guardsman held the back door open while Brim entered a spacious ophet-leather passenger compartment. Moments later, the skimmer departed at high speed in a shower of layla blossoms-spring was glorious in Avalon!-with Brim wryly considering that were it not for the ophet-leather interior, the whole affair would seem rather more like an arrest than anything else.

In little time at all, the big limousine was speeding effortlessly through the early-morning traffic on tree-lined Vereker Boulevard as it followed the shore into downtown Avalon, Brim shook his head, recalling that his last two rides on the Vereker had also been in limousines, but neither belonged to the Emperor himself-nor one that had made such rapid progress through traffic. The prominent Imperial flags fluttering on either side of its windscreen appeared to be at least as effective as a siren. When people saw those looming up from the rear, they moved over! Soon the Desterro Monument flashed by on the right and then the gleaming ruby arch over the Grand Achtite Canal. In a few cycles more, the Marva tower had passed into their wake. Following that, congestion on the Vereker increased exponentially as they began to traverse inner districts of the sprawling city, but they were deep into the Beardmore Section before traffic slowed to Avalon's usual morning commuter crush. Brim chuckled as they crawled past row after row of historic buildings. At least every third one appeared to be propped up by some sort of scaffolding. A wonderful place to live, Margot used to say-if they ever finished it....

Then the bottleneck was behind them, and they were gliding through Courtland Plaza, slowing for the perilous traffic circle around Savoin fountain and easing toward a curb lane for the sharp turn through the Huntingdon Gate and into the grounds of the Imperial Palace.

At the precise moment they slowed for the guard station. Brim began to comprehend that this was not merely a short leave he had finessed to Avalon. He actually was going to see the Emperor-and soon! He swallowed hard as the awful reality began to sink in-a thousand Gorn-Hoffs were preferable! Taking a deep breath, he forced his hand away from the latching mechanism-too late to jump ship now, anyway. But what in the name of Voot's big toenail was he-a poor Carescrian-doing at an audience with Greyffin IV, Grand Galactic Emperor, Prince of the Reggio Star Cluster, and Rightful Protector of the Heavens? He shook his head in sudden panic. He ought to be getting back to the ship-surely there was some mistake.... Then, just as he was about to open his mouth, his alternatives evaporated when the limousine pulled smoothly out of the guard station, coasted across a vast gold-brick plaza, and came to rest at an enormously wide staircase. Like it or not, be had arrived!

An instant later, the door was pulled open by a slight, gray-haired individual with a narrow face, prominent nose, and the nearsighted eyes of a secretary. "Lieutenant Brim," the man said, extending his hand, "welcome to the Imperial Residence-I am called Lorgan, and while you are here, I shall render any assistance that I can." Despite his peculiar looks, his handshake was firm and masculine. Opening his tabulator board, he inserted a few quick marks, then led the way up the staircase, through an ornate colonnade, and into a great mirrored lobby whose vividly colored ceiling was painted with allegorical scenes from Empires long past.

While Lorgan busied himself with a brace of efficient-looking aides at an ornate desk, Brim studied heroic images of ancient starships behind men and women dressed in vintage spacesuits. He recognized some of them from his early school studies. Most appeared to be planting archaic versions of the Imperial flag on wild-looking landscapes that-by now-had surely become some of the great cities in the Galaxy.

After a few moments, Lorgan provided Brim with a tracking lozenge and a tumbler of sparkling water, then put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Far be it from me to criticize the perfection we have fairly swirling around us today, Lieutenant," he declared, "but we seem to have reached a snag already. His Most Gracious Majesty, Greyffin IV, already finds himself behind schedule-and it is my bet that he will continue to fall behind as the metacyeles pass. Were I you, I should prepare myself for a long day of cooling my heels."

With that, he shouldered Brim's softpack, showed him to a comfortable waiting room whose exits were controlled by more patriotic-looking Guardsmen, then excused himself and vanished around a corner. Shrugging, Brim found himself a comfortable divan and began to leaf through a news display. He was still twenty-five cycles early for his audience when Lorgan ushered an elderly Bear through the door. "I understand you two know each other," he said with a wide grin.

"Anastas Alexyi!" Brim exclaimed, springing to his feet to hug his old friend in the Sodeskayan fashion. Thank you for coming here!"

"But how could I be anywhere else, Wyilf Ansor?" Borodov asked in his accented Avalonian. "You are like a son to this old Bear-and I am much pleased!" Like Ursis, he had a huge furry head with rounded ears, long aristocratic muzzle, large wet nose, and sagacious eyes set in whorls of the reddish-brown fur that marked Bears of truly patrician breeding.

Many silver strands had been finding their way into the old gentleman's tonsure of late, however, and-to Brim's way of thinking-the total lack of artificial coloring spoke volumes about his outlook on life. As usual, his uniform was perfectly tailored- and he was wearing the insignia of a full captain.

"Voot's wig," Brim blurted. "You've been promoted. Congratulations!"

"Even the Admiralty makes mistakes," Borodov said with a grin. "But I decided I would not tattle on them this time. Research money comes much easier to those with rank, I find in my dotage..."

While they reminisced, Lorgan excused himself only to reappear a few cycles later carrying a tray of delicious patiaseries: tarts, turnovers, pies, trifles, strudels, cream puffs, eclairs, and a graceful silver pot of steaming, delicious cvcesse'. "As I told Lieutenant Brim,"

the secretary said, "it may take a while today."

''It is not to fuss about matters out of your authority," Borodov said, gesturing with both hands. "'No matter how cold the wind blows, Bear cubs and crag wolves find warm caves 'til spring,' eh?"

"Absolutely, Doctor," Lorgan replied without batting an eye. Clearly, he was quite used to high-level visitors from Sodeskaya....

During the next metacycles, it certainly wasn't as if they suffered from poor treatment.

While the morning watch wore on, Lorgan escorted the Blue Capes to an exquisite private dining room, where they snacked on rare Bries, Bel Paeses, Camemberts, Munsters, and Tilsters with delicate crackers and fruit wedges. Then, after a lengthy tour of the palace-afterward, Brim swore he and Borodov had seen more than Greyffin himself!-they repaired to another private dining room for a lunch of oysters, prawns, and lobsters from all over the Empire, served with rich, crusty breads and green salad, everything washed down with a rare bubbling Logish Meem. Their formally dressed waiter topped off the meal with frozen creams and sweet liqueurs.

And still no sign of Greyffin IV....

Midway through the afternoon watch, the two friends were still a million c'lenyts from running out of interesting subjects to discuss, but Brim was now moderately embarrassed about squandering Borodov's afternoon. It had become clear that the Bear was now an important factor in the overall Imperial research effort. At length, Lorgan appeared again in the doorway-and shook his bead.

Brim smiled wryly and glanced at his timepiece. "Still busy, eh?"

"Still busy," Lorgan affirmed. "Looks as if it'll be a little while yet before we get another shot at His Nibs." He turned to Borodov. "Doctor," he said, "your office has been on the line almost constantly for the last metacycle-and..."

"Maybe you ought to go, Doctor," Brim said quickly. "I'll see you again tonight, won't I?"

"But of course," Borodov said. "I shall be here at the beginning of Evening watch." Then he frowned and shook his head solemnly. "Much as I dislike stranding you here, Wyilf, I suppose I really should go. Some discoveries are born with much difficulty."

The secretary nodded emphatically. "I think it would be a good idea, Dr. Borodov."

The Sodeskayan shrugged phlegmatically. "I shall then take my leave. But I shall return in plenty time for the ball-Lorgan will make sure I find you." With that, he lumbered out of the door and down the hall.

"I know of your plans for tonight, Lieutenant," Lorgan added, "and I am personally sorry for these delays."

Brim shrugged, "First things first," he said pragmatically. "It clearly isn't any fault of yours."

After a sumptuous supper in still another private dining room, this in a high tower with a splendid view of the city, Lorgan excused himself after fresh table linens were spread for dessert.

Brim had stepped to the window and was peering out over the city-wondering idly where the Embassy of the Torond might be in the maze of lighted streets-when he heard the door open behind him. "I take it His Nibs is still busy," he said without turning. Borodov was due within the metacycle, and he didn't want to miss him-or the chance to see Margot.

"No, my boy," a deep voice chuckled quietly. "His Nibs has finally escaped."

Brim stiffened. It was not the voice of Lorgan the secretary-but one he had often heard on broadcasts. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned from the window... he was correct. "Your Royal Highness," he whispered, snapping to attention.

"Do relax, Lieutenant," the Emperor said, offering his band with a smile, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance... for a number of reasons." He was a spare man of medium height-neither young nor old-who looked surprisingly like the pictures that hung in every Fleet starship large enough to have a wardroom. Dressed in a magnificently tailored Fleet uniform-with the insignia of a full Admiral-he wore his gray hair short, parted on the left, and combed straight back from a narrow face. He had close-set gray eyes on either side of a prominent, squarish sort of nose, a striking moustache, and a diminutive, pointed beard. In his free hand, he carried a small wooden box.

Brim smiled to himself as he gripped the Emperor's soft, dry hand. He'd been so sure he wasn't going to meet this man that he'd had no chance to become nervous! All in all, Greyffin IV was a rather ordinary-looking person-except for that particular bearing of total imperturbability that seems to define everyone who is born rich and powerful.

"I say, Brim," the Emperor muttered, setting the box on the table and lifting its lid, "you certainly have come a long way for this," Inside was an eight-pointed starburst in silver and dark blue enamel with a single word engraved in its center VALOR. It was attached to an ivory sash embroidered in gold with the words GREYFFIN IV, GRAND GALACTIC EMPEROR, PRINCE OF THE REGGIO STAR CLUSTER, AND RIGHTFUL PROTECTOR OF THE HEAVENS. Opening the sash, he deftly placed it around Brim's neck, then stepped back and frowned. "Looks quite first-rate," he observed presently, pursing his lips and nodding his head.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Greyffin laughed a little. "You are most welcome, Lieutenant," he acknowledged, "but I'm dashed if I'll believe you are very thankful for having been put off so much today. I am quite aware that I was supposed to meet with you during the Morning watch." Then he sighed. "I am also aware that I am on the verge of keeping you from your assignation with my niece tonight at the Embassy of the Torond. Wilf Brim," he said with a little smile, "you are a most persistent young man."

Brim's insides suddenly turned to ice. "Your Highness?" he asked.

"My niece," Greyffin prompted, "Her Serene Majesty, Princess Margot of the Effer'wyck dominions and Baroness of the Torond." Then he smiled a little sadly. "The lady who would probably be your wife right now were it not for my interference."

"I... I," Brim stammered.

Greyffin held up a hand and smiled sympathetically. "Oh I know that you won't discuss this matter, Brim-a trait that I find most commendable. It tells me a great deal about you as a person, and about my niece as well." He smiled musingly again. "I should have known to trust her judgment. She's too discerning to be taken in by a mere social climber."

Brim opened his mouth, but Greyffin held up his hand again.

"Wait, Brim," he said. "Since nothing can change the circumstances that you and Margot find yourselves in, let least make sure you know that you have my understanding, and sympathy-if not my approval." He frowned, then smiled a little wistfully and stroked his beard.

"I should be a fool if I thought I could talk either one of you into calling off your affair. I suspect it is the real thing, as they say. My beautiful and wonderfully disrespectful niece has already laughed scornfully at that suggestion, and I cannot imagine anyone with your service record being discouraged by a mere Emperor." He chuckled quietly and nodded, looking Brim directly in the eye. "Yes, right-ho. She is beautiful, you young scalawag. Very beautiful-I can't blame you at all."

Stunned, Brim shook his head and raised his hands to his chest, palms up. "I don't know what to say, Your Highness..." he stammered.

"Don't say anything, Brim," the Emperor responded with a warm smile. "I shall have to dash off in a moment-more meetings, you know. That's how we Emperors earn our modest livings, if you haven't guessed by now." He glanced off through the window for a moment.

"Regrettably, Brim, LaKarn's in town tonight, so I doubt if you and Margot will be able to do much more than look longingly at each other. But there will be a future-unless you get yourself killed in this bloody awful war. And it's that future that concerns me now." He frowned for a moment, then pointed a most Imperial finger at Brim's middle. "Young man,"

he said, "as your Emperor, I make only one demand concerning this matter: that you are...

careful in your relationship with my niece-very careful. Her marriage is of profound importance-to the Empire, at least. And, as I believe she has already conveyed to you, it is therefore considerably more significant than either of you as individuals." A large warship thundering out of the distant base at Lake Mersin rattled the windows and momentarily claimed the Emperor's gaze before he turned his attention again to Brim. "Quite sorry to be so indelicate," he continued, "but I am really not terribly particular about with whom she sleeps, just so long as she is reasonably discreet about her affairs-and, of course, the first child doesn't look like Wilf Brim. After that, if any of them grows up with extremely black hair, a dimpled chin, and fancies of driving those bloody star buses you love, that's precious little of my business." With that, he extended his hand. "Once again, Lieutenant," he said, "my personal thanks for your extraordinary bravery and commitment to my Empire-jolly decent in the light of your Carescrian background...."

Brim felt his eyebrows rise as he shook the Emperor's hand again. He never expected anything like that.

"I don't rule well in Carescria," the Emperor continued, looking him directly in the eye, "as I am sure you know all too well. Perhaps we shall discuss that another day. Meanwhile, keep up your efforts against the League. I doubt if Nergol Triannic would do much more to improve things-and at least I am now painfully aware of my omissions in that part of my dominion."

Then he was gone....

Brim stood for long moments in shock, staring at the empty doorway-which momentarily filled with the ever-present Lorgan.

"Doctor Borodov is at the spinward portico. Lieutenant," he said. "I trust you had a favorable audience with His Nibs." Just as if it were an everyday occurrence....

Brim had rarely seen Margot in the presence of LaKarn-and never since their wedding.

He was stunned at the difference it made. Their eyes met for the first time in the reception line at the Embassy of the Torond; she was perhaps five persons away. In her peach-colored gown and long white gloves, she was more beautiful than ever. She recognized him, clearly-but with what a difference. Here-tonight-they were no longer lovers, only good friends, almost as if she had somehow donned a mask that only he could see.

Totally absorbed in a discord of conflicting emotions, Brim followed Borodov blindly toward the noisy ballroom through clouds of perfume and scented smoke until a detached voice from somewhere announced, "Wilf Ansor Brim, Lieutenant, Imperial Fleet," and abruptly he was shaking hands with Rogan LaKarn himself.

"Ah, hello Brim," the man said with a-forced?-nonchalance. He was tall and handsome, dressed in the luxurious black military uniform of a Colonel in the elite Hoffretz' Guards. His severe features were custom-made for the wisps of moustache that decorated a slightly curling upper lip, and his cold blue eyes fairly radiated power and affluence. Brim had to admit, he was quite a package. "So happy you could be with us tonight," he was saying.

"Old Borodov tells me you've just come from the Palace. Congratulations, for the Emperor's Cross, old man. Quite an honor, and all that."

"Thank you, Baron," Brim mumbled, finding himself at a complete loss for words. "I do feel honored indeed."

"Yes, I can imagine," LaKarn asserted, turning to Margot. "M'dear, I'm certain you will be..

. pleased to welcome this highly decorated Carescrian into our home. I believe you two were close friends at one time."

"Wilf," she said, giving him a quick little hug, "I'm so proud of you!" For one heart-wrenching moment, her small breasts were pressing his chest, her special perfume strong in his nostrils.

"You are beautiful," he whispered in a torment of emotion.

Then her lips brushed his-dry and closed, almost impersonally.

Every atom of his being ached desperately to take her in his arms and... except he couldn't do that. Her husband was standing right there beside her.... The whole thing was like some crazy, troubled dream. Universe knew he was desperately thankful just to see her face again-but it wasn't enough. He loved her. And he couldn't do a xaxtdamned thing but look!...

Then suddenly, she was introducing him to a fat little gnome of a man with beady eyes, huge turned-up moustaches, a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, and a great wart on the side of his nose. Brim completely missed the name-which seemed to be all right anyway because the grinning dwarf spoke with such a heavy accent that there was no communication possible in the first place.

After an eternity of confusion, he completed the reception line. Then Borodov was beside him in the crowded, noisy ballroom, placing a generous goblet of meem into his hand.

"Maybe this will help a lyittle, my friend," he said.

It did.

Throughout the evening, Brim and Margot found precious little time to themselves, and on those few hurried occasions when they did, they had no privacy. But their eyes met often, and they spoke volumes, at least. In the end, however, there was really no effective means to communicate. Brim was completely helpless to speak the words he so urgently wanted to convey. In desperation, he once even asked her to dance, but he was so grievously inept that he soon found himself driven from the floor, stammering apologies, his face burning from embarrassment in spite of her protests.

After that, he would gladly have bolted, were he able. Unfortunately, as Borodov explained with a great deal of understanding, such an exit was largely impossible-at least not before the guest of honor departed. Subsequently, every passing moment tore a little more from his flagging composure.

Late in the evening, as he politely attempted to follow a profoundly scientific conversation among Borodov and a small circle of clearly high-level researchers, Brim felt a hand on his shoulder. Swiveling, he encountered the square-jawed, athletic countenance of Crown Prince Onrad, Greyffin's only son and Margot's second cousin. "Your Highness," he said, turning carefully-he'd sipped considerable meem by this time and he knew it-"I had no idea you would be here. It's good to see you."

Onrad gripped his elbow and led him away from the Borodov gathering. "Brim," he said, with a sympathetic smile, "for a man who has just received the Emperor's Cross, you look almost happy enough to be a professional pallbearer." He shook his head slowly. "But then, so does my blond cousin. I warned you both back on Gimmas Haefdon that you'd pay a high price for your love."

Brim looked Onrad directly in the eye and returned the man's smile. "Your Highness," he said, very slowly so as to avoid slurring his speech, "once again, I have no idea what you are talking about...." He steadied himself while the room tilted slightly. "Princess Effer'wyck-LaKarn and I share only casual friendship." Then he raised a tutorial index finger.

"But," he continued with great concentration, "it seems to me that the affection of a woman like your most alluring blond cousin would be worth any price-whatsoever."

Onrad shook his head slowly as he continued to grip Brim's elbow. "She must really be something else," he muttered. "I greatly admire you, Brim," he said with look of esteem.

Then his eyes glimmered with sudden whimsy. "Consider it's only because of the medal," he said.

Brim bowed slightly. "I humbly thank you. Your Highness," he said.

Onrad bowed in return. "Keep up the bloody good work you do in the war," he said. Then he pressed Brim's elbow and vanished into the crowd.

During the remainder of the evening, Brim and Margot managed to touch hands only twice before-at long last-the guest of honor departed. Shortly afterward, a svelte garnering of Torond nobility occupied LaKarn at the exit, and suddenly Margot appeared beside him, took his arm, and-as if he were leading-directed his steps to a tiny, curtained alcove.

Moments later, she was at last in his arms, her kisses warm and moist-and her lips excitingly parted. "Sweet Universe, Wilf," she sighed, "it's been a lot rougher tonight than I thought it was going to be."

Brim nodded in silence, then pressed her torso closer to his, totally consumed by a thousand delightful sensations her body sent pulsing through his. "A lot rougher," he mumbled.

"But at least we got to speak and see-and this," she said, her breath suddenly short and labored, "even these few stolen moments together is better than none at all."

"Yes-Universe yes..." Brim agreed just before she smothered his lips in kisses. His heart thundering in his ears, he was just beginning to lose himself when a female whisper on the far side of the curtain warned, "Your Highness, he's asking for you!"

Margot suddenly froze, gasping as if she had ran five miles. She forced her eyes closed for a moment, then took a deep breath and pushed herself from his embrace. "Until the next time, my love," she said, placing a lace handkerchief in his hand and frowning. "Take care of your face-I am all over you." With that she dodged through the curtain, and Brim found himself alone in the alcove with only the ghost of her perfume-and a terrible feeling of emptiness. Shaking his head, he carefully swabbed his face to remove her makeup, pocketed the handkerchief, and returned to the ballroom floor. Moments later, Margot emerged from a nearby anteroom as fresh-looking as if she had just arrived at the ball. Their eyes met one last time-she made a sad little wink-then she joined LaKarn with a dashing group of black-uniformed officers off at the far end of the ballroom. It was finally time to leave.

Collecting Borodov from still another crowd of admiring intellectuals, Brim retrieved his cape and followed the old Bear to their limousine. Ahead lay continued revelry, and eventually a Bear-sized bed, at the formidable Sodeskayan Embassy across town where he spent the remainder of the night.

Next morning, beneath the towering Colonnade of Winter, Brim bid affectionate farewell to Borodov and a number of other Sodeskayan hosts. By this time, he was furtively curious about Sodeskayan sleeping habits-or, more properly, the lack of such habits. Every Bear he'd ever encountered appeared to be either working strenuously or playing strenuously-day and night-with nothing in between.

Along Vereker Boulevard, he found himself contentedly dozing on and off as two burly Sodeskayan Guardsmen smoothly piloted their massive Rill-15 limousine through the heavy traffic as if it were a child's toy. All in all, he considered sleepily, it had been as good a trip as possible. Certainly his personal audience with Greyffin IV turned out to be an exciting occurrence in his life-and the Emperor's Cross was nothing to sneeze at, either. He buried his nose in Margot's perfumed handkerchief. He'd been assured that she still loved him, too, though he'd since begun to have distressing anxieties about their whole relationship-and what he suspected it cost Margot to sustain it.

As the big skimmer drew smoothly to a halt beside his waiting packet, Brim noticed another limousine already parked in the gravity-pool lot. He shrugged-no telling whom one might encounter on these special Imperial flights. He thanked the grinning Sodeskayans as they opened the heavy door for him and handed him his softpack. Then, as they deftly swiveled the big skimmer around in its own length, he was stopped on his way to the brow by a now-familiar voice from the other vehicle's window.

"Brim: suffer my presence for a few moments more this morning-I shan't keep you long." It was Rogan LaKarn.

Frowning, Brim set his softpack on the brow platform and strode warily toward the limousine, every sense alert for the slightest ambiguous movement. At the other end of the brick expanse, LaKarn opened his own door and set out in an opposite direction. They met in the middle; neither extended a hand.

"Hear me out," LaKarn entreated with a serious look. "This won't take long because-frankly-I don't like your company any more than you like mine."

"It's your party," Brim replied evenly. "What is it you want to say?"

"Simply this," LaKarn said alter a moment of uncomfortable silence. "I cannot permit you to leave here with the mistaken impression that I am insensitive to the pain I caused you last evening. On the contrary, I understand, and even countenance, your hostility toward me, Carescrian. Were our situations reversed, I should probably feel the same enmity toward you." He grimaced in the cool shadows of the early-spring morning, then touched Brim's arm and looked him directly in the eye. "I can give you no hope in your quest for my wife," he continued, "but at least credit me with knowing full well the grounds on which she agreed to our marriage-as well as why you will not relinquish her love."

"1 have no idea what you are talking about, Baron," Brim said with an expressionless face-inside, however, he was churning like a gravity storm.

LaKarn smiled wryly and continued as if Brim had never opened his mouth. "It is also a fact that I cannot blame you in the slightest for how you feel-she is a splendid woman, by the Universe. There are times when I think I could even love her myself, were you out of the picture...." He shut his eyes for a moment, then shrugged with his hands turned up at his sides. "That's it, Lieutenant Wilf Ansor Brim-and lover to my wife. It's off my conscience now." He turned to leave, then stopped for a moment to point a finger in the center of Brim's chest. "You may not always think so in the years ahead, but you are a fortunate man indeed."

"And you, Baron," Brim answered quietly, "are a gallant man." No other words seemed appropriate.

Long after LaKarn's limousine departed, Brim stood at the boarding hatch staring sightlessly along the empty road, moved to the very core of his existence. Shortly after takeoff, he withdrew to his cabin and seldom emerged until the rendezvous with Defiant two days later. During that period of nearly total isolation, his rival's hopeless words echoed constantly in his mind: "...I think I could actually love her myself, were you out of the picture...."

Brim's guilt festered rapidly in the loneliness of his tiny cubicle-especially when he came to realize that Margot must often find herself as despondent and lonesome as he did. He remembered the frantic ending to their lovemaking in the back of the limousine-when they were forced to squander their precious moments with the fool Hagbut. And later the few stolen metacylces in her suite when they had to fight back sleep even while they tried to make love. And that was all they had to show for nearly a year of their lives-except for a few-sweet stolen kisses in an empty cloakroom. He shook his head. If it was bad for him, it had to be at least as bad for her. Was that really what he wanted to achieve for this magnificent woman who loved him: a life of embarrassment and frustration? Suddenly he held his ears and shook his head violently. What in the bloody Universe was he trying to do?

Long before the great turning wheels of Defiant's convoy filled the little packet's Hyperscreens, Brim had resolved to remove himself from the love triangle that he knew he had created....

Back aboard Defiant, Brim soon learned that more of Anak's support squadrons had sortied from various starports throughout the League, but his main fleets stubbornly remained in harbor at Tarrott. During the subsequent run to Haelic, it became amply clear that the Leaguers were busy marshaling every warship they could locate for the assault.

Over its entire route, the convoy was troubled by only three attacks, and these were mere tokens of their former ferocity.

Interestingly enough, top secret situation reports posted in the COMM room additionally revealed that no benders had yet been observed in direct attacks against Imperial Fleet units. Yet the Leaguers by now were obviously finished with the bulk of their training operations. So far, five had attacked Prize-and she had methodically destroyed each of them in turn. Change was clearly in the wind, as an earlier generation of Helmsmen once put things. Brim knew in his bones that another phase of his life was rapidly drawing to a close.

Defiant was on final into Atalanta when the crew was informed that the base had been officially placed on ALERT-1 status. After this, circumstances began to evolve with mercuric suddenness. By the time Brim taxied to a gravity pool and secured his console, the ship had been transferred from COMCONVOY to COMFLEETOPS and reassigned to the Task Group/16-Haelic that had been forming in zones H1 and K24-29 for the past two weeks. The move was not surprising. Along with Leaguer attacks, the convoys themselves were also beginning to wind down. Atalanta was now using its hard-won provisions to ready the hosts of Fleet units that had been arriving in a steady stream to swell the ranks of the defenders.

That afternoon, when Brim collected his mail, a note from Claudia explained that she had been summoned to chair a conference in the university city of Pelleas halfway around the planet and would not return for the next two days. "However," she wrote, "I shall need a lift home from the Civilian Terminal, gate 31A, Evening watch plus three. My ticket indicates coach 91. If you find yourself otherwise unoccupied, you can pick up the code key to my skimmer-parked in its usual place at Headquarters-from Rabelais Gastongay in my office.

Don't worry if you can't make it-he will. Claudia."

Brim smiled wryly. He'd make it, all right. By that time, he figured he'd need her company badly. Especially after he accomplished his personal plans for the next Dawn watch....

Early the next morning, with Defiant temporarily laid up for refitting, Brim grimly put his personal resolution into effect. In the Drive Room, he destroyed the few physical mementoes of his relationship with Margot, then carefully wrapped the ring she had given him in her stained handkerchief and mailed it by way of Borodov. Inside the package, he sealed a short note:

Dearest Margot,

Even though it grieves me more than words can express, I must cease my interference with your marriage and the happiness you might otherwise obtain were I absent from your life. I have hopes that, given proper encouragement, Rogan will one day become the loving husband you must have before your life is complete. After much reflection concerning our latest evening together, it is clear to me that my relationship with you has more potential for bringing pain than happiness. And happiness, after all, is what life is all about; I wish you a surfeit of both. Please know that I have loved you truly and well since the day we met.

Maid of Av'lon! I am gone:

Think of me, sweet! when alone.

Though I range the Galaxy,

Av'lon's where my heart shall be:

Can I cease to love thee? No!

Eternally,

Wilf

For the next two days, everyone in Defiant's crew participated in a personal inspection of the Atalanta Fleet Base by Star Admiral Sir Gregor Penda. Fundamentally, this consisted of polishing everything visible inside or outside the ship-including the ship itself-then waiting all day until the Admiral passed their gravity pool at high speed in his limousine. For Brim, it served as a welcome diversion, in a way. Sending the package to Margot was one of the most unpleasant episodes of his life-and he couldn't get her off his mind.

He joined the throng waiting at gate 31A in the Civilian Terminal at plus 2.70 of the Evening watch-a few cycles before Claudia's passenger express thundered up from one of the long-distance runnels, its bullet-shaped traction engine still glowing from the heat of its passage. Turning onto an amber track-tube siding, the serpentine chain of metal cylinders slowed, then floated smoothly to a stop alongside the platform. Brim found coach 91 third from the rear, and made his way through the noisy throng just in time to see Claudia descend the steps. Her face lit up as their eyes met; then she stepped to the platform and was swallowed up in the press of departing passengers.

Brim marveled as he pushed through the crowd. Claudia Valemont was so remarkably beautiful that each time she appeared in his life he had to reaccommodate himself to her loveliness all over again. Moments later, her quick public embrace and kiss left his lips moist with a promise of delights to come. Her sparkling brown eyes also said that she was glad to be with him for all the other considerations that encompassed a true-intimate-friendship.

As usual, they found whole Universes of provocative topics to chatter about while they toasted and dined in one of the Rocotzio Section's elegant little bistros. Then-a little tipsily-they retired to her hearth and couch to celebrate those deliciously carnal elements that perfected their relationship.

Early in the Dawn watch-long before Hador had begun to lighten the horizon-Brim found himself once again relaxed at the end of the couch, contemplating her radiance by the glow of embers in the fireplace. No royalty here: this was a beautiful, intelligent-fascinating-woman who made her honest way in the Universe by being excellent.

Her long hair had become a tangled brown halo around the soft features of her face. She was partially covered by a light quilt, but her shoulders were bare and one exquisitely dark nipple peeked out from beneath the coverlet.

An ember snapped in the fireplace, and her eyes opened. She smiled sleepily at him for a long time in the stillness of the dimly lit room; then she frowned. "Wilf Brim," she said softly,

"we aren't going about this very well, are we?"

"What do you mean?" Brim asked, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed. "What I mean is that I could think of very little else during the conference except tonight-and you. I'm afraid I could become very attached to you."

Brim rubbed her foot. "I think I'm already that way about you."

She shut her eyes for a moment. "Wilf," she said seriously, "come to your senses. I know that you are on the rebound. And frankly, if you care for this 'distant' lover of yours as much as I think you do, then it's my bet that she must once have loved you an awful lot in return-probably, she still does."

"It's all over between us," Brim said unemotionally.

She looked him in the eye. "I've been in love once or twice myself," she said with a wry smile, "and I know the truth about that. It takes a long time for love to really stop. Down deep, Wilf, I think you know it, too." Pushing aside the comforter, she sat up on the couch and crossed her legs on the cushions. "Let's suppose I did let myself go all the way in love with you," she said, "it would be very easy for me to do that right now-and then that distant lover of yours suddenly decided to leave her husband and return to your arms." She took both his hands and stared into his eyes. "You'd either leave me right then or-worse-you'd stick it out and learn to hate me." She raised an eyebrow. "Either way, I'd lose, right?"

Brim could only shrug. For all he knew, she might be correct.

"On the other hand," she continued, "what if-right out of the blue- I met somebody who simply swept me off my feet? And this great, bulking stud had the same feelings about me?"

She chuckled and shook her bead. "Wilf, dearest lover-let's the two of us enjoy what we have right now: great sex and a wonderful, wonderful friendship. It's more than most people get from the best marriages. And-what the hell-maybe someday we will get together. But for now..."

Brim smiled with relief. "For now?" he asked.

Claudia settled back against the pillows. "We've got a whole box of tissues we haven't used yet, Wilf Brim," she said, wiggling her bottom. "Let's get busy...."

Three mornings later, Brim stood on Defiant's sunlit bridge checking a number of retrofits that had been made to his Helmsman's console when Wellington came bustling up with Ursis in tow. "Wilf," she said, a great smile on her face, "that pretty friend of yours, Claudia Valemont, actually arranged a tour of the Gradygroat orbital forts! I got an invitation from Abbot Piety at the monastery just a metacycle ago. Regula Collingswood was with me when the messenger arrived-and said I should take Nik and you with me. Isn't that wonderful?"

Behind her, Ursis raised his eyes to the heavens and nodded his head in resignation.

'"All snow melts when needed,'" he quoted stoically.

"Indeed," Brim said, looking at both with a grin. "Did the Captain indicate how we are supposed to get there?" he asked.

"Of course," Wellington said. "We're to take launch number four-the little one. She says that way she'll be sure we're back quickly if we're needed."

Brim nodded. "She's certainly thought of everything," he said.

"You bet!" Wellington gushed. "Come on, Wilf," she urged, "let's get going before somebody starts a major war around here and interferes with the really important work."

Brim met Ursis's laughing eyes. "I'll need about fifteen cycles to get ready," he said, grinning now in spite of himself. "Let me throw a clean battle suit in my softpack and... ah...

call off a couple of engagements. I'll meet you on the boat deck. All right?"

"Fifteen cycles," Wellington said excitedly. "We'll be waiting, won't we, Nikolas?"

"Indeed," Ursis said impassively. "We shall definitely be waiting...."

By the following morning, they had inspected eight of the thirteen orbital forts: enormous, massively armored contraptions-perhaps three or four times the size of a battleship-that looked like an egg embedded at the large end in a thick, disk-shaped structure perhaps half again its diameter. Four angular turrets were mounted equidistantly around the disk's rim, each equipped with a pair of colossal disruptors: striated and finned monsters nearly six hundred irals long that were more man twice Defiant's entire length.

Inside the egg-shaped portion of each fort they discovered a scale model of the monastery atop City Mount Hill in Atalanta, each complete with a Power window at the apex of the ceiling and a floor with concentric Destruction and Resurrection rings surrounding a central cone of Truth. The only difference that Brim could see was that Hador itself provided the illuminating beam through the Power windows instead of the monastery's G-seed. He shook his head. The outrageous Gradygroats had even gone to all the trouble of building in automatic attitude controls so that the big forts were always aligned to that light. There had to be something in their teachings that was worth going to all that engineering. Smiling, he promised himself that if he could ever find the time, he would go back to the monastery library for serious study.

The disk structures-with their four great turrets and prodigious disruptors-were clearly the most fascinating elements to both Ursis and Wellington. After minute inspections of the firing rooms and the disruptors themselves, both had become convinced that the tremendous mechanisms were simple enough to be quite workable, and-insane as it seemed-perfectly maintained, at least according to the metal pages of huge maintenance compendiums the priests gave them to read.

The only factor that didn't make sense at all was the age-old issue of supplying adequate energy to fire such phenomenal artifacts. Toward the middle of their visit to the seventh fort, Ursis had used The Manuals to trace energy channels within one of the disruptors back from its discharge tube. Inexplicably, it seemed to end in a singularly angled breech fitting-perhaps six irals wide-that faced a darkened crystal window of the same size and angle in the floor of the turret. Both Wellington and Ursis immediately agreed that this must constitute the power input. But what kind of energy came through that window-and from what?

Unfortunately, beneath the turrets, the colossal disk structures were hollow for the most part-and virtually empty.

The vast expanse of wall directly beneath the chapel floor was nearly featureless, except where it was pierced by a large crystal lens. Whatever function the lens had once served was now apparently gone. It was covered on the chapel side by the Truth cone and, clearly, retained only a vestigial existence-like a similar device mounted at the center of the opposite wall. Aside from these artifacts, and the eight crystal windows opening into the rim turrets, there was little to see. As Brim tucked himself into the simple bunk provided by the Friars-a far cry from Claudia's couch!-he grinned. So far, the trip had been utterly fascinating-and utterly useless.

In the morning, at the ninth fort, they concentrated their efforts on the simulation rooms to see if they could pick up any clues from the theoretical operations. For two solid metacycles, the three Blue Capes watched Gradygroat gunners struggling with outlandish target environments-literally hundreds of simultaneous targets moving at wildly disparate speeds all the way from a few hundred c'lenyts per metacycle to just below LightSpeed. They got no clues to providing the disruptors with energy, but were at least rewarded with the Gradygroat's unique overall strategy. As the simulator room was subjected to "attacks," it soon became clear that none of the thirteen forts operated independently. Instead, each was a node in a closely linked network that relied on group firepower-it explained why each great space fort was actually four independently targeted sets of cannon. Taken as an entire system, they formed a nearly impervious shield around Haelic, and the one clear invasion path to Avalon.

If only the xaxtdamned Friars could fire them! But then, that was at least part of the reason why Gradgroat-Norchelites had been sniggeringly referred to as "Gradygroats" all those years. They simply couldn't....

Later, in the bustle of the last four forts-while Wellington searched for anything they might have missed-Ursis concentrated his studies in the chapels. "Would it not be bizarre," he commented to Brim, "if the answer were actually in their bewildering motto-virtually staring us in the face-and we lacked the insight to see it? 'In destruction is resurrection; the path of power leads through truth.'" He shook his great furry head in frustration. "I cannot comprehend. Voot! "Chilled claws make welcome bedfellows with roaring fireplaces,' if you get my gist, Wilf."

Brim smiled. "Absolutely, Nik," he equivocated. "I think...."

The three Blue Capes returned to Defiant late in the Afternoon watch of the same day with almost unshakable faith that the cannon could be fired, and probably had been fired at one time. But whatever mechanisms powered them during those long-gone days had been lost before time began, and it was doubtful if the huge batteries would ever again find any practical use.

That night, when Claudia picked him up after work, Brim could tell from her face that something serious had transpired while he was gone. "Want to tell me about it?" he asked while she piloted her little skimmer off into the evening.

"I guess I always have worn my emotions on my face," she sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek. Abruptly, she pulled into an empty parking place and switched off the traction.

"Hold me, Wilf," she said in a tight little voice. "Old Prize was lost yesterday, with all hands. I got word when I was leaving the office...."

Brim completed her drive home.

In the early-morning darkness, they awakened to a special alert from Claudia's office: after many speeches and much fanfare, Triannic's Battle Fleet had finally sortied from the great League base at Tarrott-almost as if he wanted to announce his intentions to the Universe. The long-awaited attack was finally underway....

Chapter 9

LEGACY

Hador was little more than a glow on the seaward horizon when Claudia brought her skimmer to a halt at Default's gravity pool. Dressed in a one-piece jumpsuit with no makeup, she had been uncharacteristically quiet while she navigated the already busy streets. Now she peered at Brim's face as if there were something important she needed to say but couldn't find the words.

"Wish me luck," Brim enjoined quietly, taking her dainty hand and returning her gaze.

"Before this one's over, I'll most likely need every scrap and shred I can get."

Claudia nodded and pursed her lips. "You know you have all my best wishes for that," she said with a frown. "But strangely enough, I don't have even the slightest doubt about your coming back-all in one piece, too." She shook her head. "What bothers me is whom you'll be coming back to...."

Brim raised his eyebrows. "I don't understand," he said.

Claudia smiled a little. "Maybe I don't either," she said. "Kiss me now, Wilf; all things will be revealed with time."

Brim kissed her easily, holding her shoulders for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and continued to peer into her face. Something was going on in that gorgeous head, and be couldn't fathom what it was.

Without warning she embraced him fiercely, crushing her lips into his for a long, impassioned moment. When she finally released him, they were both a bit breathless.

"There, Lieutenant Brim," she whispered with a half-smile. "That may just have to tide us over some critical moments in our friendship. I wanted to make sure that you understand which direction I'm coming from, if I'm correct."

Brim raised an eyebrow.

Claudia smiled. "Call it a premonition," she said. Then she peered solemnly into his eyes. "I'll be waiting at the gravity pool when Defiant returns," she said, gripping his hand until it hurt. "Make sure that I'm right: that you're on her, and all in one piece...."

"You'll not be rid of me so easily," Brim said, pressing the latch and stepping to the pavement.

"I shall count on that," Claudia said. She blew him a kiss. "Now we must both hurry." Her skimmer was moving the moment Brim closed her door, and was out of sight before he could stride halfway across the brow.

He arrived at Defiant's main entry hatch just in time to catch Collingswood's summons to an emergency briefing in the wardroom. He rushed along the corridor, taking a seat only moments before she finished a chart on the forward marker board.

Imperial

Type

League

81

DESTROYERS

119

23

LIGHT CRUISERS

37

8

HEAVY CRUISERS

4

9

BATTLE CRUISERS

12

24

BATTLESHIPS

36

4

FAST BATTLESHIPS

0

0

(est) 48

20

MISC. SUPPORT

(est) 60

169

Total Ships

316

While the last few stragglers took their seats, Collingswood finished her mug of cvcesse', traded it to Grimsby for a full one, then motioned for the doors to be closed. "Well," she started, pointing to the board, '"as if most of you haven't guessed, Kabul Anak's Attack Groups have finally embarked from Tarrott, and what you see here are his numbers relative to ours. Overall, the two lists are nearly meaningless-but certain details are worth some consideration." She pointed to the next-to-last entry. "Here's a good example: the Leaguers have forty more support ships than we have, a considerable delta for them-if statistics are your game. In reality, however, that's bad for them. Atalanta's really the only support 'ship' we need. Remember, Anak and his hoodlums are coming to us, so, all things being equal, those sixty support ships probably aren't enough-they're counting on the use of this base as much as we are." She stopped for a sip of cvcesse' and peered at her notes for a moment.

"Now, if we forget those support ships," she continued, "the odds drop to 149 for us and 256 for them-still awfully one-sided for the Leaguers since now we're counting actual warships.

But a closer look shows that eighty-six of that 107-ship delta is in destroyers and a classified type of ship called a 'bender' that many of you will see in a briefing for the first time this afternoon-once Defiant is secured. Both carry a certain sting, to be sure," she added with a smile, "but they don't in any way compare to the remaining classes-and in those; we're much closer to parity. For example," she said, pointing to "Light Cruisers," "they have only fourteen more than we do, and two of ours are Defiant-class-I.F.S. Deadly, our first sister ship, is due in momentarily." She waited while a rustle of excitement swept the room.

"Since we all know that one Defiant is worth at least ten of any other class, that lowers the odds considerably." After these words, she was able to sip her cvcesse' for a significant interval.

When the cheering and whistling at last subsided, Collingswood proceeded to describe Anak's two major fleet components; both had sortied in the first metacycles of the Night watch. "Anak means business," she warned, "make no mistake about that. His primary cluster combines an Advance Attack Group under Rear Admiral Dargal Zark with a Main Group that he personally commands. The Advance Group alone is huge: forty destroyers, seventeen light cruisers, and eight battlecruisers. Add to that the Main Group, and you're looking at a real threat: twenty-nine destroyers, ten light cruisers, and twenty-seven battleships-including the three big ones they just launched: Rengas, Parnas, and Nazir. For those of you who haven't yet noticed," she warned, "we've got a serious fight on our hands...." The mighty armada was scheduled to arrive in no more than seven days' time.

Anak's second attack component was Vice Admiral Liat-Modal's transport fleet-the Surface Occupation Group-that had spent the last twenty-eight days at a staging base on maneuvers. Although these vessels also sortied from their staging area in the early metacycles of the Night watch, they were not expected at Haelic until at least a day following Anak's initial attacks. "These transports," Collingswood continued, "are escorted by about fifty Gorn-Hoff and Castoldi destroyers, ten light Gantheisser cruisers, four ancient 200/300-class heavy cruisers, the five small battlecruisers of Anak's Third Scouting Group, and their Fourth Battle Squadron-nine old battleships in the Lempat and Parang classes.

Not exactly the stiffest competition, but the transports are well protected nonetheless-and the way Nergol Triannic sees things, Liat-Modal won't need much protection by the time his ships come into play."

Facing this, Admiral Penda had organized his Atalantan defense force into three defensive squadrons. The first, Task Group 16 (TG 16)-under overall command of His Royal Highness, Prince Onrad-would depart almost immediately to travel at the best speed possible in an attempt to drive around Anak's flank and attack from the rear. This force had been selected from the swiftest ships available: thirty-six T-and K-class destroyers, a group of light cruisers including Defiant and Deadly, six of the newest and speediest battlecruisers under the flag of Rear Admiral (the Hon.) Zorn Hober, Vice Admiral Erat Plutron's four fast battleships, and the heavy disruptors of eight battleships commanded by Rear Admiral Le'o Argante. TG 16 was also ordered to intercept and engage Liat-Modal's transports on the way-if they could be located.

The second defensive squadron, Task Group 17, was Atlanta's main line of defense. It was scheduled to depart a day or so after Onrad to confront Anak's battle fleet head-on.

This powerful armada comprised fifty-four destroyers, eighteen light cruisers, and fifteen of the Empire's newest battleships. Unfortunately, six of the latter were even now undergoing urgent repairs from recent-and severe-battle damage.

A third defensive force, Task Group 18 under the pennant of Vice Admiral Congor Folkrum, comprised Penda's last line of defense-his reserves, such as they were. The small armada combined eighteen powerful P-class destroyers with eight heavy cruisers and four old battleships-grizzled veterans of more than thirty years' duty each. These outmatched ships were to sortie as a last-ditch defense line-but everyone understood that unless Anak's forces had been significantly weakened by that time, the Task Group could have only limited effect before it was destroyed.

The briefing continued for nearly a metacycle more, providing details the crew would need for their departure during the second Night-watch metacycle. Collingswood saved one final announcement for the end. She had been named commander of Task Group 16's light cruisers, and Defiant would carry the designation COM/LC-16 under command of acting Captain Baxter Oglethorp Calhoun.

Brim grinned to himself as he made his way through the excited throng toward the bridge.

No doubt about it, Carescrians were on their way up in the Fleet-at least one tiny segment of it, anyway....

During the last few moments of Dusk watch, Brim relaxed at his glowing console while noises of imminent departure swept the bridge. Somewhere behind him, a Reynolds wave-tuner muttered in its casing as it cycled frequencies. He could feel the steering gear running through its spherical pattern, and deep in the bowels of the ship a gentle pulsing indicated that Ursis had the gravity generators idling in preparation for takeoff.

Outside, rain spit occasionally from a low ceiling, but underneath the air was clear.

Below Defiant's bridge, mooring squads moved along the wet hullmetal securing dockside gear, pulling covers from the optical mooring system, and dogging down inspection hatches.

On an adjoining gravity pool to port, I.F.S. Deadly moved restlessly to the shifting winds, her bridge Hyperscreens aglow like scowling, hooded eyes. Brim smiled in spite of the grim circumstances-the new cruiser certainly looked as if she were aptly named, at any rate. Far out to sea, the green light from a navigational buoy blinked in the darkness as it rode to the swells, and the old Gradygroat hymn abruptly surfaced from some recess of his mind: Oh Universal Force of Trath,

That guards the homeland of our youth,

That bidd'st the mighty cosmos keep

Thine own appointed limits deep:

Oh hear us when we ask your grace

For those at peril far in space....

Somehow, the venerable anthem seemed terribly appropriate. He wondered what the Gradygroat gunners might be thinking in their useless space forts. They'd certainly know that something was up on the surface. They could probably see it...

At approximately Twilight watch plus three cycles, Onrad's task Force 16 began to loose for space. By Night:0:50 all canals were cleared of traffic, and the high-speed Drive tender I.FS. Nimrod got underway, standing out toward takeoff vector 91E in the harbor. Less than fifty cycles later, the last of the support ships-I.F.S. Gregory Steele- cast off from its gravity pool and nosed up the grand canal with a load of spare gravity generators. Next, while larger warships continued to test their navigational gear and generators, destroyer flotillas began to move along the canals toward the harbor, then thunder up from the bay every few moments in groups of four. The cruisers were scheduled to follow close on their tracks. As Brim made his last checks of Defiant's steering systems, a communications yeoman appeared beside his recliner. "Message for you," she said quietly.