The Defenders

CHAPTER 9

Hope

Brim never did remember how he managed to find his way once he reached FleetPort 30. But early in the Dawn Watch, he was jarringly awakened in his own bunk by wailing sirens and groggily donned his battlesuit while he ran for the boarding tube. By working the clock around, 610's mechanics and engineers had kept their promise to muster eight more-or-less flyable Starfuries, including one for him—battered old R6495, He arrived at the ship just after Barbousse. The remainder of the tired starsailors dragged themselves aboard within the next few moments, and they had the ship well away from the satellite before the day's First raids began. Brim was still gulping down his first searing cup of cvceese' while he maneuvered into position for his day's first intercept.

They met their first Leaguers some eighteen thousand c'lenyts away from the Triad—thirty yellow-nosed Gorn-Hoff 262-Es running well below LightSpeed at about the same altitude. As the Leaguers curved around to meet them, Brim ordered his ships into line astern, then turned for an intercept. He dropped the nose of his Starfury and could almost feel the first Leaguer Helmsman pushing forward on his own controls to bring more disrupters to bear. In the next moment, he hauled back hard and led his seven battered veterans over the Leaguers in a steep, climbing turn to the left. Goreman loosed a salvo at the leading Gorn-Hoff, which immediately did a half roll—directly into the kill zone of Makira Cristobol's D7192, flying just off Brim's port side. Her gunners must have fired at full deflection, but they did it well. In the corner of his eye, Brim saw the big Gorn-Hoff give off a crimson jet of radiation fire, then it flicked out of sight.

After only a few cycles of furious action, the Leaguers turned and made off at a dead run toward Effer'wyck. Shortly afterward, however, reports began to flood in that FleetPort 30 was under attack again. By that time, Brim and his squadrons were too far away to assist in the satellite's defense, so all he could do was to listen helplessly as the damage reports came in.

When he finally led his ragged little squadron home, he could see the damage a long way off.

Temporary blue pressure patches glared everywhere among the large areas of gray residue from radiation fires. The Boreal antenna field was now reduced to blackened stumps mounted on skeletal remains of what used to be the new communications room. Fully a third of the docking tube had been destroyed. The great satellite had acquired a tattered look, and it was immediately clear to see that only a single squadron could continue operations from its reduced facilities.

Brim made the decision to stay on with Moulding, and directed Aram to take his Defiants on spinward where he could double up at nearby FleetPort 41. Then he ordered every remaining man and woman to the job of repairing the base, and before the end of Twilight Watch, there was not a single opening to be seen in the structurally sound parts of die satellite. Pressurization tests were under way by early morning while several unexploded torpedoes were marked off, and the patched boarding corridors were given a coat of bright yellow paint. Thus it was that by evening there was little to show for the Leaguers' accurate shooting. The rapid mending represented even more proof that the Leaguers were heading toward ultimate failure in their efforts to wipe out the FleetPort orbital bases. If, the dog-tired Imperial defenders could hold out long enough for that failure to occur.

Next day, however, the TSIB contained a chilling report: for the first time in nearly three weeks, Defense Command had lost more ships than the Leaguers—fourteen to fifteen. Moreover, the number of operational Imperial starships had also declined: from 701 to 690 in a single day. Five crews had been lost completely and another eleven nearly decimated. Even more alarmingly, signs of the terrific strain on the crews were beginning to show up in accidents and deaths from faulty judgment brought about by total exhaustion. That afternoon, flying one of the base hacks, even Brim had a serious near miss when he almost collided with a freighter during a takeoff run from Lake Mersin. Clearly, both men and machines were rapidly approaching their physical limits.

But in the very face of looming disaster, Brim's overall assessment of the war remained optimistic—especially concerning Leaguer starship crews. They were now exhibiting a much greater tendency to turn tail when attacked, in great contrast to their earlier performances, when they pressed the war with utmost determination. Clearly, morale was beginning to sag in Effer'wyck. He thought about what he'd heard concerning Kirsh Valentin, his old adversary—and arguably one of finest warriors in the enemy camp. If someone of his caliber was disillusioned about the war, what could the situation be among lesser individuals?

During the Evening Watch, Onrad stormed through on one of his whirlwind inspection and confidence-building tours. Before he piped off, he took Brim aside in his office where he told of a worrisome report from Calhoun warning that the Imperial Fleet might run out of crews if the League continued its attacks. "What's your take?" he asked, perching on the comer of Brim's desk and frowning.

"I want to check this information with somebody who's actively involved in the fighting."

Brim frowned. "Well, Your Majesty," he mused, looking bleakly at his boots, "Voot knows we have no complaints about the replacement situation. We get new ships and crews as fast as we lose them, But if something doesn't give pretty soon, you could run out of veterans. It's brutal out there."

Onrad pursed his lips and nodded. "I can see that, Brim," he replied. "In the years I've known you, I have never seen you look so utterly tired—not even back at old Gimmas Haefdon during the last war." He stared off into another time and place, clearly finding it difficult to choose the right words.

"People in the streets below see you Blue Capes through a thick pane of romance." he said with a grimace. "But by the very Universe, it must be hideous fighting for your very life every cycle of every day."

"I plan to survive," Brim said, mustering up the most confident look he could manage.

"You'd better, Brim," the Emperor replied. "I'm personally counting on your survival—along with many of your colleagues." He paced the floor for a moment. "In spite of Calhoun's worries—which I appreciate," he added forcefully, "we have every right to be damned well satisfied with our present results. I'm tempted to ask the old rascal why the enemy should continue attacks on this heavy scale if it doesn't represent something like his maximum effort—while our Fleet gets stronger with every passing day." He pointed a stubby finger at Brim. "And don't forget, my Carescrian friend, this little talk isn't intended as morale-boosting propaganda. I'm saying these words in the seclusion of your office—not on some public broadcast. I really believe them..."

Later, however, soon after Onrad departed for FleetPort 11, Brim found time to read a special intelligence bulletin warning that the Sodeskayans now predicted still another change in League tactics.

And the latest reconnaissance starships were reporting that even more League attack ships had arrived at forward bases in Effer'wyck. With all that good news, he found it quite difficult to take much comfort in the Emperor's optimistic words—especially since nothing had arrived from Ursis concerning the captured crystals. If Defense Command didn't stop the Leaguers' attacks soon, there wouldn't be much Empire left to defend.

All through the next Dawn and Morning Watches, Leaguer media broadcasts showed fat Admiral Hoth Orgoth grandly touring the occupied City of Courts in Effer'wyck during a top-level conference with his Wing Commanders. Brim watched from what remained of the FleetPort 30 wardroom. Newscasters could only speculate about precisely what was being discussed at the highly publicized conference, but Brim was somehow certain it had to do with the change in strategy the Sodeskayans were predicting.

Throughout the three days that followed, League raiders continued their savage attacks on Imperial Fleet Starbases, and late on 5 Nonad, Triannic himself made an unusual speech from the great stadium that had been built for the Mitchell Trophy races a few years back. Brim expected it would be another round of chest thumping, but no sooner had the tyrant mounted the podium (before at least half a million cheering Leaguers) than he loudly began to inveigh against the Imperial counterraids that Onrad had personally ordered on the Leaguer capital. They were occurring with ever-increasing frequency and must have resulted in serious pressure on his minion, Hoth Orgoth, who had bragged publicly—on a number of occasions—that enemy starships would never fly above the city.

The seventh of Nonad began with nearly 170 Leaguer starships aiming for FleetPort 30 and bases nearby, but Starfuries and Defiants put up such a fight that little damage was done at all.

Mysteriously, the Leaguers appeared unwilling to press their attacks with anything that approached their former determination. It seemed strange to Brim that such consummate warriors would slack off before they accomplished any of their stated objectives—especially that of crippling FleetPort satellites. More logically, he surmised, they were probably flying cover while they practiced other, more depredating activities to come, although he was hard-pressed to fathom what they might be.

That night—Avalon's night—the city was deliberately fired on (among a number of other targets throughout the Triad). Sixty-eight heavy attack ships with a huge escort raided the great space harbor, inflicting major destruction over a wide area. Afterward, as Brim exhaustedly warped his Starfury into a repair dock—he had taken five hits during a furious dogfight with five Gorn-Hoff 262s—he could see huge fires blazing on the dark surface below, but compared to previous raids, the attack had been almost inconsequential, and once more carried out in a lackluster fashion. When the last Leaguers had faded from the BKAEW displays, he climbed into his bunk with strange premonitions, unable to shake his morning conviction that these strange raids were not at all the best efforts of a superb war machine like Triannic's. For his money, the Leaguers were merely keeping up the pretense of war while they prepared something they felt would be a lot more virulent.

According to the next morning's TSIB, fighting the previous day cost twenty-three Imperial starships, but at the same time the Leaguers lost thirty-five. And Defense Command now had a total of 694 operational starships, 2 more than they started with the previous day. As Onrad perceived early on, the Imperials were operating in superb fashion, in spite of their chronic stress and fatigue.

However—at least for Brim—the good news was completely overshadowed by communiqués reporting the fall of Ordu. He ground his teeth as he imagined arrogant troopers from The Torond parading along the ancient streets. And after the parades... He shuddered to think about that and thanked the very universe that Raddisma and his child were safe in Atalanta—or at least as safe as they might be anywhere during the kind of war the Leaguers were spreading throughout the galaxy....

During the next few metacycles, Leaguer activity near Avalon dwindled and soon ceased completely. After the BKAEW had been completely clear for more than two metacycles, all Imperial killer ships were ordered back to their FleetPorts. Again, Brim found himself in a quandary as to the Leaguers' intentions. It didn't take a Drive scientist to figure out that if they kept blasting at the FleetPorts long enough, they'd eventually put Defense Command out of business—for no other reason than there would be no more bases from which to operate. And with the fall of Fluvanna's capital, whole fleets of Leaguer ships could soon be added to the effort; even their slowest attack cruisers required no more than eight or nine days for the trip from Ordu.

Across the 'Wyckean Void in Effer'wyck, however, it turned out that nothing had stopped at all—except the actual raids. Imperial reconnaissance ships were soon reporting that Occupied Effer'wyck had become a literal beehive of activity—more than 600 attack ships and nearly 650 escort killer ships were being prepared at a furious pace all over the prostrate dominion.

In the midday TSIB, Sodeskayan Intelligence Command was quoted as having intercepted numerous Leaguer operational orders issued to Effer'wyckean squadrons. Many of these began, "In the evening of the twelfth day of Nonad, the League Space Arm will conduct a major strike against target Loge." The Bears were not certain what "Loge" stood for, but their guess was Avalon.

The Imperials agreed. So did Brim. That was what Orgoth was practicing for....

During the late afternoon that day, Nergol Triannic and Rogan LaKarn tied up all KA'PPA channels for half a metacycle to announce their "joint" victory in Fluvanna. But more importantly, at the same time as the broadcasts—by design or by chance, Brim wondered—initial waves of some 150 Leaguer ships arrived over Avalon City, catching many of the defending squadrons unprepared. Soon afterward, another 150 starships arrived on their heels, circling slowly—almost majestically— 'round and 'round the great metropolis in perfect formation. Then, in a series of devastating waves, they attacked.

On the surface, tremendous explosions erupted everywhere while more League formations approached. They came arrogantly in parallel lines, about two or three c'lenyts apart, with Trodler and Kreissel battleships escorted by GH 270As flying close behind them. Thundering above the city center, they banked, then flew back over the space harbor on Lake Mersin. Moments later, murderous disruptor fire landed on the vast gravity pool areas and among crowded houses in the streets beyond. And unlike their rather deceitful performance in many of the more recent raids, the Leaguers were now pressing for their targets with their old determination. Moreover, the prodigious marksmanship the crystals afforded them was having a devastating effect below. As he chased one Trodler TR 215 nearly all the way to the surface, Brim could see that whole suburbs appeared to be burning. By early evening, a vast white cloud of smoke—easily visible from orbit—covered the sprawling space-dock area, tinged black at the edge with flames licking at its base. While the planet's light/dark terminator slowly worked its way to spin ward, the smoke turned into a heavy overcast, lighted from below by the raging fires.

Just after darkness at half a million irals altitude, Brim was climbing back from a low-level dogfight (during which both he and Goreman had lost a GH 262 against the ground clutter) when he found a squadron of Defiants flying in sections of stepped-up threes, but with no rear guard. He joined in—and moments later learned the truth of the old warning "beware of a fight 'gainst the light." He was making sweeps from side to side and peering earnestly into the rearview display when from out of the blinding Triad—and dead astern—disrupter flashes began sparkling along his port pontoon.

While shouts of pain and surprise filled the voice circuits, he ground his teeth and curved sharply onto a spin, simultaneously ordering Norgate, the COMM operator, to KA'PPA warning to the Defiants.

Having apparently lost his assailant, he called for a damage estimate and started to climb again. But even before Chief Kondrashen could call back with an evaluation, flames began to pour from the pontoon, and soon the control-bridge environmental system began to disgorge whiffets of rank-smelling smoke, as if entire logic systems had melted.

Ordering the lifeglobes activated, he warned the crew they might need to abandon ship, then started for FleetPort 48 where there was an extensive repair facility. Soon, however, he realized he wasn't going to make that either—he had the gravs running at full boost and was still losing altitude steadily. By the same token, whenever he attempted even a slight turn, something in the hull set up a frightening vibration that made a mockery of his navigation systems. The only choices remaining to him were to order the crew out in lifeglobes—a risky thing at low altitudes—or put the ship down on Lake Mersin, which he could just make out ahead, reflecting the light of the burning city. The radio was no longer any help. Like his KA'PPA, it was now useless, having degraded to a cacophony of cracking and whistlings. He bit his lip while he gathered himself for the miracle he would have to accomplish were he to set the ship down without losing more lives man he already had.

When he reduced power to the gravs, the vibration gradually diminished. He'd clearly caught additional bursts near the steering engine, although the damage-control teams had yet to report it.

Outside, one of Avalon's four satellites had risen and seemed to be rolling over a suburban landscape submerged in clouds of smoke. Somehow, his mind turned to Eve Cartier—if she were even alive after the day's battles. How wonderful it would be to be comforted by that beautiful, gentle woman with whom he shared so much. He had a crazy, desperate urge to put his cheek to her nurturing breasts...

Dragging himself back to reality, he set course for the conflagrations along the Mersin waterfront, following the banks of the Grand Achtite Canal. For long moments, he concentrated on his readouts; they seemed to have gone haywire. His faithful allies—radio altimeter, attitude indicator, pressure, and temperature all mocked him with zero readings.

"Attention all hands! Attention all hands," he warned over the blower—almost as if someone else were saying the words. "All hands prepare for crash landfall. Secure airtight doors and set battlesuits for minimum freedom. Repeat. Secure airtight doors and set battlesuits for minimum freedom."

The Grand Achtite Canal blazed with lurid reflections of the fires ahead as Larkin, the COMM officer, tried six different radio frequencies. He called the Mersin Fleet Base and even FleetPort 30—with no answer. Everything appeared to be burned out; no radio, no identification, no recognition lights. In moments, the city's anti-starship disrupters would open up on him—they'd be tracking him now, waiting for the last possible moment before firing. Anything as low as he was might as well be a friendly in trouble. If they only knew!

Then, with a great thumping, the gravs seemed to lose most of their remaining power—clearly a second massive control center failure. Now he wasn't going to make it to Lake Mersin by any stretch of the imagination. He would have to ditch in the canal!

Abruptly, the sky around him came alive with light as what must have been every disrupter in the area opened up at him. Universe! Couldn't the deaf bastards below recognize the sound of Admiralty gravs? He turned on his landing lights—miraculously, those worked—then wobbled over what appeared to be a military installation of some kind, waggling the Starfury's pontoons to show he was in difficulties and...

At last! The firing stopped and moments later a thousand canal-side street lamps blazed into glorious brilliance. No more than a c'lenyt ahead was one of the canal's turning basins—almost as good as a vector on Lake Mersin.

Mechanically he started his approach—a quick one with forty-five degrees of lift modification.

The Starfury responded sluggishly. He concentrated his whole being on bringing the mangled ship—and what remained of her plucky crew—to a safe landfall. Ordering all nonessential systems shut down immediately, he leveled off between the two rows of street lamps whizzing past the side Hyperscreens.

At all costs, he had to remain calm—no matter how much adrenaline his tired body had pumped into his bloodstream. A lump in his throat threatened to stifle him... careful... mustn't let her slip off the gravity foot now! Ahead, the street lamps suddenly widened into the turning basin. Gingerly, he tried to set her down in the first few irals past the mouth. A tiny tow barge flashed under the starship's belly, and for one wild moment, Brim could see through the eyes of its crew as his huge starship thundered out of nowhere only irals above their mastheads.

"All hands," he warned over the blower—as if they didn't know what was coming. "All hands set battlesuits for minimum freedom and prepare for immediate crash landfall..."

Now or never! He rammed down the nose to lift the tail and with the steering engine deliberately stuck the ruined starboard pontoon in to take up some of the shock. Perhaps that would prevent him from turning over.

On impact, Brim's veteran Starfury smashed down with all its twenty-seven thousand milstons displacement. At first, there was a terrific shock. The huge machine bounced up, hurtling him painfully against his restraints and the side of his recliner. A great expanse of hullmetal tore off the bow and passed within daggers of the top Hyperscreens. The pontoon separated with a deafening, shrieking pandemonium. Instinctively, he crossed his arms in front of his faceplate. A second terrific scraping screech and the whole Universe outside disappeared behind towering walls of water. Then came a jolt of such violence that he broke through his restraints, thumbing his own battlesuit to minimum freedom even as he smashed headlong into the instrument panel. The Universe dissolved into a sheet of red pockmarked with glittering points of light.

Then silence. Sudden—stunning—silence that lasted as long as the initial shock. After that, the voice circuits again filled with cries of pain and terror. Through the cracked Hyperscreens, Brim could see that the Starfury had come to rest nose down and canted steeply to port. He pushed his way out of his recliner and carefully stood with one foot on the arm and the other on the deck, peering around in the dim light of the ship's emergency lighting system. Many of the bridge crew were already making their way aft toward the companionway hatch, but a number of still forms remained slumped at their consoles.

Opening his visor for a moment, he could smell the ship burning somewhere, and a bright flickering light was already reflecting from the water—only a few irals below the port Hyperscreens. Not that there was much to burn on a Starfury, but as the collapsium-96 hullmetal "uncollapsed" in the presence of oxygen, the terrific heat generated tended to set everything around it ablaze, too. He shut his visor and began to follow the others aft toward the companionway over and around the consoles that only a few metacycles ago seemed to have been so cleverly placed. He stopped at a number of "occupied" consoles, but managed to rouse only one other soul, whom he pushed groggily before him.

Abruptly, the companionway hatch burst open, and at least ten figures in battlesuits burst into the ruined bridge in front of a white-hot brightness. Trapped by the fire! In the lurid flickering, he could see that the last one through the hatch was Barbousse—who immediately slammed it shut and dogged it tight.

"Cap'm Brim," he shouted—silencing the clamor that now filled the voice circuits, "is that you?"

"It is, Chief," Brim growled from his headset. "Looks like the companionway isn't an option anymore."

"Right you are, sir," Barbousse replied. "An' this bridge won't be in a couple o' cycles, either. Fire's really spreadin' back there—fast."

Brim turned, started retracing his path to the forward end of the bridge. "Gotta take out a Hyperscreen panel," he said, looking around for something—anything—to use as a truncheon. A globular display had come loose on impact and lay smashed against the forward bulkhead near his feet. Grasping its heavy metal base, he climbed back into his dizzily canted seat and began to smash against the quarter panel. Its thick crystal was cracked in a number of places, but it stubbornly resisted his blows. Again he hit it. And again. Abruptly, a lurid brilliance filled the bridge—the radiation fire had claimed the aft bulkhead. Desperately, he smashed at the Hyperscreen again. There were only a few moments until they all fried in their battlesuits.

"Cap'm," Barbousse said. "Can I try?"

Shaking from his efforts, Brim climbed out of the seat. "Give it a go, Chief," he panted.

"Aye, sir," Barbousse said. Raising the blast pike he'd been carrying, he effortlessly blasted the crystal from its frame in a midst of glittering shards. Then with the butt of the powerful weapon, he carefully smoothed off the jagged edges that remained in the frame. "A little noisy," he observed, ushering the survivors out and into the water, "but there's nothin' better than a blast pike for openin'

Hyperscreens."

Brim had to chuckle in spite of himself. "You make quite a point there," he said, waiting until the big rating had exited before he took one last look around the bridge—the radiation fire was now only a few irals away. He scrambled out onto the deck and jumped into the flame-lit water. As his battlesuit bobbed him to the surface, he took one last look at the Starfury, towering over him—a smoking, crumpling skeleton that blazed gruesomely from stem to stern. Then he swam as quickly as possible to the slimy stone breakwater of the turning basin where eager hands reached out and dragged him onto dry land.

Around him, the great city of Avalon was also in flames. Acrid smoke assaulted his nostrils as soon as he opened his helmet while huge, pear-shaped bursts of flame rose up above the horizon of blazing goods houses that surrounded the turning basin. Thunderous, deafening explosions erupted from nearby disrupter hits and the heat on his face felt as though he were standing in an oven. He looked at the pitifully small garnering around him while debris pattered and clicked to the pavement around him.

"What're we going to do?" someone asked shakily on the voice circuits.

Someone else was sobbing in his helmet. "This is awful," another groaned.

"Quit grumbling and feel thankful you've got battlesuits to wear," Brim growled. "The Chief and I are going to use ours to see if we can help people who don't have them. I suggest the rest of you split up into pairs and do the same. We'll meet back here..." He checked the cheap timepiece he'd purchased to replace the good one he'd lost in Effer'wyck. It was broken already. "At dawn," he finished. "Now get snapping. All of you! The Fleet isn't paying us to lollygag around watching fires. Got that?"

"Aye, Skipper..."

"Got that, Captain."

"See you at dawn, Captain."

In moments, they were gone. Grimly, Brim nodded to Barbousse. "All right, Chief," he said, "let's see what we can do." With that he began jogging along a street that was a better vision of Hell than the worst apparition that had ever slithered from the nightmares of a religious zealot. The final raider departed nearly sixteen metacycles after the attacks began, and for the remainder of his life, Brim's dreams were haunted by the images of that lurid night filled with horror...

As dawn came to Avalon City on that first anniversary of the Imperial declaration of war, the sky remained nearly dark with heavy layers of smoke. Everything still appeared to be blazing, and it seemed as if the valiant, all-night efforts of the Imperial fire brigades had amounted to nothing at all. As Brim and Barbousse wearily returned to the ship with singed and blackened battlesuits, they watched men, women, and children begin to emerge from their holes into the gray, smoke-filled morning. Nothing seemed to have escaped the Leaguers' fury.

They were the last to reach the crash site, though it was inarguably clear that the other members of the crew had likewise spent the night assisting the stricken city in any way they could. Three were missing, two of whom had seemingly disappeared from the face of the planet. The third was last seen entering a burning building moments before it collapsed. The ship itself had been reduced to a pile of twisted wreckage protruding awkwardly from the turning basin some two hundred irals from the seawall.

Brim led the battered little group on foot nearly ten c'lenyts to the Lake Mersin Fleet Base, where he immediately checked in with FleetPort 30 and set up return transportation for himself and his crew.

The Leaguers would surely return—as soon as they possibly could. And after he saw what kind of damage they could cause, he was anxious to get back behind the helm of a Starfury again. He had a number of personal accounts to settle, and he wasn't at all selective about which Leaguers began to pay.

Unfortunately—at least in Brim's way of thinking—as soon as his whereabouts became known, Calhoun dispatched a staff skimmer to bring him to a special Admiralty conference for Emperor Onrad.

But just as the driver pulled up to the debris-strewn entrance to the skimmer pool, one of the seemingly tireless reception aides shouted across the lobby, "Captain Brim—there's a call for you. Do you want to take it here?"

Brim nodded and signaled the driver to wait, then strode across the lobby to a bank of HoloPhones. "Switch it to this one, mister," he said, enabling the display and pressing the receive zone.

Immediately, a tiny image of Eve Cartier appeared above the transceiver. She looked awful, as if she had been crying all night.

"Wilf?" she said through swollen eyes, "I'd heard you were down an' there were no survivors at the wreck." As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears and she buried her nose in a large handkerchief.

"Thank the Universe you're all right," she said muzzily. "I thought you were... dead."

Brim bit his lip, touched to his very heart that someone cared that much about him. "I've got a lang habit o' living, Eve," he said quietly with his old Carescrian burr. " 'Tis made me quite indisposed toward death."

She blew her nose and took the handkerchief from her face. "Stay that way, my very special Carescrian friend. I'm afraid I've become exceptionally attached to you lately."

"And I to you, Eve," he admitted. "The terrible thing is that we can't let ourselves feel that way.

Our only chance of survivin' this war is to consider ourselves already dead. Either that or stop fightin' an' try to hide out somewhere safe till it's over."

She nodded an wiped her eyes again. "The coward's way out," she whispered. "Neither o' us could live that way either—that would be worse than death."

"Then don't—for Voot's sake—don't get attached to me." he said earnestly. "Not in the middle of this madness, anyhow. Otherwise, you're liable to end up dead." He shut his eyes for a moment, silently grinding his teeth. "And," he added presently, "though I'm not attached to you either, by the Universe if I'm still alive when this war ends, I will be then." He smiled while she blew her nose again.

"But in the meanwhile," he whispered behind his hand, "I'll be glad to take your clothes off for you—anytime you'd like."

This time, she smiled a little, too. "You'll do mare than just that, won't you?" she asked.

"Try me," he said.

"I will," she promised, "next time we're together. An' the next time after that, too. Whenever you want me. Just be careful, Wilf Brim."

Brim glanced up as the driver stepped into the lobby. "I'm coming," he called across the lobby.

Then he looked at her in the display. "You be careful, too, my beautiful friend—and may Fortune smile on your every move."

"Smile, my foot," she whispered with a wicked little smile. "I want him right here between my legs."

"I'm not so sure Fortune's a male," Brim broke in. "But leave that part to me, anyway."

"Mmm," she said, blushing visibly. "Yes, you, er, certainly, ha' a certain talent in that department,"

"Those great legs help a lot," Brim replied with a nod to the driver, who was now actively indicating the door with his head. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to go now."

"Thanks for being there," she said softly.

"Thanks for calling, Eve," he replied.

She blew him a kiss and the display went dark.

It took the driver nearly two metacycles to pick his way through the six c'lenyts of rubble-strewn streets to the Admiralty— normally a fifteen-cycle drive. Avalon would never be the same again....

Before he was called on to speak at the meeting, Brim discovered that the huge raid had reawakened invasion jitters throughout the High Command and Onrad's War Cabinet. In Hagbut's view, the tremendous disrupter bombardment was merely a softening-up operation. Calhoun, on the other hand, was not at all certain that he agreed. In fact, his judgment was that with the new direction of the war, luck had at last smiled on the hard-pressed Empire.

"Egad, man!" Hagbut barked out, clearly horrified by the Fleet Commander's point of view.

"Can you see what's going on out there? By Universe, those bloody Leaguers are now blindly slaughtering innocent civilians right and left—even children! Have you no feelings at all?"

Calhoun stood with a grim look on his handsome face, and ignoring the Emperor completely, glowered down at the bantam General—who inadvertently shrank back in his chair.

"Yes, General," he answered quietly. "I ha' seen outside. The methodical Leaguers ha' noo switched their attacks from my vital FleetPorts to the cities below," he said. "An' you needn't tell me aboot human sufferin'," he continued. "In the short run, it's clearly been increased a thousandfold. But the important point is not the short run—wars aren't won in the short run. That suffering is not in vain, for in the long run, Orgoth's switch to attackin' the cities means an end to any chance that Triannic's Deep Space Fleet can achieve space supremacy by shuttin' down our FleetPorts. An'," he added significantly, "that very supremacy is vital to any invasion plans the Leaguers might have. In other words, gentlemen," he said, looking over the two tables of men and women seated in the small, underground conference room, "today, we have begun winnin' the war!"

After the meeting, Onrad separated himself from the circle of high-ranking staff officers and ministers who normally surrounded him at the door and took Brim by the arm. "Valuable input, this morning, my Carescrian friend," he said, leading the way down a corridor, "although it's a damned shame you had to be shot down to get those insights. You lose many of the crew?"

"A little less than half. Your Majesty," Brim said. "And three of them were killed helping out in the city last night after we crashed."

Onrad nodded. "I heard about your orders after the crash," he said. "Those people of yours—they did a lot of good. So did you and Barbousse."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Brim said.

"Once again it is I who must thank you, Brim," the Emperor said. "You and those people you ordered into the flames were seen by a lot of people. More than you—or they—can imagine. Most people were afraid to come out of their holes. But because of the risks you and your crew took, literally hundreds of people in that devastated area know that somebody official cares about them. That's terrifically important, for there were far too few municipal firefighters to go around last night. And a number of them were hurt or killed doing their duty, so we won't be able to muster even that many tonight."

"And there will be a raid tonight," Brim added.

"According to the latest BKAEW reports," Onrad said "the first waves are on the way even as we speak." By that time, they—and a hundred nervous-looking bodyguards, it seemed—had emerged from a tunnel onto one of the city streets nearby the Admiralty.

Everywhere around them there were red-eyed, filthy men and women clearing debris from the previous raid. They stopped in their tracks and stared as the Emperor peered at the destruction. Then, suddenly they began to cheer. "Long live the Emperor!" they cried as if they were embarrassed for him to see the devastation in which they stood. "Long live Onrad the Fifth!"

Brim struggled to keep his emotions under control. By the Universe, he thought as tears of pride burned his eyes, the Leaguers would never tame these people. Never.

Suddenly, at his side Onrad put his military cap on the end of his scepter and twirled it around in the air, bellowing, "Are we downhearted?"

The Avalonians replied with a rousing chorus of "No!" and "Never!"

Nor, Brim thought with a smile of pride, would the Leaguers ever tame the Emperor, either. By subjecting these people to such terror and havoc, Nergol Triannic had just made it very necessary to win the war he had started. For if eventually he lost, this raid had become the signature on death warrants for every city in the League—and those of its allies.

On the way back through the tunnel to Onrad's war cabinet room, the Emperor snapped his fingers. "Oh, yes, Wilf," he said as if he were simply passing the time of day, "that reminds me."

Brim wondered what "that" was, but amiably kept his silence, interested more in what the Emperor was reminded of.

"You remember that absolutely beautiful woman who serves as the Nabob's Principal Consort—Raddisma, or some such silly name?"

Did he remember...? "Aye, Your Majesty," he replied, at pains to act as though he were only mildly interested, "I remember her."

"Well," the Emperor continued, "of all things, it turns out that the old rascal's got her preggers—and she's just about at term. So I decided to move their government-in-exile here to Avalon."

He grimaced and shook his head. "I hope that doesn't turn out to be a mistake." Then he shrugged and looked at Brim, "It's too late to worry about any of that—they're due sometime tomorrow. I think you met what's her name—Raddisma—during your days in the IVG. Saved her life or something like that.

Anyway, I thought you might like to say hello when they arrive."

Brim felt his cheeks burn. "Er, I certainly would," he replied as they emerged once again into the Admiralty. "If I'm not flying," he added a little guiltily.

"Good," Onrad said. "I'll have Colonel Zapt leave you a message at FleetPort 30 when they arrive." He grinned. "You can then consider yourself summoned to an urgent staff meeting here at the palace by royal fiat. The meeting will be canceled by the time you arrive, but then—since you're already here—you'll be required to visit the Fluvannians. All right?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Brim replied.

At that, Onrad peered across the floor toward a small armada of very important-looking people bearing down at them. "Time to play Emperor again," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's how I earn my modest living." Then he winked. "But the job's a lot safer than slugging it out toe to toe with a lot of bloody Leaguers, which is what you're going back to, my Carescrian friend. So I think I'll make the most of it.

I'll be in touch." With that, he turned and strode off across the great marble floor.

On his way to the entrance, Brim thought about what the Emperor had called him—"my Carescrian friend." Only weeks ago, that would have rankled him. A lot. Now? Well... he had to admit that it didn't bother him a bit. Come to think of it, he rather liked the appellation. Emperors usually didn't have Carescrian friends. And this one did.

He smiled as he walked toward the transportation desk to find himself a ride to the FleetPort shuttle. Eve Cartier—and, in her own way, his old friend Nadia Tissaurd—had managed to have quite an effect on his life. He frowned. He'd never before let people tinker with his inner workings. Was it the Universe that was changing—or was it him?

Before he departed in the shuttle, Brim learned that the Leaguers had lost forty-one starships during their savage attacks on the city, compared with only twenty-eight lost by the defenders during that same time period. Good news, by all estimations—but it did rankle him that he had personally piloted one of those twenty-eight. He resolved there and then that he would make the Leaguers suffer greatly for that particular indignity.

Clearly encouraged by their own propaganda, the Leaguers launched a second day of massive raids against Avalon City shortly after dawn, causing considerable harm from the first shot onward.

Without an available Starfury to skipper, Brim could only watch helplessly, waiting for either replacement ships to arrive or another Starfury to be released from the maintenance hangar.

Neither occurred before the unscheduled arrival of a large Sodeskayan starship...

Brim had been working most of the afternoon to whittle down a great stack of documents Barbousse earlier shunted to his "signature" queue. It meant understanding—on an individual basis—such war-winning items as "Budget Considerations for the Overuse of Gortam Sealant" in which he was to personally report on how he would reduce FleetPort 30's consumption of the expensive Drive-chamber sealant by at least twenty percent. Another required him to ponder "Unprofessional Sexual Practices in the Imperial Fleet," then produce a long, complex report for a highly vocal group somewhere halfway across the galaxy. He had just opened still another document requiring a report on "Wardroom Hygiene in the Storage and Preparation of Logish Meem Types,'' when the door burst open in a cloud of Zempa pipe smoke and Ursis burst excitedly into his office.

"Wilfooshka," he exclaimed with a great smile on his face, "we can now trash Leaguer starships in even more efficient ways man previously employed."

Brim grinned and switched off his workstation—he'd get to those details when he wasn't so busy trying to win a war. "Sounds like a great pastime to me, Nik," he said, shoving the chair in the direction of his old friend. "How're we going to bring this little trick off?"

"With Gorn-Hoff crystals," the Sodeskayan said, straddling his chair seat and leaning his elbows on its wooden back. "Little starship you brought home from Effer'wyck was real treasure chest—for us.

No wonder Leaguers were so interested in its destruction."

"I take it the crystal on the instrument panel did have something to do with aiming disrupters," Brim said.

"You take it right, my furless friend," Ursis replied. "Crystals like that have everything to do with it, and are entirely responsible for their improved shooting. Bringing back that little ship may have been very important to whole outcome of war."

"Universe," Brim said. "And it sat around here for nearly a week while the Leaguers were looking for it everywhere."

"I know," Ursis said with an ironic grin. "But upon such small visitations from Lady Fortune sometimes turn the fates of whole empires."

"I'll settle for some help with this one battle," Brim said.

Ursis frowned. "May be not enough time for that," he said, "but we shall see."

Brim nodded. He understood. "So how do the damn things work?" he asked. "Do the Leaguers follow projected beams like I think they do?"

"You were right on the money with that guess," Ursis said. "Narrow KA'PPA beams, at that." He laughed. "Here we thought our BKAEW stations were only new applications of KA'PPA technology in Universe, but opposition had been hard at work, too—only on different tack."

"So how does it work?" Brim demanded.

Ursis smiled. "Simply," he said, "like most worthwhile scientific breakthroughs. As you guessed, crystals are heart of special KA'PPA receivers hooked into navigational and gunnery systems. Back in Effer'wyck, Leaguer controllers send three ultra-narrow KA'PPA beams that intersect on precise point at which disrupters preset to certain focus should fire at target. Nobody knows what kind of transmitters they use to project beams of such incredible accuracy, but they clearly work." He shook his head. "At any rate, a ship carrying the crystal need only intersect one of three beams, then follow it to the point where it intersects with other two. Then they fire disrupters—with deadly accuracy you have already seen."

"So that's it," Brijn said. "Well, you said it was simple."

"Except for transmitters," Ursis said. "Those have our greatest laboratories baffled."

"Not good," Brim observed.

"For time being, not that bad, either," Ursis said.

"I don't understand."

"Well," Ursis continued, "actually, for present, all we need do is receive those signals—which we can do thanks to crystals you brought home with you from Effer'wyck."

"Crystals?" Brim asked. "I only brought one back, didn't I?"

"None of you looked inside crates strapped to deck in passenger cabin, did you?" Ursis asked.

"No." Brim replied. "We didn't."

"Each crate contained ten of those crystals," Ursis explained, "Right now, we have three hundred twenty of them—and a workable breadboard of how to hook them up."

"Voot's beard," Brim exclaimed. "We did hit the jackpot, didn't we?" Then he frowned. "But what's this about needing only to receive the signals. Don't we have to destroy the transmitters as well?"

"Absolutely not," Ursis said with a great smile. "At least not for the present. We want to use the system exactly the way it is—to our advantage."

"I'd hoped you were going to say something along those lines," Brim said with a grin. "Now, how do you propose we do it?"

The Bear held up a long, tapered index finger. "Simply, of course," he said, "That is why I am confident it will work."

"I'm all ears," Brim said.

For the next twenty cycles, Brim sat quietly while Ursis explained the plan he had developed to counter the Leaguers' new technological accomplishment. And aside from a fundamental dependence on the Leaguers' own crystal receivers, the Sodeskayan's scheme depended on old-fashioned exploding mines and space anchors as its basic elements. The two had been combined to produce a sort of self-propelled hybrid with enough raw explosive power to rip the belly out of a battlecruiser. Nothing spectacular there; torpedoes had served the same function for more than a thousand years—and at HyperLight velocities. However, addition of a captured crystal and receiver logic provided the primitive-but-deadly hybrid package with ability to follow one of the Leaguers' narrow-focused BKAEW beams as well as accurately sense its intersection with the other two beams—where it would stop and wait for a collision with one of Admiral Hoth Orgoth's attackers. Cheaply manufactured and relatively easy to transport, "Loiterers," as the Sodeskayans had come to name the mines, could inflict terrific damage while assuming only a relatively easy passive role.

"That's wonderful," Brim exclaimed when Ursis finished his explanation, and the Bear agreed.

Eventually, the system would altogether deny the Leaguers of using their triangulation system—and utterly devastate their attack forces while they went through the process of discovering what was causing such heavy losses. It was the kind of solution Brim had come to admire—inflicting the maximum punishment on the enemy only when he attacked.

"One correction, Wilfooshka," the Bear said with a grimace. "Is almost wonderful."

"I don't understand," Brim said.

"Well," Ursis said, "we've certainly got plenty space mines and anchors. Everywhere."

"Then?"

"Crystals," Ursis said. "They require time to 'grow'." We won't have first shipment of completed 'Loiterers,' as we call them, for at least one week—and then only trickle at first before necessary thousands begin to fill supply pipeline."

"That week could spell real trouble," Brim said with a grimace. " I assume you're aware of yesterday's sixteen-metacycles-long raid as well as one going on down there even as we speak. In a week, there might be nothing to protect."

"I understand," Ursis replied thoughtfully. "I've been in touch—as have many Sodeskayans. In our way of looking at things, cities of Sodeskaya will be next to feel onslaught of Leaguers."

"Sorry, Nik," Brim said, putting a hand on the huge Bear's shoulder boards. "It's just that I was down there in the city for most of the night after we got shot up. We're going to be in deep trouble if we don't get something to counter that new accuracy of theirs."

"I did not mean to imply we have nothing," Ursis said. "Indeed, we have come up with effective way for you to fight this menace. Just not so effective as new Loiterers—but almost," "What's that?" Brim asked.

The Bear smiled. "Has to do with three hundred or so crystals you brought home from Effer'wyck, my furless friend. Is looking like you saved day in many ways."

"Huh?" Brim asked. ''Three hundred-odd cobbled-up space mines are going to be swamped in the kind of raids we're having now. How does that save the day?"

"How about if we mount them in certain Starfuries and Defiants—ones that will fly with Squadron Leaders and"—he added significantly—"Wing Commanders. Since your BKAEW satellites can predict with some accuracy when enemy raids are coming—and even general area of target—you ought to be able to do even more damage if you lead your squadrons to precisely where enemy ships will go to fire disrupters, I think you humans call it 'target practice,' don't you?"

Brim shook his head. "Of course!" he said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"You have had your mind on other things lately," the Bear answered, "like trying to stave off invasion, save five occupied planets from destruction, and stay alive. Small things in themselves, but time-consuming nonetheless."

"Thanks, Nik," Brim said.

"Think nothing of it, friend Brim," Ursis said.

"Er, when do we get started with the installations?" Brim asked. "We'll need one for Toby Moulding and one for Aram, at least."

"And one for Wilf Brim," Ursis added.

"I hoped you'd say that," Brim sighed. "But when?"

"In starship docked outside is team of engineers who are ready to start installation whenever you give word."

"You mean they've been waiting while we talked?"

"Well, more or less, Wilf," Ursis said. "Is only mannerly thing to do. You are Base Commander, after all."

Brim shut his eyes. Sodeskayans! "Nik," he said softly as he could. "There's a Starfury I often use in the repair bay even as we speak. They can start on that one right now."

"Is good," Ursis said. "That must be one Chief Barbousse told us about when we arrived.

Engineering team has been working on that one since we arrived."

"I thought you said they were waiting."

"Oh, but they were," Ursis protested. "By now, ship will have been opened up. When you give word, Voof! Installation begins...!"

Meanwhile, the first wave of raids that day accomplished little disruption to the Imperial war machine, although Avalonian civilians did continue to suffer. And the second blow showed signs of poor preparation—some attack ships arrived without killer cruisers and vice versa, with deadly consequences for the attackers. The third—and main—blow was launched with some 150 attack ships and killer escorts heading for Avalon. They were hit twice by Starfuries and Defiants on the way but managed to keep going until, nearing their target, they ran into a small squadron led by Brim in the first crystal-equipped Starfuries. At point, the slaughter began. On the instant the Leaguers in Effer'wyck switched on their target beams, Brim picked one up and quickly followed it to its intersection. Then he drew off half a c'lenyt to simply orbit the point with all fourteen disrupters aimed and energized. Moments later, a big Kreissel 111-K came flashing by and before it could even open fire, it virtually disappeared in a full Imperial broadside whose every disruptor was precisely on target!

With wild cheers echoing on the voice circuits—which he couldn't bring himself to stifle—Brim followed a second beam to its intersection, then called in another Starfury to wait while he sought out a third beam. Working rapidly, he managed to place another two Starfuries at intersections and arrived at still another just in time to pick off a fifth Leaguer in a great puffball of radiation fire and spinning starship parts, at which time the panicked survivors fired at anything on the ground they could hit and ran for home, spreading damage over a wide area. For the first time since his arrival in Avalon, Brim returned to FleetPort 30 that evening with a smile on his face. The Imperials had a chance now. Tomorrow, at least fifteen more squadron leaders would begin to operate with crystal beam receivers.

The ancient warship carrying Fluvanna's deposed Nabob, his Consort Raddisma, and much of their court, arrived over the city, making safe landfall only metacycles following the third raid. Someone very influential among the Imperial High Command had ordered an unusually large Imperial escort for the old vessel, and not a single attack had been made against the strong convoy.

After a headlong shuttle flight from FleetPort 30 to what remained of Grand Imperial Terminal on Lake Mersin, Brim arrived to meet his beautiful— very pregnant—one-time lover at the brow as she disembarked onto the main concourse. However, it was first necessary to wait until the "official" welcoming ceremonies were complete.

First off the ship was Mustafa, the Nabob, who was met by Prince Onrad, members of his War Cabinet, and Oodam Beyazh in an unsparing show of support for the deposed monarch. After speeches by both Emperors, the royal entourage was forced to detour around high piles of debris that seemed to be everywhere, and the moment they had been bundled into their limousine skimmers, brigades of dusty people restarted their noisy sweeping machines as they continued to keep the main thoroughfares clear.

Endless throngs of travelers were still passing through the huge terminus with little regard for the war that was raging around them, and any sustained interruption of the basic flow would smother the Empire in certain economic defeat.

When finally Petty Officer Cosa Tutti assisted Raddisma off the end of the brow, it was the first time Brim's eyes had met the Consort's since their considerably fecund one-night liaison in Brim's cabin aboard I.F.S. Starfury in Fluvanna. Even nearing the end of her term, Raddisma was beautiful—and regal as ever.

"Raddisma," Brim said, taking her hand, "you must be nearly dead after that long trip. How do you feel?"

She smiled wearily. " Extremely pregnant, Wilf Brim," she said with a tired little smile. "Our daughter seems most anxious to be born. A trait of impatience she most certainly has picked up from her father."

Brim grinned. "Certainly not!" he said with a feigned indignation.

Raddisma took his arm as they started slowly across the littered marble floor. "We shall see, Wilf Brim," she said. "It is only presentiment, of course, but I have a feeling she will be a great deal like you."

"She'd at least better look like her mother," Brim said. "If she misses having the kind of beauty she can get from you, she'll hate both of us—forever."

Raddisma stared at him. "Am I still beautiful, Wilf Brim?" she asked.

"Still the most beautiful," Brim said, looking into her glorious almond-shaped eyes.

"Even swollen as I am everywhere?"

"Perhaps even more beautiful," he said. Then surreptitiously he patted her distended stomach.

"However," he added with a little grin, "you may have some competition in here."

"I shall never compete with my daughter, Wilf," she said. "Whatever attributes I possess I gladly bequeath to her." Then she looked into his eyes and her countenance grew dark. "Except the title of Consort," she said. "May she never be a whore. It's been a good life for me, I'll admit but, well..." She pursed her lips for a moment. "I didn't have quite the start in life I plan for her. Earning a living on my back—and other more athletic positions—placed me in a considerably better income bracket than the one to I was originally accustomed."

"I didn't know," Brim mumbled, searching for the right words to say.

"No," she replied quickly, her little smile returning, "I shouldn't think you've had much experience with whores."

"I meant, er..."

"I know what you meant, Wilf," she said, covering his lips with a perfumed finger.

"No," Brim protested, "I don't think you do."

"Oh?"

Brim placed his hand over hers as she held on to his arm. "What I meant was that I would never permit such a thing to happen to my daughter."

"My daughter," Raddisma said. "You contributed nothing but a few squirts of your semen." She grinned and blushed slightly. "You contributed them magnificently, I might add, but she is my daughter, as I indicated in my letter."

Brim opened his mouth to chime in, but she continued on without interruption. "Remember, my proud father-to-be," she said as they walked through the crowded, dusty terminal, "that Mustafa, the absolute Nabob of Fluvanna, has accepted her as the child of his seed. And that gives her quite a few advantages neither of us could give her—alone or together. Besides, as I made quite clear in my message, when I decided to keep those squirts of semen you provided, I also vowed to absolve you of any responsibility," She laughed a little. "You did, as I remember, ask me very seriously if you needed to take any precautions—and I deliberately told you that you did not."

"I appreciate that," Brim interjected. "But what if I want some responsibility? It just so happens that I kind of like the idea of having a daughter."

"You can have all the responsibility you want, Wilf Brim," she said, "as her favorite 'Uncle.' " She shook her head. "Just what kind of a father do you think you would be when you spend most of your time whizzing around the galaxy?"

"Well..."

"Well, nothing," she said, wrinkling her nose and smiling happily. "You have no idea how delighted I am that you have a real interest in this"—she placed her hands on either side of her distended abdomen—"altogether giant child. But unless something happens to me—or to Fluvanna—please don't do anything that would affect her royal status. Maybe someday, a long time from now, we'll tell her—together. But not now. Besides. It would simply devastate Mustafa to know that someone else has shared my passion—and will again, as soon as my body is ready."

This time, it was Brim's turn to blush—he could feel his cheeks burn.

She smiled; she couldn't escape noticing. "Yes, my Carescrian lover," she whispered, "even now I can think of taking you between my legs again." By this time, they had come to the main entrance where a literal caravan of chauffeurs and limousine skimmers waited at the curb to escort Mustafa's court to their new residence in Avalon.

Brim took a deep breath. He'd never before met anybody like Raddisma—and didn't expect he ever would again. "Do you know where you will be staying?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with an amazed look. "Mustafa and I are to be housed in the Royal Palace itself.

Can you imagine that? Everybody else is being put up at the Eubry House on the other side of town. This Prince Onrad of yours is a strange man." she added. "To my knowledge, no other refugee rulers—not even the deposed Grand Earl of Effer'wyck—stays at the Royal Palace."

"It's you." Brim joshed. "As a man of true taste, he enjoys living under the same roof with one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy."

"Oh, of course," she said with a smile. "And I'm the only one who looks like a large starship."

Brim shook his head. "When will I see you again?" he asked.

She laughed. "My daughter and I have a rather restricted social schedule for the near future," she said. "But I shall be free at least to dine whenever you happen to be in town."

"I'll be back in a couple of days," Brim said, handing her into the first limousine. "I'll try to message you first."

Petty Officer Tutti winked as she followed her mistress through the door. "My regards to Chief Barbousse," she whispered.

"He'll be here tonight to receive them in person." Brim replied under his breath. "I will personally send him on a critical mission to the palace. It will then be up to him to decide what the mission is all about."

Watching the limousine pull away from the curb and merge into the traffic winding though the rubble-filled boulevard fronting the terminal, Brim shook his head, very much impressed by the Fluvannians' unique accommodations. At least twenty royal refugees from all over me galaxy were housed in much lesser circumstances all over the beleaguered city. Yet the helpless, deposed of Nabob of a small domain halfway across the galaxy and one of the Empire's best-known courtesans—pregnant, no less—were on their way to live in the Imperial Palace itself. Somehow, he could see the fine hand of Onrad in all of it—and Borodov: the old Sodeskayan knew about the baby. Nodding quietly to himself, he began to understand how fortunate he was, and resolved that he would somehow make the Emperor's largesse worthwhile.

As he rode the shuttle to FleetPort 30, hundreds of Imperial civilians lay dead and wounded in the tormented ruins below—but less than half the raiders had managed to actually reach the city with their weapons, and twenty-eight Leaguer starships had been destroyed in the attempt.

When the raids tapered off that night, reports showed that Defense Command had also continued to suffer. During the second day of raids on Avalon, nineteen Starfuries had been destroyed and Lord Jaiswal's struggle to keep up operational starship strength was becoming increasingly difficult: the total had dropped to 659, the lowest in nearly a month. Yet—at least so far as Brim was concerned—advantage had absolutely shifted to the Empire, for the League was no longer concentrating on military targets. Moreover, they were themselves experiencing mounting casualties without effecting commensurate damage to the Imperial war effort. Picking his way across the temporary repairs to a replacement Starfury that had arrived in his absence, he learned from Barbousse that she had been patched together from the wrecks of three fallen Starfuries. He shrugged. "She'll do," he said with a tired grin. "She'll do...."