The Mercenaries

"I'm ready, Cap'm," Barbousse replied. "So are the torpedoes. Soon as Lieutenant Meesha blasts those doors."

From aft, the firing had stopped. Evidently, Starterror and Starspirit had finished their firing runs. Just beyond the fort's "horizon" Brim could see Moulding's two ships streaking away from the fort—while they drew fire from the desperate maneuver be was about to attempt. "Here we go!" he yelled, hauling back on the controls until Starfury's spaceframe began to creak in protest. As the fort receded in the distance, Brim caught himself holding his breath. In a moment the disrupters would spot them again, and then all hell would surely break loose. But there was a slightly better chance of planting the torpedoes each moment they ran in the clear—and every one of them seemed to last an eternity until at last he heard Barbousse's voice.

"Comin' up on minimum firin' distance in five, Cap'm," the big rating announced.

Brim counted an extra fifteen clicks, then hauled the controls over in a renversment, getting three red warning lights on his panel from the steering engines. He ignored them—the mechanism had better stand a little overload. Then he started toward the fort again.

And suddenly space aft burst forth in a truly colossal series of brilliant detonations. At least one—probably more—of the fort's great disruptors had picked them up and were blasting away as quickly as the big weapons could build new charges. But the Leaguer gunners had fired where they expected him to be, before he'd reversed course. He could only pray that they were too well trained to try that trick again; he was now holding a smooth precision track toward the three big hangar doors he'd centered on his Hyperscreens—and this time their trick might work! "All right, Meesha," he shouted over the roar of the generators, "blast those doors. NOW!"

The months that Meesha and his disrupter crews had spent battling Dampiers and Gorn-Hoffs had turned Starfury's gunners into extraordinary marksmen, and it all paid off in the next fifteen clicks.

Each of the ten remaining 406s thundered independently, and fully seven scored direct hits with eruptions of radiation fire and debris of all kinds. One of the doors flew off intact, spinning off at an angle that would eventually take it completely out of the galaxy.

Only a moment later, Barbousse fired his tight spread of torpedoes.

Brim watched for the eight deadly missiles to clear Starfury's forward pontoons, then he hauled the cruiser around and took off for deep space, jinking as he had never jinked before through an unbelievable hail of fire with the generators at military overload plus. The terrific barrage made sense.

Every disruptor in the fort was shooting at him.

"Skipper," Tissaurd reported as she stared into a rearview display, "couple of lifeglobes just launched from the side of the fort."

In his own display, Brim caught two pearlescent bubbles speeding away toward the protection of the shoal, but he was far too much taken up with jinking to think about much of anything except the ship, her controls, and the hellish explosions that were knocking her about like a leaf caught in a storm.

"Hey look!" someone yelled.

"Holy Voot!" another yelled excitedly, "the Chief's torpedoes just hit the doors in a tight pack.

Just like he was drivin' them himself!"

"By Universe, that's right," still another exclaimed. "All eight of 'em!"

" Universe, what a bunch of explosions!"

"Explosions don't count!" Barbousse roared. "They're the ones that missed and hit the door frame. If none of 'em got through clean, we'll have to do it again!"

Nobody seemed to hear the big rating's protest. Instead, the whole bridge continued in wild, insane cheering.

Except for Brim. Hit or miss, it was now up to him to get them out of there! He could scarcely hear anything above the thunder of six overtaxed Admiralty A876 gravity generators— and the deafening rumble of raw energy smashing against Starfury's streamlined flanks from literally hundreds of near misses.

Simultaneously the firing—and the shouting—stopped, replaced by a great chorus of astonished gasps. For a moment, only the whine and thunder of Starfury's generators sounded on the bridge. Then one solitary, awestruck female voice could be heard—later, no one would admit it was hers.

"Voot's most greasy, tangled beard," it said, "will ya' LOOK AT THAT!"

CHAPTER 11

The IVG Passes

Brim hauled the racing starship around into a vertical curve just in time to see every hatch and scuttle in the mighty Leaguer fort pulse and flash like a thousand gleaming eyes... again... and again... and again.... Then, as if the very fabric of the Universe itself had burst, the whole structure was engulfed—from the inside out—by a colossal reddish-violet fireball that pulsed and glimmered spasmodically as it expanded, peppered with stark clarity by gigantic chunks of wreckage: huge turret assemblies, KA'PPA towers, power generators, formless curved plates of hullmetal armor, all bobbing on a roiling globe of radiation flame.

The shock wave of raw energy that preceded it slammed first into the mottled wall of the shoal, scattering asteroid-size chunks of rock like toy balls. Suddenly a vision of Margot's fragile lifeglobe racing among the great boulders forced its way to Brim's mind, tearing at his very soul. Had she been able to work her lifeglobe far enough back among the protecting rocks to save herself? Or was she now ground to space dust among the surface asteroids? His stomach churned in horror....

A moment later the energy wave hit Starfury like a physical presence. Her whole starframe bucked violently, pulsing the ship's gravity and throwing people against their mechanical restraints with force enough to snap bones and fling bodies around like broken toy dolls. Screams and groans filled the voice circuits; somebody vomited loudly in his helmet. Whole arrays of Hyperscreens on the port side of the bridge shattered behind a wave of explosive decompression, while debris cascaded across the decks in a rolling cloud of sparks and the nameless detritus of mortal habitation. And—accompanied by a whole panel of indicators changing to brilliant crimson—the big Admiralty gravity generators tripped out completely.

By sheer chance, the colossal fireball never quite reached Starfury's hull, but despite protectively darkened Hyperscreens, its radiated heat alone was enough to turn the rubble-strewn bridge into a raging, airless oven that melted portions of a navigation table and baked everything that was not specially battle-protected. Then the boiling sphere of radiation fire began to subside, falling into itself as it had exploded outward, and in a few moments dissolved into a dappled array of glittering radiation clouds that eventually scattered to the eight corners of the Universe.

Now the ship glided along on momentum alone, quiet as the starscape itself. Off to starboard, no trace of the Leaguer fort remained at all. Only the distant, massive wreck of I.F.S. Queen Elidean remained in view against the shoal—blasted at least ten c'lenyts from her original position and drifting slowly through space like a great skeletal meteor, still glowing with the heat of her own demise.

And the massive, all-prevading stillness! For a moment Brim was certain the voice circuits had all been destroyed. But then a surprised voice rang out in his helmet tike a trumpet on a still morning.

"U-Universe," someone said as if he didn't quite believe his own words, "we did it!"

"Yeah. We did, didn't we?"

"H-help!"

"Who's that?"

"Huugo. S-Sublieutenant Huugo."

"Anybody else alive here on the bridge?"

"I am—I think."

"So'm I."

"Sweet mother of.... He's bleedin' inside his battlesuit. Medics! On the double!"

"Yeah. Hurry. Poor zukeed didn't want to leave his family in the first place!"

"MEDICS!"

A damage-control team with armored mittens was cleaning up razor-sharp Hyperscreen splinters by the time Brim had a chance to check Tissaurd. Behind her face plate, she had what appeared to be a nasty cut on the forehead, but otherwise she wore her customary smile. Carefully, as if checking each bone for consistency, she raised her fist in a "thumbs-up" gesture and winked. "See, Skipper," she said, "I knew we could believe her this time."

"I won't ask how you knew, Number One," Brim replied, "but thanks for the trust. Something tells me it was the last thing she did. We'll have to go look for her before the Leaguers return."

"Skipper!" Meesha interrupted. "I've got six ships coming at us at a high rate of speed. And they aren't IVGs."

"Wonderful," Brim pronounced disgustedly. "Just thraggling wonderful! Who are they?"

Meesha bent over his debris-strewn console and frowned. "They're returning what appear to be Torond IFF codes, Captain," he said.

"Any sign of Moulding or the other two Starfuries?" Brim demanded. Somehow, he had to go search for Margot—but how?"

"None, Captain. Sorry."

Brim forced his mind back to the ship and switched a display to Zaftrak's huge console.

"Strana'," he demanded, "did the generators require a cold start?"

"Is so, Captain," the Bear replied with a serious look. "When generators go into overload like that, is shutting themselves down. But not all bad, that. Keeps from blowing up."

"How long before we can get under way again?"

"Chief Baranev says he can give you little less than half power right now, Captain," the Bear replied. "Perhaps more later, depending on damage. You should be able maneuver, at least."

Brim nodded. Cold starts were difficult. The Chief was producing an authentic miracle to restore any motive power at all.

"Set it up, Strana'."

"Aye, Captain," the Bear said. Moments later a number of indicators on his power panel returned to steady green.

"Number One," Brim asked, "can you take over the helm for a moment? She'll be a bit sluggish."

"I'm all right, Captain," the plucky little officer replied. "You didn't know I have a hullmetal cranium, did you?"

"I've suspected something like that for a long time," Brim said, "but I never thought I'd live to hear you admit it." As the ship began to gather way, he activated the blower. "Attention all hands," he broadcast. "Remain at your action stations. I repeat: remain at your action stations. Six unknowns are approaching at high speed, and we will probably have to defend the ship again." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I realize what each of you has been through since we lifted ship yesterday," he continued. "I also am tired, believe me. But we must carry on, no matter what. We're all integral parts of this ship, vitally needed for both flying and fighting—even existence. This mission is not over until I signal 'Finished with generators.' Be alert and prepare to engage.'' With that, he reclaimed the controls from Tissaurd and waited for whatever destiny Lady Fate had in store. Starfury was hurt badly, that was certain. The ship lumbered along, accelerating and decelerating with difficulty, and all he could do was coax the controls.

"Dampiers at Orange Apex," Meesha warned suddenly. "Bearing nine fifty-nine point five at forty-eight seventy-five and closing."

Brim peered up to the left of the nose. Six graviton plumes were coming on fast, vanguard of whole squadrons racing back to avenge the ruined fort. There would be no mercy, especially since Starfury was in no condition for an all-out fight. He shook his head angrily. At least he would give the order to attack. "Meesha," he said, "make certain we fire the first shots. We've got a little range on them."

"Aye, Captain," Meesha replied grimly, his gray eyes flashing with determination.

Brim called up all the thrust the badly damaged starship could muster. It hardly made any difference; she was still very slow and unresponsive. He watched the graviton plumes curve toward him in twos. Grinding his teeth with frustration, he could imagine Valentin gloating in one of them.

True to his promise, Meesha's big 406-mmi disrupters spoke first, and with remarkable accuracy. The leading left-hand Dampier erupted in a flashing cloud of flame, then went guttering off to one side while the remaining five continued their run-in. And suddenly space was again filled by concussion and blinding flashes of light—all the more felt on the bridge through the missing Hyperscreens.

Brim jinked as much as he possibly could with the weak generators, but great hammer-blasts of concussion began to thunder against the hull as the Toronder's shots converged from all sides. Then—in rapid succession— Starfury took a near miss beside the starboard pontoon and a direct hit in the starboard generator bay, rattling and vibrating her spaceframe like a child's toy. Immediately, the ship lost the power to accelerate and a Dampier arrogantly pulled in on her tail, firing slowly as if it had all the time in the Universe, obviously operating on the assumption that Starfury had lost all her power. Moments later the mistake cost them dearly when Brim stopped jinking for a moment. Meesha's ten surviving turrets all whirled aft and simultaneously delivered a tremendous salvo from twenty 406s. The bridge suddenly broke out in cheering as the Dampier shuddered aside with its whole forward area reduced to a tangle of burning girders and crumpled hullmetal armor. But it was quickly replaced by two more, both unquestionably determined to make short work of their nettlesome enemy before it could use its teeth again.

With a last burst of power, Brim pulled the crippled starship into a vertical right angle and activated his gravity brakes.

The clearly untried Dampier crews hadn't expected anything like it, for they shot past like meteors and ended up out in front. Both tail sections flared up as their startled Helmsmen tried to escape from the trap, but they were far too late. Once more, Meesha's gunners swung their turrets, this time blasting both ships, which wobbled out of range trailing hullmetal plates and pulsing clouds of sparks.

"Three more unidentifieds approaching at high speed, Captain," the Gunnery Officer reported tensely.

"What kind of IFF are they sending?" Brim asked warily.

"Can't tell, this time," Meesha replied with a raised eyebrow. "Almost like the old privateer IDs I used to hear."

Brim nodded helplessly and found himself chuckling in what were probably the last moments of his life. "This is so xaxtdamned WON-der-ful I can't believe it," he growled to Tissaurd, "Now, we've got thraggling pirates after us." Far in the distance, he could see three more graviton plumes, and these were realty moving fast. He laughed in spite of himself. "Well, the zukeeds better damn well hurry," he grumbled darkly, "otherwise there won't be anything left of us to steal."

Aft, the two remaining Dampiers had warily closed in just beyond the range of Starfury's disruptors. Brim watched in his aft-view display while the ships maneuvered carefully into formation for a textbook torpedo attack. Obviously, these also were crewed by rookies, like the first three so easily put out of action. This time, however, it looked as if the rookies were about to...

"Great thraggting Universe!" he gasped with astonishment.

Before his very eyes, one of the remaining Dampiers disintegrated in a blinding explosion, while the other skidded to starboard and lit out with all its generators at maximum military overload. Its sparkling wake was dogged by a large, curious-looking torpedo that crept inexorably closer until, with a terrible eruption, it found its target.

As the unfortunate Dampier dissolved into roiling clouds of energy, a rating from the COMM center interrupted Brim's bemused astonishment. "Incoming transmission for you, Captain," she announced with eyes wide as saucers, "from I.F.S. Patriot. Will you take it?"

Brim glanced through the shattered port Hyperscreens as Calhoun's iridescent white star yacht eased into formation off his port pontoon. This time, however, the Imperial comet insignia shone abaft her bridge Hyperscreens—and she was armed with at least ten of the Leaguers' superfocused 375-mmi disrupters from Theobold Interspace of Lixor. Two identical copies of the powerful little attack ship cruised in perfect echelon to her left. As he stared in fascination, the elegant head and shoulders of Eve Carrier materialized in a global display on his console. This time, however, she was dressed in a regulation Imperial Fleet Cloak, "I'll take it," he croaked before the COMM room could announce her.

Moments later a green link enabled indicator came on beneath the display.

"Captain Brim," the woman said with clearly genuine concern, "thank the Universe we got here in time. You are all right, are you na?"

Brim grinned in spite of everything. The woman was proud of the same Carescrian accent he had worked so hard to lose! "What's left of me seems to be all right," he replied with a dizzy grin. "And when did you join the Fleet?"

Carrier winked. "Emperor Greyffin IV issued our commissions nearly three months ago, Captain," she said, "the very day the Governor... er, Commodore Calhoun... presented all three o'his ships to the Admiralty." She smiled proudly. " 'Twas the same day I took over Patriot as Skipper." Then her face became sober. "Er, Captain," she started with a look of concern, "is Starfury in any shape to fly? From what we're pullin' in on the KA'PPA, just aboot every Leaguer and Toronder ship in the area is headin' this way. We'll have to get you people out o' here in the next metacycle, wi' or wi'out Starfury, I'm afraid."

"We're running a damage check right now," Brim replied, glancing at Tissaurd. "Better see if you can get an early report from Chief Baranev, Number One," he said with a sinking heart. He had to make some sort of effort for Margot. He simply couldn't just leave—she'd risked her life to help him nail the fort. Indeed, she may have given it.

"I'm saddened we didna' arrive sooner, sir," Carrier said, .interrupting his thoughts. "The Governor and General Drummond got us released just six days ago—just as soon as they decided on the declaration. But we were in Avalon at the time, an' hae a wee tiff wi' a crowd o' CIGAs on our way to the ships." She shook her head sadly. "Made us mair than a day late gettin' started."

"All that matters is that you did get here," Brim said with real feeling. "As you could see, we were pretty close to the end." He was about to suggest they search for Margot's lifeglobe when he frowned, remembering a word.... "Did you say something about a declaration?" he asked.

"Aye, Captain Brim," Eve replied. "You've heard aboot it, haven't you, sir?" Cartier asked.

"I haven't heard anything since we lost our KA'PPA mast early on," Brim replied. "What kind o'... er... of declaration?"

"A declaration o' war, sir," Cartier replied with a sober mien. "Avalon KA'PPAed it all over the Universe."

"Great thraggling Universe, Eve," Brim exclaimed. "WHAT war? When?"

"The one we declared on the League and its allies this mornin', sir," Cartier explained, looking a bit taken aback. "By Imperial Privilege, noo less. It all happened very quickly— lots o'KA'PPA traffic—probably right aboot the time you lost your K-tower, I imagine."

Embarrassed, Brim pulled in his horns. "Sorry, Eve," he said. "And you don't have to call me 'sir,' you know. We're both Commanders, after all."

"Na anymore, Captain Brim," Cartier said with a little grin. "You've been promoted. Scuttlebutt has it that your certificate was the first thing Emperor Onrad signed after the declaration."

Brim's mind took off spinning again. "Emperor Onrad?" he demanded. "What's happened to Greyffin IV?"

"Abdicated, Captain," Cartier explained. "He said he'd already led the Empire through ane war, an' that was enough. It was time for a younger mon to step in. Oh, Greyffin's still around from wha' I gather, but this war's Onrad's show to run."

Stunned, Brim shook his head while he stared out into the starry void, trying to corral his milling thoughts into some—any—aspect of rational order.

Mercifully, Cartier gave him time to recover, for the next voice that impinged on his conscious mind was Tissaurd's.

"Good news, Skipper," she said, touching his gloved hand gently. "Chief Baranev says he can give us half power to the gravs within three quarters of a metacycle."

Brim felt like someone waking from a deep sleep, but he came out of it alert as if he had slept the clock around. "That's enough power to get us near LightSpeed and start the Drive, " he replied, "even though it'll take us a while to accelerate." Then he frowned. "Assuming the Drive is all right," he added quickly.

''Hardly damaged," Tissaurd assured him, "We weren't using it at the time, so the Chief had only warm-up power to the crystals when we hit overload."

Brim turned to face the display. "Did you hear all that, Eve?" he asked.

"Aye, Captain," Cartier said, "an' 'tis good news, too. 'Twould be a shame to lose Starfury —she's the first of the few." She glanced across at the other two attack craft. "We'll stand guard here till you're ready to fly, then escort you back to... where is it that the Governor has himself set up, noo, Captain?"

"Varnholm Hall," Brim said, "but I've an important favor to ask of you in the meantime."

"An' what's that, Captain?"

Brim explained as quickly as he could Margot's role in the destruction of the fort, then peered into the display in an attempt to touch the Carescrian woman's soul. "Eve," he said, "I need all three of you searching that area in case either of the lifeglobes survived. I need you there for as long as you can stay,"

Cartier nodded. "I understand, Captain," she said directly. "An' in many ways I agree. But twa of us must stay here wi' you. After all the driftin' and runnin' you did, you've come a far piece from the fort.

An' if worst comes to worst, one of us can take your crew aboard for the dash home while the other fights."

Brim nodded. "You're right," he admitted grimly. His—and their—first responsibility was toward Starfury and her crew. Calhoun would have things no other way. "Thanks," he added. He meant it, even though it made him no happier.

"If it's any comfort, Captain," Cartier said quietly, "I know this is very important to you, so I'll go do the searchin' myself in Patriot. Loyalist an' Champion will stand guard just in case. Trust me to do what I can in the time I've got."

Brim smiled while in the corner of his eye he saw Tissaurd nodding vigorously. "Do it, Eve," he said thankfully. "When those globes launched, they headed straight for the shoal, so you'll have no trouble finding where to search. You'll find a big impress behind where the fort used to be. If anybody's able to answer your calls, they'll be somewhere nearby."

In the end, Cartier found nothing. Somehow, Brim wasn't surprised—but he was still grateful she looked.

Starfury required three Standard Days on her return from Ordu. But significantly, the little squadron encountered no enemy starships at all during the long trip, in spite of massive Gorn-Hoff and Dampier concentrations that had to be drawn from the same sector of the galaxy only days previously.

The Leaguer ships simply had not returned. By the time Starfury was again safely moored at Varnholm—beside Moulding's Starglory and MacAlda's Starspite (both of which had limped home with serious damage)—Cartier and her two consorts were on their way at high speed to another part of the galaxy. With the destruction of Zonga'ar, a sea change had begun to take place in the conflict. The Leaguers appeared to be abandoning the whole Fluvannian campaign, and it was increasingly clear that Triannic's planned invasion had been seriously delayed, perhaps even canceled.

As things turned out, however, the so-called IVG "victory" had been a costly one indeed. Only a few of the brave Fluvannians from Task Force CLEAVE ever managed to return their antique warships home safely. And without the four new Imperial Starfuries (that were finally released for unrestricted combat duty at Varnholm Hall), the IVG would no longer be able to put up a practical defense—at least until Commodore Tor restored a number of the original Starfuries to battleworthiness.

The situation could have become a disaster; miraculously, it didn't turn out that way. Even though media reports from Avalon indicated that CIGAs throughout the Empire were mounting a great hue and cry over Onrad's declaration of war—as well as his accession to the Imperial throne—those same CIGA protesters were repeatedly being shouted down by loyal Imperials in the Fleet who had been goaded far past fearing for their careers. Now, it was their own Empire they were worried about!

And little by little the once-proud Imperial Fleet was throwing off its shackles. Clearly, it would be only a shadow of its former potential. But fortified by powerful squadrons of Starfuries that continued to soar out from secret yards at Gimmas Haefdon and other secret construction sites, the Imperials were gaining strength every day.

However, one element that remained missing from the insane equation was the Leaguers themselves. It was almost as if the loss of their fort at Zonga'ar caused them to abandon the war altogether. For some reason, they now seemed unwilling, or unprepared, to attack—anywhere.

Sodeskayan intelligence promptly reported that this was indeed the case. The Leaguers had been preparing a grand offensive against Avalon itself, and after the grave losses they sustained during their ill-fated Fluvannian campaign, they now required at least three more Standard Months to recoup before they were again ready to attack.

Thanks to Baxter Calhoun and his gallant IVG "mercenaries," Nergol Triannic and his bloody minions had failed to deprive the rejuvenating Imperial Fleet of its precious Drive-crystal supply. But nearly as important, at least the way Brim saw things, was the inability of the CIGAs to keep things tied up in Avalon. Clearly, they had caused a great deal of mischief, but in the end, neither Puvis Amherst nor his Leaguer masters had reckoned on Greyffin IV's brave decision to abdicate, nor Onrad V's iron resolve to face the truth, and then do something about it. Perhaps it was a herald of things to come.

Penard Bay was in one of its rare peaceful moods as Brim relaxed at the peak of Starfury's forward Hyperscreens, dangling his feet over the expanse of crystal that sloped gradually to her snub-nosed prow. Overhead, a billion-odd stars blinked and twinkled in the night air. A spring breeze carried with it the smell of the sea as he peered out at ranks of gentle breakers just visible against the dark that of the bay itself. He'd climbed to this special perch nearly each night while Commodore Tor's crews rebuilt tile ship's propulsion section for a second time. That such major repairs were even possible—considering what the ship had been through during the past months—paid high tribute to Mark Valerian's magnificent design as well as the Sherrington Works' historic ability to build fine starships.

And though this particular night seemed peaceful enough, a galvanic change was in the air, he could feel it—both for the war and for himself. Immediately after destruction of the Leaguers' fort, the conflict had slewed off into a bogus stage. Ursis had named it the "Phony War," and urged everyone concerned to use each metacycle preparing for the coming onslaught. Things wouldn't last this way much longer, Brim was certain of that. The Leaguers simply couldn't allow it. Every moment of untroubled existence for Onrad's Imperial Fleet meant new ships, disrupters, better-trained crews—all pouring in an ever-widening stream from once-secret shipyards, arsenals, and training bases throughout the great expanse of Empire.

But unless Brim missed his guess, even the victor of this next war would sustain appalling damage. He shook his head as be looked down through the Hyperscreen panel into the bridge where Tissaurd was leading a party of engineers along the main corridor. They'd be hooking up the new generator controls tonight. Inside work. As old-fashioned as it might sound in an age of starships and HyperLight drives, blackouts still afforded considerable protection.

He leaned back on his hands and looked up at the shimmering array of stars. His life and his career were both in a state of considerable flux. Clearly, he was moving farther and faster in the Fleet than he had ever dreamed. Destruction of the Leaguer fort had advanced his reputation a hundredfold, even though he'd been quick to admit that his success was due in large part to an old lover. Moreover, in the past weeks, Tor had begun hinting about a new ship from the Sherrington yards, one so new and confidential that its mere existence was still regarded as a top state secret. And Calhoun had likewise indicated that the IVG would soon be absorbed back into the Imperial Fleet from which it came. A new posting with new, increased responsibilities was right around the corner; he was certain of it.

He was also due in Avalon to receive an unheard-of honor, his second Order of the Imperial Comet. The medal itself consisted of an eight-pointed starburst in silver and dark blue with a single word engraved in its center: valor. This was attached to an ivory sash embroidered in gold with the full title of the awarding Emperor. An even greater honor, at least for Brim, was that his sash would be the first to read: onrad v, grand galactic emperor and carry a serial number of "1." Over the history of the Empire, only forty-one had been awarded. Each was still in existence, preserved through the centuries in a collection that was considered to be one of the most important Imperial treasures. The Comet was an honor for all eternity—at least so long as the Empire existed.

As Brim mused, a gravity pool three ships distant from Starfury erupted with landing crews and glowing optical bollards. Overhead, Brim watched one of the billion visible stars execute a smooth curve down from the heavens, level out, and thunder to a landfall just off the strand, its passing marked only by sound and a long glowing trail on the bay. Later, he watched the cruiser nimble in, great white wakes creaming away on either side of her gravity footprints. In a few cycles more, the pool complex had returned to the quiet of evening, broken only by occasional shouts as the starship's crew debarked and maintenance crews prepared her for the next patrol.

He leaned back on his hands and stared again at the glittering farrago of stars. Somewhere out there was Margot Effer'wyck. She was either alive or reduced to atomic particles, but he stubbornly chose to believe the former. The fact that "LaKarn" was tacked to her family name had little meaning for him anymore. Perhaps they might never meet again—or love again—but he truly believed the bond between them existed as a two-way spiritual ligature that not even the Universe could sunder again. Ever.

Meanwhile, he thought, climbing to his feet and starting toward the hatch along a dark divider strip between two Hyperscreen panels, there was a war to win. It might be temporarily on hold, but it could—and would—begin again in earnest on a moment's notice.

Like everyone else, he had a responsibility to be ready for it....

Baxter Calhoun's IVG came to an official end one morning when fifteen superbly outfitted new Starfuries made landfall at Varnholm Hall, arriving direct from the great Fleet base at Atalanta. The ships had been prepared and crewed there under the special supervision of one Claudia Valemont on the orders of Chief Commissioner Bosporus Gallsworthy himself.

Three days afterward, and precisely one Standard Year following Brim's arrival at Varnholm Hall, the IVG and its seven battered Starfury survivors were ordered back to Sherrington's for a refit and eventual reassignment. Because Starfury had clearly suffered the most damage, she was the first to depart, with a short stopover in Avalon.

Now, with Tissaurd at the controls, the ship was descending in and out of an indefinite overcast directly above the Imperial capital, trailing long contrails that whirled in the damp air like gray streamers of raveling cable. Through a chance break in the overcast, Brim momentarily glimpsed the Grand Terminal before all was swallowed up in clouds again. To port, Lake Mersin was completely lost to view, covered by a thick mass of gray—right down on minimums for the area.

They intersected the outer marker at two thousand irals in dense white nothingness while Brim cross-checked the altimeters to make certain nothing was missed. Clearly, Tissaurd would have to feel her way down to the water, and a normally "inconsequential" error of thirty or forty irals could have quite an impact—literally—near the surface. Starfury was now stabilized on speed, with gravity gradient and lift modifiers down and all checklists complete. Brim's only job now was to monitor. They'd left the landing lights off to improve the contrast outside. It was an old trick Brim had picked up during his youth in Carescria where the weather was usually unpleasant. Often, it meant the difference between seeing the welcome red glow of a landing vector or a cloaking reflection of white incandescence.

At a thousand irals, Brim verified that a small amber flare light in the forward panel had illuminated, indicating that the autohelm's self-test was complete. They could now continue their approach through the soft white haze to a fifty-iral decision height. By that time, if Tissaurd hadn't seen the landing vector, Brim—who was monitoring instruments—would take over controls and execute a missed-approach procedure. Busy Lake Mersin was simply too crowded with small shipping to risk a totally blind landing.

At five hundred irals, both sets of eyes were now looking for things that could go wrong as the soft white cloud lulled them closer to the bay. They double-checked the minimums and ran a second test of the autohelm, but as they passed through two hundred, the view outside the Hyperscreens continued to remain featureless, and brightened only slightly after another hundred irals of descent.

"Approaching minimums; going heads up," Tissaurd said, concentrating all her attention outside, as though she could drill a hole in the remaining few irals of fog. She was ready to follow through with the autohelm if she elected to land with it or disconnect and let Brim manually fly the starship on a go-around.

"Hope there's some water down there by now," she added with a tight little laugh.

"That would make me happy," Brim joshed back gently. "I'm the one who signed for this battle-weary bus, you know." His hands were over his own controls now, poised for a go-around with the autohelm disconnect under his right thumb and Starfury's missed-approach procedure memorized by countless hours simulating blind landings at Varnholm Hail.

Slightly above the fifty-iral decision height—when Brim was just about to start a go-around—Tissaurd announced, "I have the landing vector," and took the controls. Brim's eyes remained glued to his flight panel while he called out radio-altitude increments every ten irals until the starship settled firmly onto her gravity gradient in towering cascades of spray. He chuckled they slowed to taxiing speed amid happy shouts and cheers from all over the bridge. They were home! Now, all that remained was the hard part: finding their way to the military complex through approximately four c'lenyts of intermittent pea-soup fog....

As Tissaurd eased Starfury onto a transient gravity pool and the last mooring beams flashed into place, a huge, late-model limousine skimmer—in Fluvannian scarlet—pulled up at the foot of the brow with diplomatic flags flying. The chauffeur and footman no sooner had the passenger doors open than Drummond and Beyazh popped out one side while a Blue Cape wearing the two and a half stripes of a Lieutenant Commander exited the other. The three strode to the brow as if they were in a hurry.

"Looks like big doin's down there, Skipper," Tissaurd observed, shutting down the propulsion controls.

"At least," Brim replied with a frown. "I think I'd better go meet them."

"You'll have to hurry"—she laughed—"they're liable to beat you here."

As it turned out, they met in the main corridor, just outside Brim's cabin. "Brim," Drummond said, somewhat out of breath, "meet Commander Ambrose Contrell. He's replacing Tissaurd, who's been reassigned as skipper of this clapped-out derelict." He offered both his hand and an official-looking envelope. " These, you will be glad to know," he continued with a chuckle, "are your reassignment orders and travel voucher. We pride ourselves in the advance notice we give people."

Only slightly taken aback, Brim laughed; he'd been expecting something like this since the ship lifted for the last time from Penard Bay. "That's good to know, sir," he said, gripping the General's hand.

"If I ever need a little extra time for something, I'll be sure to come to you." Then he turned to Contrell.

"He hasn't done you any favors in the ship-assignment department, Commander," he said. "We treat equipment rough in the IVG."

"Er, yes, Captain," Contrell replied, looking just the slightest bit bewildered. "I couldn't help notice the missing forequarter of your port pontoon—or the... ah... excellent patching that has been done in the field." He had a wispy blond mustache and slightly buck teeth with just enough superciliousness about him to indicate that Starfury would soon have still another First Lieutenant. Contrell was an administrator, not a Helmsman.

Brim clapped him on the shoulder. "She's a good old bus," he said gently. "She just needs a little bit of work." Then he offered his hand to Beyazh. "Mr. Ambassador," he said with a smile, "to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

Beyazh grinned, "I wanted to make certain you actually were still alive. Captain," he said. "In my business, one learns never to trust word-of-mouth reports completely—and the General here knows how much importance Mustafa Eyren places in your person. Had you lost your life jousting with that Leaguer space fort, I might never have heard the truth about you."

"Oh, we'd have had to admit it," Drummond laughed. "We couldn't fake him if we wanted to."

"I sincerely believe that," Beyazh said, then drew a red envelope from the folds of his robe. "But I had a second reason for meeting the Captain, too." He handed the envelope to Brim. "In spite of my best detective efforts, I have no idea what this envelope contains, only that Raddisma herself sealed it in my presence and commanded me to personally deliver it into your hands." He smiled. "I have now obeyed her wishes."

Brim frowned as familiar perfume teased his nostrils. "Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," he said, placing the letter inside his white IVG Fleet Cloak (that would soon be traded for a version in Imperial blue). A small inner voice had warned him that it would be a good idea to put off reading its contents until he was alone.

"And now, Captain," Drummond intruded into his thoughts, "you and I need a few moments of privacy. Commander, I assume you can find your way to the bridge with Commander Tissaurd's promotion and orders."

"I can indeed, General," Contrell replied. He nodded to Brim. "My best to you, Captain," he said. Then—to Brim's horror —he bowed to Beyazh and strode off down the corridor. True Imperials never bowed.

Drummond shook his head. "Ex CIGA lickspittle," he explained. "He's only here because Tissaurd's in charge. He'll merely fill out her crew complement on the way to Sherrington's for the refit."

Beyazh nodded approval. "It would be frightening to discover that your actual combat billets were filled with such persons." He laughed. "I have always rather admired the way you Imperials normally refuse to bow." He placed a hand on Brim's shoulder and smiled. "If we do not meet before you depart for your new assignment—which General Drummond refuses to divulge," he added, peering with mock displeasure over his eyeglasses, "then I shall wish you well until the next time." With that, he touched his forehead and lips in the Fluvannian gesture of fellowship and strode off down the corridor.

In Brim's cabin, Drummond waited impatiently while the Carescrian scanned his new orders.: ASHF234812-19E GROUP 198BA 113/52011

[TOP SECRET]

PERSONNEL ACTION MEMORANDUM, IMPERIAL FLEET,

PERSONAL COPY

FROM:

BU FLEET PERSONNEL;

ADMIRALTY, AVALON

TO:

W. A. BRIM, CAPTAIN, I.F.

AVALON

<0893BVC-12-K2134MV/573250>

SUBJECT: DUTY ASSIGNMENT

(1) YOU ARE DETACHED PRESENT IVG DUTY AS OF 205/52012.

(2) PROCEED MOST EXPEDITIOUS TRANSPORT GIMMAS STARBASE,

HAEFDON. REPORT REAR ADM B. GALLSWORTHY, 11 GROUP, CENTRAL

COMPLEX AS SECTOR COMMANDER.

(3) EMPEROR'S AWARD CEREMONIES POSTPONED. IMPERIAL COMET

FORWARDED GIMMAS UNDER SEPARATE COVER.

(4) SUBMIT TRAVEL EXPENSE VOUCHERS DIRECT ADMIRALTY

C/O K. I. BARNETT, LTCMDR, IF @ FLEET PERSONNEL, ADMIRALTY,

AVALON

FOR THE EMPEROR:

TANDOR K. KNORR, CAPTAIN, I.F.

[END TOP SECRET]

ASHF234812-19E

"Sector Commander," Brim yelped in horror, "under Bosporus Gallsworthy? General, I'm just a simple Helmsman!"

Drummond laughed. "A Helmsman, maybe," he allowed. "But simple? Not on your life! At least not the way either Gallsworthy or Calhoun look at things. Those old friends had a tremendous row over who got you. It took Prince... er... Emperor Onrad to settle things. And since Calhoun's new assignment will be in the arena of overall strategy, Gallsworthy got the nod."

"But he's a Commissioner, not an Admiral, General!"

"You didn't read the message carefully enough," Drummond said with a chuckle. "It says 'Rear Admiral,' not 'Commissioner.' "

"Yes, sir," Brim grumped. "I guess I saw it."

"Old Bosporus wanted back into the war," Drummond continued. "He'd had enough of fighting from a desk chair. So he yelled loud enough—and in the proper ears—to make the switch."

Brim" nodded. "Somehow, I'm not surprised, General," he said. "He was the most superb Helmsman I've known."

"In that case," Drummond said, "I'll assume you've accepted the assignment without an argument—as if that would do any good?"

Brim frowned. "General," he remonstrated, "I hardly even know what a wing is much less what commanding one entails. Will I still get my hands on the controls of a starship once in a while?"

" Starfury's been in a foreign country too long for me to trust that she hasn't been bugged,"

Drummond replied, glancing around the cabin. "And the details of your new job are highly classified. So you'll have to learn about all that when you arrive at Gimmas. But I will promise you this: Eventually, you will be quartered just outside Avalon—and if my predictions are anywhere close to accurate, even you may put in more flying time than you want."

This time, it was Brim's turn to smile. "In that case, General," he said, "no argument."

"Good man," Drummond said. "I figured that you'd come through. That's why I'm in such a hurry this morning—and also why Starfury's parked where she is. On the next gravity pool to starboard is I.F.S. Jacques Schneider, scheduled to lift off in just one metacycle—or as soon as you pack a light travel bag. My office already forwarded the Imperial uniforms you had in storage here, and I'll have Barbousse pack and send the rest of your shipboard gear with his own." He chuckled for a moment,

"Onrad gave strict orders that the two of you are not to be separated. Says you're the worst thing that's happened to the League since we invented the 406-mmi disruptor...."*

Less than one hectic metacycle later, Brim scrubbed at vestiges of Tissaurd's lipstick on his cheek while he strapped himself into a jump seat on the destroyer's tiny bridge. He looked back through the clearing afternoon at his first command. Even patched as she was, Starfury remained one of the most naturally beautiful machines he'd ever encountered. He thought about the great Mitchell racers she claimed as direct ancestors, and smiled. Every iral a thoroughbred!

Then, abruptly, the whole waterfront of the military complex disappeared behind cascades of water as Schneider began her takeoff run and presently soared into the overcast. So much for vacation plans....

In the excitement of his transfer, it wasn't until that evening in the wardroom that Brim remembered Raddisma's letter. Relaxed in a comfortable recliner, he crossed his legs and broke the elaborate crest that sealed the envelope, extracting an old-fashioned letter written on what felt like authentic parchment paper. Incredible! But then, so was Raddisma....

Dearest Wilf:

A few days ago, I discovered to my utter joy that our splendid evening together had indeed produced much more than merely a night of fleeting pleasure. I do hope you will forgive me, but following our afternoon tour of the infirmary, I decided, precipitously perhaps, that I wanted to bear your child. It was the proper time for me. And so before we departed for the Officers Club, I prepared myself to conceive. Later on, you accomplished the remainder, in a most delightful manner, I might add.

In a few Standard Months, then, you will become the father of a baby girl. Sorry, my Captain: I realize that men normally desire sons. But I desired a girl. And since the task of bearing the child falls to me, it seemed only fair that the choice should be mine as well.

Please understand, Wilf, that you bear no responsibility for this child whatsoever, except for putting me in a rare mood to make love and babies in the same night. And, of course, supplying your own juices, which I carefully, and respectfully, retained. Because the Nabob believes that the baby is his, this letter is one of joyful proclamation only—not one of obligation. All things being equal, including a war that I count on you to win, our daughter will be raised to a life of high privilege, comfort, discipline, and education. It will be as if she were a princess, without the grinding duty that rides with the title. And, of course, I shall insure that she never becomes a courtesan.

Finally, my once-and-future lover, please also know that although you bear no responsibility for this child, you are also most welcome to share as much of her life as you might desire—with the exception, obviously, of a proclaimed fatherhood. The Nabob, bless his heart, is much disposed to male heirs, and although he will love her in his own way, he will rarely remember that she exists. Therefore, at your own discretion, you may take any role with her you wish, from "nonexistent" to "favorite uncle." Over the next years, Wilf Brim, it will be interesting to discover which you choose.

Clearly, I shall be in no shape, either literally or figuratively, to entertain you during the next few months. But please be assured of two things. First: believe that I shall notify you as soon as our child is born, and second: know that we shall have other nights together if you so desire. Aside from being the father of my only child, Wilf Brim, you are a very, very special man to me.

With sincere and respectful love,

Raddisma

As the destroyer thundered out across the galaxy, Brim sat stunned for the second time in a single day, staring blindly at the stars rushing past the small Hyperscreen scuttles. When he finally corraled his galloping thoughts, they resolved themselves into two personal crises that he would need to resolve in the reasonably near future. First, he had to somehow discover if Margot Effer'wyck was still alive, because, in spite of a thousand declarations to the contrary, he still loved her—no matter what had transpired in the last few troubling years. And now, a daughter! He had some pretty unsettling thoughts about his still-unborn child—especially considering the war in which she would start her life, but he vowed he would sidestep those issues until he could at least start to resolve the first.

He shook his head and looked around the Schneider's tiny wardroom, considering such arcana as dull moments. There were times when he wished he might have a few, just so he could catch up on all the moments that weren't. And he hadn't even considered what was happening to him personally: his mysterious new assignment—and the added responsibilities that would come with that territory. Closing his eyes for a moment, he wondered seriously how well Onrad's CIGA-weakened capital would endure the savage attacks that would soon develop in the skies over Avalon.

Then he shrugged. Clearly, he would have little trouble seeing all of it firsthand—so long as he managed to stay alive....

Table of Contents

The Mercenaries

Bill Baldwin

CHAPTER 1, Bromwich, 52009

CHAPTER 2, Intrigue

CHAPTER 3, The Annex

CHAPTER 4, Showing the Flag

CHAPTER 5, The Volunteer

CHAPTER 6, Fluvanna

CHAPTER 7, Command

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9, Strike Force

CHAPTER 10, Zonga'ar

CHAPTER 11, The IVG Passes