The Defenders

CHAPTER 7

Eve Cartier

Brim hardly needed to glance out the side Hyperscreen when his proximity alarm screamed again and a large starship hove into sight just off the port side. It was one of the Leaguers' new GH 270-A attack craft, and every one of its disrupters seemed to be pointing at his very forehead! He laughed in spite of himself. How Valentin had pulled that off, he'd never know! But then, if the wily Leaguer were nothing else, he was resourceful. He pursed his lips and considered for a moment. "We probably ought to try broadcasting another KA'PPA message anyway," he shouted to Onrad. "It's the only weapon we've got—and you can bet that zukeed Leaguer is dying to learn who our 'special passenger' is, so he xaxtdamned well won't be shooting to kill. How do you feel about that, Your Majesty?"

The Emperor thought about that for only a moment, then laughed. "It's all right with me, Brim," he laughed. "I've got nothing to lose. Oodam? How about you?"

"Why not?" Oodam grumbled.

"Aram?" Brim asked.

"I'm game, too," the A'zurnian replied. "What do you want to send?"

"Something short," Brim mused, "Like, 'WILF BRIM AND SPECIAL PASSENGER

ABOARD CAPTURED GH 219. UNDER ATTACK. HELP.' Put it out all in a burst." he ordered,

"then hang on to anything you can grab, all of you. And set your suits for minimum freedom again. They'll want to make certain we don't do that again. Understand?"

"Understand," Aram said, starting to key in the message.

"In the back there," Brim prompted. "You hear that."

"Yeah," Onrad grunted. "We heard. We're set."

"Ready? Aram?"

"Ready, Wilf...."

"Send it," Brim said through tight lips, ready to fight the controls through the punishing barrage he knew would follow their message: near misses, calculated to destroy the 219's ability to communicate—or do much else, for that matter. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms over this faceplate, and braced himself for the worst.

And braced.... And braced-----

"Great thundering Universe!" rumbled Onrad's surprised voice from the passenger compartment.

"Will y' look at that!"

Brim cautiously opened his eyes, expecting any moment to be blinded by the flash of a disrupter.

It didn't happen. Next, he carefully scanned the Hyperscreens and... Voot's greasy, vermin-infested beard! Now there were five large starships driving through space behind him. The four newcomers were Starfuries, and all fifty-six of their mighty disrupters were trained on Valentin and his Gorn-Hoff.

Unfortunately, the latter's disrupters were still pointed at his own personal forehead! A standoff if he'd ever heard of one! Rolling his eyes in absolute disbelief, he glanced down at the KA'PPA display, which was now displaying a question—in Avaionian. "QUESTION FOR WILF BRIM: WHAT

LOGISH MEEM DID SISTER EVE ENJOY RECENTLY DINING WITH A FELLOW

CARESCRIAN?" It was signed, "E. CARTIER, LT. COMMANDER, I.F."

"Eve!" Brim gasped over the voice circuits.

"Huh?"

"Er, nothing, Your Majesty," he replied, turning in his seat. "But it seems as if the ball has passed back to our Empire."

"So it would seem," Onrad whispered while he peered out the Hyperscreen port beside him. It was the first time Brim had ever heard an Emperor flabbergasted.

Come to think about it, he was a bit flummoxed himself. In short order, he had to somehow remember what meem he had ordered the night he'd had supper with the beautiful Carescrian. Dammit, where was Barbousse when he needed him? He'd know; it was he who had researched the spirits in the first place. Soma-Medoc, was it? The FleetPort 19 wardroom had a lot more of that than... Wait! There had also been a case of Manor-Savill as well. But they'd both been from the early teens. What was the other... "Logish Medoc fifty one oh nineteen!" he bellowed abruptly.

Startled, Aram raised an eyebrow. "Sir?" he asked.

"Never mind," Brim replied bemusedly, reaching in front of the A'zurnian to enter the characters himself. "LOGISH MEDOC 51019." "Send that," he ordered. Then, he waited....

" 'HERE'S TO THE HEAT, WILF BRIM,' " appeared a moment later. "HOW ARE YOUR

PASSENGERS?"

Brim took a deep breath. That was one problem out of the way.

At the same moment, Onrad appeared with Oodam on the flight deck. "Tell her your passengers are healthy and damn well ready to go home, Aram," he ordered.

"Aye, Your Majesty," Aram replied.

Moments later, another message appeared in the KA'PPA display—this time in Vertrucht. "So, brim," it read, "it seems that i shall have to forgo your company in trade for my life. what a pity. i should liked to have met your 'passenger.' another princess, perhaps?"

Brim grinned and reached in front of Aram again. "YOU WON'T LEARN ANYTHING FROM

ME, VALENTIN," he Sent in Vertrucht. "I never kiss and tell. It's the secret of my—considerable—success."

"Until our paths cross again, Imperial scum."

"I'LL LOOK FORWARD TO IT, LEAGUER CLOWN." Brim Sent as the Gorn-Hoff put its helm over and curved gracefully off to starboard—with its disruptors continuing to track Brim's forehead until it disappeared into the distance. "shall i send someone off to blast him?" appeared in the KA'PPA window.

Onrad shook his head. "Tell her 'no,' Aram," he said. "That Leaguer crony of Brim's never fired on us—as did our own ships."

Immediately, the four Starfuries moved into formation around them—and were joined within the next quarter metacycle by fully three additional squadrons of the powerful interceptors, forming a nearly impenetrable shield around the little Leaguer starship.

Brim actually enjoyed the remainder of his return to Avalon. It was easier flying a strange starship when he didn't have to worry about people from both sides blowing him to kingdom come.

With the planet Avalon a huge disk in Brim's forward Hyperscreens, Defense Command KA'PPAed a sparse order slowing the powerful formation out of Hyperspeed, but withholding landfall clearance for any of the starships. Moments later the 219's Hyperscreens stopped translating and became transparent to normal photons, Brim received a LightSpeed-limited radio message—without video—from General Harry Drummond himself. "Brim," the General grumbled through an unmistakable chuckle, "you have the xaxtDAMNDEST talent for trouble I've ever encountered. How DO you do it?"

"Er...." Brim answered, "I'm not entirely to blame this time, General. It's the company I keep."

Drummond laughed. "By the Universe, now that's an excuse I'll accept! You certainly have been traveling with fast, and often troublesome, associates."

"Aye, sir," Brim replied in as innocent a voice as he could muster.

"Well, my Carescrian friend," Drummond continued, "tell you what. Because I believe in your innate goodness—as well as that of your A'zurnian comrade in outrage—I have decided to remove the two bad influences you have with you. How does that sound?"

Brim looked at Aram and rolled his eyes to the top Hyperscreens. "Does that sound wonderful to you?" he asked.

"Just thraggling WUN-der-ful," the A'zurnian answered— with his microphone shut off.

"We both think that sounds wonderful, General, We appreciate your efforts on our behalf."

"Good," Drummond said, suddenly serious. "In approximately five cycles, you will sight I.F.S. Oddeon in a parking orbit. She was on final for landfall on Lake Mersin when we first picked up your initial KA'PPAs; she's been standing by ever since, just in case the message was genuine, which—thank the Universe—it was. When the storm abates a bit more, you'll immediately moor to Oddeon's boarding pipe and transfer your two passengers—who, we strongly suggest, should board the battleship with their battlesuits faceplates darkened. After all, the hatches won't match, so their battlesuits will have to be sealed anyway."

"Sounds like a plan to me, General," Brim said, "I'll take care of the mooring, but perhaps you should pass on the suggestions yourself."

Drummond thought about that for a moment. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Probably that's not a bad idea. What sort of shape's the key passenger in?"

Brim thought for a moment about that. "Healthy as a racing zorquine, General. Not even winded."

"No, I mean, how does the, er, passenger feel about the possible consequences that might have resulted from the, er, 'mission'? You'd think a certain amount of shame would surface." He paused for a moment. "And to tell the truth, you ought to feel a bit ashamed for letting such an important passenger get in such trouble."

Brim decided to ignore the General's second comment, even though he was feeling a bit irresponsible concerning the episode. He considered his words carefully. "I think you'll find the passenger is pretty well satisfied with, er, his or her own actions. General," he said, speaking privately into his microphone. "At the time, there were exceptionally compelling grounds for the 'mission.' and during subsequent actions, I personally saw some real bravery—not bravado, mind you— along with the kind of leadership we all have expected. With the greatest respect, General, you probably won't want to, er, dwell on feelings of shame the passenger ought to have."

The radio was silent for a moment, then Drummond laughed softly. "Well spoken, Brim," he said.

"I sincerely appreciate the words."

"Thank you, General," Brim said, stifling a great sigh of relief. "Would you like me to put the passenger on, now?"

"Absolutely," Drummond said, "after you disable the transmit, please. We won't need answers."

"Aye, sir," Brim said with a grin, then switched off the master transmitter and turned in his seat.

''General Drummond for you, Your Majesty," he announced. "I'm afraid we won't be able to send your answers...."

No more than half a metacycle later, Brim watched Onrad and Beyazh making their way safely through the battleship's transparent boarding tube and breathed a sigh of relief. He winked at Aram.

"Let's take this little tub and head for home," he said.

The A'zurnian grinned. "Nobody has claimed it yet, have they?"

Brim nodded. "Eventually, it'll go to the labs on Proteus for evaluation," he said. "But they'll have to come get it from FleetPort 30, 'cause I'm not flying it any farther than that."

"Besides, it does have rather bizarre markings, wouldn't you say?" Aram quipped.

"Yeah. Really...."

"Imperial Gorn-Hoff 319-JE from Oddeon," the battleship radioed. "You may seal ship and cast off at your convenience."

"Thank you, Oddeon" Brim replied. He turned to Aram.

"Nodzoff means 'locked,' and Sadzoff means 'sealed,' my friend."

"I'm on my way, Wilf," the A'zurnian said, heading aft into the passenger compartment. Moments later, he returned to his seat. "The hatch is now nodzoffed and sadzoffed," he reported with a grin.

Brim nodded. "You always were a quick study, Aram," he chuckled. Then he keyed the radio.

"Gorn-Hoff 319-JE to Oddeon," he sent, looking up at the battleship's imposing superstructure and awesome disrupters in terraces of superfiring turrets, "casting off." He canceled the mooring beams that had secured the little ship to its giant counterpart and nudged the steering engine to port.

"We're free," Aram warranted, peering out the starboard Hyperscreen.

"Gorn-Hoff 319-JE to Oddeon" Brim warned, "we are clear of your boarding pipe. May stars light all thy paths," he added, passing the age-old Imperial salute to the great old battleship.

"And thy paths, Star Travelers," came his answer. Above him, on the battleship's great, towering bridge, someone waved. Then with a massive stateliness, the colossal starship began to move forward, totally unaffected by heavy gravity chop from the Triad. Moments later, the big ship banked ponderously, then turned toward the completion of its interrupted landfall, still escorted by the three squadrons of Starfuries.

Just as Brim was getting the little 219 under way again, Eve Carescrian's voice filled his helmet speakers. "Imperial P8350 to Imperial Gorn-Hoff," she said.

"Imperial Gorn-Hoff 319-JE," Brim acknowledged with a frown.

"Captain Brim," she said formally, "should I assume you will be in Avalon day after tomorrow for the Squadron Commanders' meeting at the Admiralty?"

Brim snapped his fingers. Somehow, her voice—and the mention of something so workaday as a meeting at the Admiralty—brought him back to reality. "Er, yes," he replied. "Ah... perhaps we could... meet afterward?"

"I shall count on that, Captain," she answered. "Imperial P8350 out."

"Imperial Gorn-Hoff," Brim acknowledged. And even the amused look on Aram's face couldn't erase the happy grin her message brought to his own.

The war hadn't paused at all in Brim's short absence. On his return to a badly mauled FleetPort 30 (where at least twenty large blue pressure patches covered jagged holes blown in the satellite's skin), Barbousse stolidly ignored the damage and announced with pride that Home Fleet's Attack Command had launched another highly successful strike on the League's invasion buildup in Effer'wyck. Leave it to Barbousse to ferret out the good news!

But later, in his office with Moulding, he learned that the Leaguers had been all too busy themselves. Early raids by large formations of Kreissel 111s the previous day resulted in heavy damage at the great commercial starship docks on the planet Melia while other groups—mostly Zachtwagers—continued the campaign against BKAEW satellites. The Rontnev BKAEW satellite had been so badly damaged it was rendered unusable, causing a considerable gap in Defense Command's warning chain. Later in the morning, Defense Command's starbases had again been targeted. The Hawkinge starbase orbiting polar Avalon was badly damaged during a savage attack by Trodler 215s and Gantheisser GA 87B Zachtwagers.

Throughout a lengthy midmorning respite, repairs had been made to the damaged BKAEW sites, but the next round of assaults began about midday, with more than forty attack craft, and it became clear then that the Leaguers were now specially targeting Defense Command. Defending squadrons—including Brim's 11 Group—had already been scrambled, and destroyed twelve raiders. But enough of the Leaguers got through that FleetPort 30 itself had taken the grievous damage Brim saw (with ten casualties) when he landed. And it was only one of the many other Defense Command bases damaged in the raids. FleetPort 13 (orbiting Proteus) was so badly damaged that it could only accommodate two squadrons instead of its usual three. Then, no more than a metacycle later, two full groups of GA 87s attacked FleetPort 24 over Ariel, rendering a nearby BKAEW inoperative. But this time, before they could re-form for the flight home, one of the Leaguer groups found itself intercepted by two of Aram's Defiant squadrons, which promptly shot down twelve out of the twenty-eight attackers. Elsewhere, other Leaguer attack groups had been similarly savage.

"Sounds pretty wild to me," Brim commented in self-defense. He was rapidly reaching information overflow.

"Yes, right-ho," Moulding agreed with a grim smile. "Except 'wild' isn't nearly strong enough, Wilf." He shook his head. "The word is you and Aram came through a bit of bother yourselves while you were gone on your mysterious trip, but among the chaps here at FleetPort 30, the pace is also beginning to tell...."

Old-timers, he explained—survivors of perhaps a month at the most—were fast wearing to a frazzle, and bothered by empty places that kept appearing in the mess. New faces would appear out of the training bases, become familiar for a few days, then disappear with hardly a trace. Not only that, but word of the mortality rate was spreading below, on the surface. Replacement crews were now reporting for duty frightened out of their wits, but somehow their morale held. "They may be a bunch of mollycoddles, those new crews," Moulding said proudly, "but for all that, they came through tough as hullmetal when it comes to fighting for the old Empire."

"I'd hoped that might be the case," Brim mused quietly. "Makes me wonder where—and how—Amherst and his pack ever recruited so many CIGAs."

Moulding shook his head. "I'm dashed if I know," he said thoughtfully. "But I imagine many of the swine who did are having second thoughts right now. I've only begun to tell you how the Leaguers acquitted themselves yesterday."

Brim sat back in his chair. "There's more?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm only now getting to the interesting parts," Moulding said. That very afternoon, he explained, squadrons from FleetPort 30 intercepted a third main thrust against Avalon as it moved toward Prendergast Point, the great commercial harbor area 320 c'lenyts to the Austral of Avalon. Both Starfuries and Defiants made a good intercept, causing the attackers to fire blindly to complete their mission. "But this time," Moulding said with revulsion, "the bloody murderers blasted the outskirts of Avalon City itself. I personally think they did it by accident, but...." He paused for a moment. "Mark my words, Wilf," he continued presently, "those Leaguers quite altered the pattern of the war in that raid. So far they'd been damned careful not to damage the Imperial capital itself—most probably so they wouldn't bring down the same thing on their own capital. But all that's going to change now or I'll eat my battlesuit."

Brim nodded. From what he knew of Onrad, the Leaguers' blunder would certainly precipitate some sort of immediate retaliation. However, it would be nothing in comparison to what the Emperor would wreak on the Leaguers' capital should initiative in the war someday pass to the Empire. "You're right there, Toby," he said. "Whoever made that decision sealed the fate of Tarrott." He rose from his chair and paced for a moment. Tired as he was, he couldn't fight off a certain sense of excitement. "Could anything else have happened while I was gone?" he demanded.

"Oh, absolutely, old sport," Moulding said. "Whatever else you were doing, you missed quite a bit of excitement."

Brim laughed. "Believe me, Toby, I didn't lack for 'excitement.' "

"Yes," Moulding agreed, "knowing you, I shouldn't doubt that a bit. Unfortunately, I suspect you'll have mixed thoughts about how the day ended."

"Mixed thoughts?" Brim asked him with a chuckle.

Moulding nodded. "If you're anything like me."

"Go ahead," Brim said with an abrupt sense of foreboding.

"Well," Moulding began, "the Leaguers' random firing on Avalon that morning caused extensive damage—and loss of life—no more than a c'lenyt from a hall where some five hundred CIGAs were holding a rally. They'd given it a lot of advance hype and publicity—and chosen for their theme something like 'How Our Empire Forced the League into War.' "

Brim grimaced. "Cowards and traitors, the whole lot," he growled through his teeth. "How in xaxt did they attract an audience of five hundred with total Gorksroar like that? I mean... all they have to do is look up in the thraggling sky!"

Moulding looked at Brim with a dour smile. "Actually, Wilf," he said, "numbers were their downfall."

"Numbers of people attending?"

"Regrettably so," Moulding said with a frown. "In addition to the five hundred fellow CIGAs, they also attracted an angry mob of local residents—more than a thousand strong. People whose homes were burning even while the CIGAs were cheering on their attackers."

"Universe," Brim whispered. "I take it the residents got out of control."

"Somewhat," Moulding answered. "They stormed the hall, ripped off all the doors, and beat five CIGAs to death before the police could restore order."

"Mother of Voot," Brim swore darkly, shaking his head in disgust. "If indeed Triannic's ultimate goal is to destroy the Empire," he said, "he's off to a good start turning the citizens into bloody savages...."

Early next day, Brim read in the morning's Top Secret Intelligence Bulletin that seventy-one Leaguer starships had been destroyed the previous day. In comparison, Defense Command now had 689 serviceable machines, compared to 631 three days previously. Jaiswal's efforts were clearly beginning to pay dividends. A negative rate of attrition, he considered with a smile, in spite of Admiral Orgoth's best efforts to eradicate the Imperial Fleet. Not bad for a gaggle of amateurs! Hanna Notrom, League Minister for Public Consensus, would have her hands full making something good out of that for her controlled media. Ursis had already reported that the Imperials' spirited defense was severely shaking Orgoth's confidence. And now, if the Sodeskayans' intelligence reports were accurate—as always—a number of his crews were now in disgrace for firing on Avalon City itself. The responsible Leaguer captains had been dragged from their ships upon landing and summarily transported to Tarrott for punishment. That, he considered as he donned his battlesuit for a morning patrol, ought to really boost the morale of Leaguer flight crews!

Later that morning in the FleetPort 30 wardroom, Brim and most of his off-duty officers watched Emperor Onrad broadcast one of his "heart-to-heart chats" to all five planets circling the Triad. The already-imposing man appeared to have actually increased in stature since his highly secret adventure in Effer'wyck. Brim smiled. He deserved it—even if he was a damned fool to get caught up in such an incredibly dangerous lark. Besides, he thought, nobody could make a speech like the new Emperor.

Nobody.

"...The gratitude of every home in our Triad," Onrad was declaring with a steely mien, "in our Empire, and indeed throughout the whole civilized galaxy— except in the abodes of the guilty—goes out to our brave Imperial starsailors, who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and baneful danger, are even now turning the tide of galactic war by their prowess and by their devotion....

Never," he concluded, "in the field of mortal conflict was so much owed by so many to so few...."

"Wonder who he's been talking to who claims he's 'unwearied'?" Moulding quipped in an aside.

"Don't know," Brim replied—recalling with a smile the Emperor's emotional words just before the attack on the BKAEW station. "But all that 'owing' business probably refers to the mess bills your boys are running up in the wardroom. I understand those things are reported to the Admiralty on a regular basis...."

In space, a marked lull in the battle began to evince itself that very afternoon by a virtual absence of Leaguer starships anywhere in the vicinity of Avalon, except for a series of extra vicious attacks on Proteus, the science planet. Mysteriously, these seemed to be concentrated around the huge intelligence complex near the austral pole. In Brim's eyes, at least, the lull was primarily caused by severe gravity storms that had begun to move through the area, but the attack on the intelligence labs mystified him.

Intelligence operations were not usually the stuff of which really important targets were made....

That afternoon, however, still another reason for the lull came to light when Barbousse personally shunted a handful of dispatches to Brim's display on the flight bridge as Starfury R6595 waited for the next attack in one of the ready-alert slips. "Um, thought you might want to read this right away, Cap'm,"

the big rating called from a weapons console.

"Thanks, Chief," Brim said, looking up from his instruments with a frown. Normally, Barbousse had little time for Brim's personal mail, watchfully delegating such mundane tasks to his own subordinates.

"Anything special I ought to see?" the Carescrian asked.

"Um. . .well, Cap'm," the big rating started, "you might just want to look at the new TSIB there on the top of the list."

Brim turned to ask a question, but Barbousse was on his way out of the bridge. Settling himself back in his seat, he brought his correspondence list to the display. Sure enough, its first entry was the midday Top Secret Intelligence Bulletin. With mounting concern, he OPEN'ed the document and nearly gasped when he read its first entry:

1. FLUVANNA UNDER SIEGE

In a surprise move early today, the Imperial Fleet of The Torond (ostensibly led by Grand Duke Rogan LaKarn but under close supervision by League military 'advisers') and powerful units of the League's Military Space Arm mounted an all-out attack against selected targets among die planets of Fluvanna and laid siege to its capital city, Magor, on the planet Ordu. According to Sodeskayan sources, most of the Leaguer units were "borrowed" from large forces in Effer'wyck deployed against the Imperial Triad, and will almost certainly result in a lull in the raids over Avalon.

Nearly the entire Fluvannian Fleet and all units of the Imperial Fleet (stationed at Varnholm Hall outside Ordu) are engaged....

Brim's heart turned cold. Fears for Raddisma and their unborn daughter palpably gripped his chest. And in those moments, he knew he wasn't alone in his worries. Barbousse himself had formed a romantic attachment there during their tour with the IVG. That's what had so upset the normally unflappable starsailor! Unfortunately, there was nothing either of them could do to help. In fact, until they were off alert, they couldn't even send for new information.

Metacycles later, when Brim did return to his office, he immediately put through a call to friends at the Admiralty. From them he learned to his dismay that because of the present threat to the Triad itself, a decision had been made to abandon the Fluvannian capital and concentrate all remaining forces in defense of the three Drive-crystal-producing planets: Voso Gannit, Voso Gola, and Voso Truvalu.

Recalling Onrad's feelings on the subject, he'd suspected that would be the policy. But what would now be the fate of Fluvanna's Nabob and his court? Were they to be simply abandoned? His Admiralty contacts didn't know, and a whole series of desperate calls to the Public Information Section of the Foreign Office went unanswered. He had no special influence in that hotbed of arrogant intellectuals (many of them CIGAs). After a formal inspection of FleetPort 30's engineering bays (of which he could remember virtually nothing), he shared the bad news with Barbousse and then retired to a night of tossing and turning in his bed.

The following day was even stormier than its predecessor, and after most BKAEW sites reported only occasional Leaguer starships anywhere near the Triad, Brim found himself spending most of his time pacing the floor and trying to get news about Fluvanna—mostly to no avail. Even Barbousse—a man at times feloniously resourceful—came up with no more than scuttlebutt.

"It's either more secret than anythin' I've ever seen," he explained to Brim, "or—beggin' the Cap'm's pardon—those silly clowns in the Admiralty still haven't figured out what to do." He shook his head and looked Brim in the eye. "Cap'm," he said uneasily, "I've got... well... sentimental attachments myself in Fluvanna. If you'll remember, I... er, sort of... formed an association with a Fluvannian lady.

Chief Petty Officer Tutti—Chief Consort Raddisma's private chauffeur. I want you to know, sir, that I'm doin' everythin' I can to get some word of what's happenin' out there."

Brim smiled and put his hand on the big man's arm. "So it's pretty safe to assume that you've known about the baby," he said.

Barbousse turned scarlet and he looked down at his boots. "Both baby an' mother were doin' fine as of the end of last week," he asserted. "This thing that LaKarn and the Leaguers are doin' has caught everybody off guard. I'd never have let either of the ladies get into this kind of trouble."

"Thanks," Brim said lamely. "I don't know what else to say."

"No thanks necessary, Cap'm," Barbousse said. "We've taken care of each other over the years. It's been a good arrangement."

"The best," Brim said with real feeling—at the same moment that an orderly put his head around the corner.

"Captain Brim," he said. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have a top-secret dispatch for you personally, direct from the Imperial Palace."

"A personal message?" Brim asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, sir."

"I'll be outside if you need me, Cap'm," Barbousse said, passing the message to Brim and ushering the orderly out the door before him.

Sitting at his desk, Brim lightly touched his right index finger to the plastic envelope's Imperial Seal, then withdrew it. In a few moments, the seal completed its processing, recognized his fingerprint, and vaporized in a cloud of odorless smoke. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of light blue plastic, engraved in gold with the Imperial Seal of the Emperor.

The Imperial Palace

30 Octad/52011

My Dear Captain Brim

With this letter, We take pleasure informing you of Our decision to evacuate the Fluvannian Nabob, Mustafa IX Eyren, The Magnificent, and His Principal Consort, Raddisma, to the Fleet base at Atalanta, Gimmas Haefdon. Certain of their chief servants, and others from the Court at Magor, Ordu, will accompany them during this period of invasion danger in that city. Because you won many friends there during your tenure as a member of Our Imperial Volunteer Group, We thought you would wish to know. Accept, Captain, the assurances of Our highest consideration, etc., etc.

Onrad V, Vice Admiral, I.F.,

Grand Galactic Emperor,

Prince of the Reggio Star Cluster,

and Rightful Protector of the Heavens.

As Brim read the words, a wave of relief seemed to wash over him like cooling water in a desert.

"We thought you would want to know," he repeated to himself, over and over until... "Barbousse!" he shouted. "You still out there?"

Barbousse poked his head inside the office. "Aye, Cap'm," he said with a very serious mien. "I...er... just got a message, m'self...."

"It can wait," Brim said, holding up a hand. "This can't! Come in and shut the door.1'

"Aye, Cap'm," Barbousse said with an interested look on his face. He softly pulled the door shut behind him.

"Sit down," Brim said, indicating the single guest chair he permitted in his office.

Barbousse sat.

"Chief," Brim began, "you'll have to trust me with this one, but I've got good news."

"Aye, sir?"

"Both Chief Tutti and Raddisma are safe. I can't tell you anything more than that, but it's true. All right?"

Barbousse smiled and allowed himself to relax in his seat for a moment. "Aye, sir," he said, looking Brim directly in the eye. "An' I'll always appreciate your telling' me that. Believe that."

Brim nodded. "Thank the Universe," he whispered more to himself than his long-time shipmate.

Then he shook his head and came to a more rational mien. "I'm sorry for interrupting. What was your message?"

Barbousse's face colored. "Well, beggin' the Cap'm's pardon, an' all that, er, my message pretty well said the same thing, 'cept it came by word of mouth from an"—he pursed his lips and shrugged—"er, one o' m' sources, Cap'm. But just in case your, er, source didn't mention it, Consort Raddisma an' Chief Tutti are both goin' to Atalanta. The Emperor's evacuatin' them along wi' members of the court, there."

Brim felt his face go red. "Thank you. Chief," he said. "And speaking of appreciating...."

"You won't mention this to anybody, will you, Cap'm?" Barbousse interrupted. "That comes from one of m' best sources."

"Chief," Brim said, smiting in spite of his embarrassment. "My lips are sealed."

"So're mine," Barbousse said. "Always."

Later, reflecting on why the Emperor had bothered to tell him about the decision to evacuate the Nabob and his court from Magor, Brim came up with a thousand answers—and no answers. Finally, with typical Carescrian pragmatism, he decided never to question gifts, in whatever form they came. The following morning, he departed for the surface to attend the Squadron Commanders' meeting at the Admiralty. The miraculous lull in the fighting made it seem almost as if he were going on leave.

Somehow, the day's endless harangues about augmenting base safety, managing "personnel," producing Officer Effectiveness Reports in a "timely fashion" (whatever that meant), maintaining vigilant security, and other such administrative minutiae failed to keep Brim's interest. He sat quietly in the rear of this meeting room or that auditorium as the day passed, collecting endless handouts and attempting to look interested in the appointed subject while he alternately speculated about having a daughter and watched Eve Cartier trying not to notice how much he was staring at her.

After what seemed like ten Standard Centuries, the agenda crawled painfully to its end. He lied to Moulding and Aram, telling them they should go out on the town without him because he had yet another briefing to attend. Then he stalled around until most of the other officers had filed out of the large Weathersby Auditorium, after which he waited until Vice Admiral (the Hon.) Keith Hunt finished with whatever he was telling Eve. Finally, he sauntered—casually, he hoped—out the door, meeting her "quite by accident" in the huge domed lobby of the Admiralty. "Eve!" he exclaimed in feigned surprise. "I didn't know you were here today."

Cartier smiled demurely. "Faith, Captain Brim," she said, smoothing her hair. "An' who else wad stand in for me, now?"

"No one could e'en— even try, so far as I'm concerned," Brim answered, resolving this time to resist a lapse into the Carescrian speech patterns of his youth. "Especially now that the meetings are over."

"Hoot Mon but they were Jang, weren't they?" she asked, ignoring his obvious "correction."

"I think we're supposed to get something special from meetings that are especially long and boring," Brim said, "but I've never been smart enough to understand what that is."

"Thank the Universe they're not all luik that," she said, then they both stood for a long moment in silence.

"I, ah..." Brim stumbled, straightening the collar of his Fleet Cloak, "h-hoped you might have the evening free."

" 'Tis the very idea I tried to get across the other day on the radio," she said, "hopin' that you might hae the same evenin' free."

"Looks like wishes do come true sometimes," Brim said.

Cartier laughed. "If that's so, then perhaps we'll win this war very quickly and stop the bloody killin', for that's certainly my wish."

"Sounds good to me," Brim said, "but I don't suppose I'll hold my breath."

"Nor I," Cartier replied, glancing sideways to see her reflection in a mirror.

"Maybe this evening we can make the war go away for a while."

"I guess I've been countin' on that, Wilf Brim," she said.

"What sounds good to you?" he asked.

"I don't know," Cartier said with a little smile. Then she laughed. "Compared to you, my guid Captain, I'm but a simple country maid from Carescria." Then she blushed. "Probably at my age we ought to forget aboot the 'maiden' part—but the rest is true."

Brim smiled and gently put his hand on her forearm. "There wasn't anything 'simple' about the Helmsman of a Starfury who came up with a way to save my life the other day," he said.

" An' your passengers," she added. "Very important people, eh?"

Brim felt himself blush.

"Do na' worry," she said, placing her own hand over his. "I won't ask now. But after the war, Wilf Brim," she continued with a grin, "I'm going to want to know who they were. Got that?"

"Got that," Brim chuckled.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment. "Can you at least tell me wha' in the name of Voot you were doin' flyin' around in that wee Gorn-Hoff 219? I mean, you're noted for bein' a bit unconventional, Wilf Brim, but... ."

"Well," Brim said with a frown, "would you believe I was taking it off to a Gradygroat monastery for use as a hymnal delivery vehicle?"

"That's wha' you're going to tell me noo?" she asked with an expression of feigned amazement.

"It's as good an explanation as any I can give right now," Brim said, feeling his cheeks burn a second time.

Cartier squeezed his hand, then let go. "If tha' is your story, I'll believe it," she said with a grin.

"But after the war, you'd better come clean aboot that, too."

Brim held his hands palm upward. "Eve," he protested, "Me? Come clean? Whatever can you mean?"

"If there's onything you haven't learned to do, Wilf Brim," Cartier said with a grin, "it's luik innocent. Besides, your reputation for trouble precedes you like some ge'at starship travelin' at LightSpeed."

"What can I say?"

"Hmm. Probably nothing. But perhaps you might take me somewhere for a guid supper." She paused a moment. "No," she added with a frown, "I should like to go somewhere for an excellent supper—with all the sophisticated trimmin's I've heard aboot in Avalon. I'll e'en buy."

"We'll see about the tab," Brim said with a smile and thought for a moment. "Now, there's an elegant little place a few streets off Huntington Gate that..." he continued, but Cartier interrupted.

"I've nae wish to hear aboot the place, Wilf Brim," she said. "I want to go there."

"And so do I," Brim said, indicating the Admiralty's elaborately etched Dommian crystal doors, through which the last gleams from the Triad were now streaming. "We can e'en— even—find transportation outside."

"Weel done, sir," Cartier said in a satisfied voice, again glancing at herself in one of the great Admiralty minors. "I'll go preen for a few moments while you see to the reservations...."

Only cycles later, they were seated in the roomy back seat of an immaculate Avalonian taxi, careening through the wild traffic of Locorno Square on their way to Gin Tobin Lane, a narrow street two short blocks off Huntington Gate. Brim smiled to himself as they sped past the usual CIGA demonstration— noticeably smaller than usual. It promised to be an interesting evening.

The Staff & Star was nearly impossible to spot from even so narrow a street as Gin Tobin Lane.

It was first necessary to enter a little cobblestone alleyway that looked more like a private sidewalk than a public thoroughfare. But if one followed that special pavement for no more than 150 irals along a sharp right curve (around a stately Trompian-era mansion that had been a camarge tobacco shop since long before Brim was a cadet), he would come to the entrance to what long ago must have served as a sizable mews-cum servants quarters. Protected from Avalon's often-rainy climate by an elegant lavender canopy, its spectacularly carved stone doorway depicted a whole panoply of beasts and birds peculiar to Avalon's literature from pre-starflight epochs. During peacetime, it was something that only the most fortunate tourists ever got to see.

The great, paneled door opened just as they stepped beneath the canopy, and a billow of warm, yeasty redolence replaced the cool damp of Avalon's early autumn. Before them in the tiny forecourt stood an elegantly bewigged maître d' attired in a style borrowed from perhaps ten centuries in the past.

He wore a long, highly ornamented frock coat buttoned only at the waist that extended all the way to his knees. Beneath, he had a black cravat-bow over a double ruffed shirt and satin knee breeches, long white silk stockings, and high-tongued, buckled shoes with low red heels. ''Captain Brim, Commander Cartier," he said, bowing deeply from the waist, "it is a genuine honor to serve both of you this evening. Your table is waiting."

"May I take your arm?" Cartier whispered.

Brim felt himself blush. He'd been stuffy because of their uniforms, and he knew it. "I should be honored," he said, suddenly aware all over again of how fundamentally beautiful this middle-aged Carescrian woman really was. He shook his head. A Carescrian. Just like himself....

Inside, The Staff & Star did credit to its historic reputation. Brim had never discovered (nor did he particularly want to know) if the decorations were original or reproductions. The interior looked precisely as it had the evening a cadet-smitten young debutante first escorted him to supper there (only to break off their relationship when her wealthy parents discovered he was a Carescrian), Over the years, he had enjoyed the grand, old restaurant's fare as often as he could, and was determined that Eve Cartier would cherish the atmosphere as much as he did so long ago.

The main dining room was lighted only by candles in baroque sconces and chandeliers that provided just enough illumination—neither too little for gazing upon elegant companions nor too much to incite the interest of neighboring tables. Great ruby-red draperies hung from tall, narrow windows that marched like ancient soldiers along one long wall; high mirrors, darkened by sheer age, adorned the others. And between them, elaborately framed representations of ancient, seagoing ships—not one of them depicted by a modern hologram—hung from the ancient plaster. The high ceiling was supported by elegantly gilded beams framing trompe l'oeil paintings of chimerical flighted beings that were almost lost in the hazy darkness. And the atmosphere was an altogether agreeable chaos of odors, from the delicious aroma of cooking food to the mysteriously foreign scents of camarge tobacco and the Bears' famous (or perhaps infamous) Hogge'Poa.

" 'Tis beautiful, Wilf," Cartier whispered as they followed the maître d' across deep carpeting to an intimately sized table located a comfortable distance from a quintet of musicians (also dressed in frock coats and pantaloons) who coaxed gloriously non-intrusive harmonies from graceful stringed instruments.

As she took her seat, Brim became acutely aware of the comfort her hand provided while it rested gently on his arm. Few women he'd encountered had been able to make him feel so... well, "kindred" was a word that came to his mind. But it didn't quite fit, because for a long time he'd had decidedly unsisterly dreams concerning his beautiful countrywoman. After the traditional Avalonian napkin ceremony, an ancient Meem Steward bowed and presented him with the restaurant's large meem list,

"Noo that is wha' I ca' a meem list," Cartier remarked softly.

"Would you like to look it over?" Brim asked, offering the huge book across the table.

Cartier smiled and shook her head. "I hae seen quite a few o' them since my assignment to Avalon. I should much rather you choose somethin' for us. Luik you did at FleetPort 30 that evenin'."

Brim peered over the top of the book into her brownish eyes and smiled. "And what if tonight I have evil intentions when I order?" he asked.

She laughed. "You ne'er know, Wilf Brim," she said, relaxing in her chair and crossing her long legs. "Perhaps I e'en share some o' those intentions. We shall ha' to see how the evenin' turns out."

And, at least to Brim's way of thinking, the evening rapidly became one of the most pleasant he could remember. They seemed to share a boundless set of interests and took time with their order, pausing to sip—and savor—the grand old Logish Meem Brim had selected after considerable study of the list. By the time they were ready for the main course, it seemed to Brim as if meeting the beautiful Carescrian was one of the most fortunate occurrences of his life. They even talked about Margot Effer'wyck, for Cartier was naturally curious about the woman she had risked crew, ship, and life to search for after Brim's battle at Zonga'ar.

"She really did try to save you, didn't she," Cartier said, pausing to look Brim directly in the eye.

"She maun love you very much to compromise her chield that way."

Brim frowned and returned her gaze. "I don't think I'll ever know if she loves me," he said presently. "Once, a long time ago, I believe she did. Now, it's anybody's guess. From what I gather, TimeWeed leaves little in one's brain but ardent yearnings for itself. But I think vestiges of our love clearly remain." He felt himself blush. "We met a few evenings in Fluvanna," he said. "And the old spark was there—or at least seemed to be, even though, to be truthful, something was missing."

"But did na' later she... er... try to hae you killed in an ambush?" Cartier asked.

"Yes," Brim admitted, "she did." He shook his head. "At least it certainly seemed to be the case.

Yet, why did she later save my life at Zonga'ar at the risk of her own?"

Cartier smiled. " 'Tis not my place to answer such questions," she said. "I don't know how the minds of Princesses work."

"I understand," Brim said with a grin, somehow anxious to drop the subject. "As you told me earlier, you're only a poor Carescrian maiden."

"I hae dropped the 'maiden' business," Cartier said, cocking her head to one side and smiling. "A maiden my age would na' be a very interestin' person."

"You've been married?" Brim asked.

"Once," she said with a faraway look in her eye. Then she winked and smiled with a feigned look of iniquity. "But I didn't wait for him to come along."

"Eve Cartier, I'm shocked," Brim chuckled as the Meem Steward emptied the bottle into their goblets.

"Another bottle?" the man asked.

Brim looked across the table at Cartier and raised his eyebrows.

She glanced demurely at the ceiling and thought for a moment. "Nae, Wilf," she said presently,

"I've had quite enough, thank you."

"You didn't like it?" he asked.

"Oh, on the contrary," she said, closing her eyes dreamily, "I luved it."

"Then?"

"I've had enough for tonight," she said quietly. "But if you'd like another, don't let me stop you."

Brim considered that. He'd chosen an especially rich, full-bodied Logish Meem to go with the braised game and berries they'd both ordered. Ultimately, however, he shook his head and thanked the busy Steward who bowed and quickly disappeared among the tables.

"If you change your mind..." he said.

"I do na' think I shall," she replied, smoothing her hair. "I ha' enjoyed the meem, but I hope there's mair to this evenin' than just a meal an' drinkin', Mr. Wilf Brim. I've spent the best part o' the last twa' weeks at the helm of a starship tryin' to kill people—and damn nearly gettin' killed myself a number of times. The fact is that I'm tired, my handsome countryman, an' I don't want onythin' to interfere wi' what' I think you hae on your mind."

Brim raised an eyebrow. "Universe, Eve," he said with no little concern. "Have I been staring at you that much?"

She smiled. "Eneugh," she said.

"I'm terribly sorry," Brim said—and meant it.

"Oh, please don't be sorry, Wilf," she insisted, placing her hand on his. "I luve to be stared at that way. Every woman does at the right time and place."

"Then I'll continue," Brim said softly.

"See that you do," she replied.

He did.

After a light dessert of fruit and cheese, she puffed one of her tiny camarge cigarettes to life and inhale deeply with her eyes half closed. Then twisting in her chair while she settled back, she crossed her legs once more and exposed a considerable stretch of thigh. " 'Tis been a wonderful evenin', so far, Wilf Brim," she said, looking him directly in the eye.

"Indeed it has," Brim agreed with a smile, then waited. They sat in silence for a long moment.

Clearly, the next step—whatever it was going to be—was up to him. "Er... where do you plan to stay this evening?" he asked tentatively.

She smiled. "I hae nowhere to stay, Wilf Brim," she answered, her eyes still glued to his. "Whar' are you stayin'?"

Brim leaned forward in his chair. "Nowhere yet," he said, his heart in his mouth. "Er... would you like me to find a place we could share?"

"Wilf Brim," she said, slowly stroking her wrist with two fingers, "was that a suggestion that we share a bed?"

He grinned. "More than just share a bed I hope, Eve," he said softly.

Smiling, she reached across the table and took his hand. "Wilf, you've been mentally taking my clothes off all day, haen't you?"

"Yeah," Brim admitted, "I guess I have."

"Then find us a private place where you don't hae to pretend," she replied with a little smile. "I love it when a man undresses me. After that, weel, we'll explore. All right?"

Brim nodded, his mind working furiously. Where? Then it came to him. Baxter Calhoun was part owner of a lovely little pension just off Vereker Square, and he had offered its use to Brim on a number of occasions. "I need to make a call from the lobby," he said. "You'll wait?"

"I see nobody else here who's offerin' to take my clothes off for me," she said. "I'll wait."

"Just sit still and don't tell anyone that's what you're looking for," Brim whispered in her ear.

"Otherwise, I'll have to fight every man in the place...."

Moments later, he was in the lobby, ringing up the personal HoIoPhone of his old mentor and shipmate, Rear Admiral Baxter Calhoun, Commander of the Imperial Defense Command, at his headquarters in Old Royce Abbey, a converted Gradygroat monastery in the outskirts of Avalon....