by Bill Baldwin
Frowning, Brim nodded, and deferring to Ursis's superior rank, strode in first—nearly stumbling in surprise as their entry interrupted Amherst in the middle of a sentence. So that was what the big rating silently tried to warn him about! Seated before the glowering Calhoun's makeshift workstation were four men, not three: Toby Moulding, Fortune McKenzie, Puvis Amherst, and Kirsh Valentin—the latter smiling as if he were specially pleased to see the look of astonishment on Brim's face.
"Well, Brim," Amherst growled through clenched teeth, "it is high time you returned from your bloodthirsty work, war lover!"
The Carescrian glanced at Valentin only just in time to see him wipe a look of amusement from his face. Tall, slim, and handsome in his jet-black tunic, shirt, jodhpurs, and glossy riding boots, the cavalier Provost knew full well what Amherst was; Leaguers had no more respect for him or his CIGAs than did most Imperials. "What was that, Amherst?" Brim demanded.
"How many times must you be reminded, low-life Carescrian, that I am to be addressed by my title?" Amherst whined, indignantly jumping from his chair.
"More times than you've got," Brim replied calmly. "I have better respect for your Leaguer friend Valentin, here—at least he's never tried to be anything more than an enemy. The best you'll ever hear from me is 'traitor.' "
When Ursis finally lost his battle to stifle a guffaw, Amherst swung on his heel and confronted Calhoun. "Commodore!" he screeched, his face turning a livid red, "do something about these men of yours!"
Calhoun only shrugged. "I doubt if I can noo, Admiral," he said. "They're all a wee out o' control, you know. Especially Brim."
That was more than either Moulding or McKenzie could suffer. They covered their mouths while their faces turned red as zago-beets.
By now, even Valentin was struggling to maintain his composure. "Admiral Amherst," he suggested uneasily. "Perhaps you should not—as you yourself suggest—lower yourself to intercourse with such despicable tatterdemalions as these... mercenaries.'' He pronounced the latter as if it were an especially vile scurrility. "Might it not be more fitting that I—who have not yet reached true flag rank—deal with your inferiors?"
Amherst frowned, considering this. "Yes," he agreed at length, gathering his injured pride into a heroic pose, "I believe that might be appropriate."
"Excellent," Valentin said, rising slowly. He stood for a few moments in silence while Amherst continued to pose, then cleared his throat pointedly.
Amherst started slightly and turned to peer down his nose at the Leaguer.
"If you please, Admiral," Valentin said coldly.
"Oh," Amherst said, almost in surprise. "Ahem... yes...." He resumed his seat with great dignity.
"Commodore," Valentin said, turning to face Calhoun, "my Imperial colleague, Admiral Amherst, has brought your venerated battleship Queen Elidean to Fluvanna not by request of the League of Dark Stars, but by acclaim from an equally peace-loving segment of your own Empire: the Congress of Intra-Galactic Accord." He paused for a moment to look around the room. "We do not address you here today in your guise of Fluvannians but as the members of Greyffin's Imperial Fleet that you assuredly are. Do you understand?"
Calhoun nodded. "You may continue, Valentin," he said noncommittally.
The Leaguer sneered and turned to Brim. "To think that once you might have been legitimate, Brim, as an officer in the League Fleet," he said. "Instead, your foolish prejudice has led to this berth working for a low-life pirate—hiding your shame behind the uniform of the corrupt Nabob of Fluvanna."
Brim steepled his fingers together and forced himself to relax. "Time will tell, Valentin," he said, "which of us turns out to be legitimate. But meanwhile, I feel a lot more comfortable right where I am than serving as toady to a contemptible kennel of butchers like the Leaguers I've met so far."
Amherst gasped, and started out of his chair, but Valentin pushed him back without even taking his eyes from Brim—as if the CIGA were nothing more than a bothersome child. The Leaguer's eyes flashed with cold rage. "Those words will someday cost your life, Carescrian," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"I've heard you promise that a number of times, Valentin," Brim replied calmly. "But you'll have to work faster than you've worked so far. Otherwise, I'm liable to die of old age first."
Calhoun interrupted. "Valentin," he growled, "you claim you have some sort of message for all of us. Alright, let's have it. You can let Brim make a fool of you later, when you aren't wasting time for so many other people."
Valentin's eyebrows rose in rage and he opened his mouth to speak, but Calhoun cut him off with a scowl that would shred hullmetal. "An' remember this, you black-suited punk," he growled, "I'll grant that it took a lot of intestinal fortitude for you to show up here alone. You've never been anythin' if you haven't been brave, Kirsh Valentin. But you are sittin' here as my guest. It's not the other way around. So say what you have to say an' then get you an' your recreant friend out o'here the fastest way you can. Do you understand, Provost?"
"I understand. Commodore," Valentin said quietly, his whole expression dripping with enmity.
"Then begin, mon," Calhoun prompted.
"First," Valentin said, glancing around the room, "I shall remind you all that no state of war exists between the League and your Empire." Then he turned to Calhoun. "Oh, you were clever in leasing these Starfuries to the Fluvannian government," he said in a low, menacing voice. "We can do nothing about that—nor the fact that we will have to contend with your defense of this wretched dominion. However," he continued with a droll smile, "in the interests of conciliation, our harmony-loving Imperial colleagues have gathered a full battle crew of heroic reconciliators aboard I.F.S. Queen Elidean. And—in the interests of peace—these brave men and women from all walks of Imperial life are prepared to give their lives protecting the new space fortifications we have recently completed just off the shoals of Zonga'ar."
Brim felt a chill cut wickedly along his spine while he ground his teeth in rage.
"They wha'?" Calhoun demanded angrily.
Valentin smiled cruelly. "I believe you heard me, Commodore," he purred, once more in possession of the upper hand. "A group of highly patriotic CIGAs in the Imperial battleship Queen Elidean will take up station orbiting our newest deep-space fortification located in the shoals of Zonga'ar," He peered down his nose at Brim. "I'm certain you know where that is, gentlemen." Then he laughed. "And if you dare to attack it, you will first have to deal with one of the most powerful battleships in the known universe—with her normal complement of escorts." He stopped for a moment to inspect his perfect manicure. "Of course, you will also be attacking your own Empire, and—should any of you survive such a fight—might eventually have to answer to retaliation from other Starfuries. A great irony, gentlemen, is it not?"
Calhoun's face grew red, but aside from that, he evinced no other emotion. "Are you quite finished?" he demanded at length.
Valentin nodded and motioned to Amherst. "Did I cover that well, Admiral?" he asked solicitously.
"With excellence," Amherst said, looking around the room as if he himself had uttered the words. "Do any of you have questions?" he asked.
"Only one," Calhoun said.
"And that is?"
"How soon do you twa think it will take to get your loathsome bodies off this planet?" he growled. "Because if it takes you any mair than ten cycles—at the outside—I shall personally blow you away myself. Understand?"
"How dare you, Commodore?" Amherst demanded hotly.
Calhoun rose from his desk and moved like lightning. In the flash of an eye, he had Amherst's lapels in his fists, and he was shaking the lanky CIGA like a rat in a terrier's mouth. "This is how I dare, you miserable traitor." He lifted the terrified CIGA to his feet, spun him toward the door, and propelled him through with a tremendous kick to the posterior. Then drawing himself to his full height, he turned on Valentin. But the Leaguer was already on his way.
"I shall leave without y
our assistance, Commodore," he said. Then he turned to Brim. "But you, Carescrian—and you, Toby Moulding—you will remember what I have said despite this lickspittle... er... colleague of mine. To attack that fortification, you will have to deal first with your own Queen Elidean." He laughed. "That ought to send a few N rays to dampen your plans, my perennial Carescrian adversary."
Brim smiled grimly. "It does, Valentin," he admitted. "You've done a good job—so far. But this war's only begun." He turned to Moulding. "Do you recall what it was you said to this gentleman just before the Mitchell Trophy race back in Oh-four?"
Moulding smiled. "You mean there in front of the Leaguer shed, just after you'd driven the skimmer through all those flower gardens?"
"Yeah," Brim replied. "That's it."
" 'Races are never won,' " Moulding quoted didactically, " 'until the finish line is crossed.' Remember?"
"I remember," Valentin said, flashing a smile that fairly dripped with contempt, "but you must certainly also recall that I not only crossed the finish line that day, I won."
Brim nodded. "That you did, Valentin," he agreed. "But that was one race among many. And it put the trophy in your possession for only a single year. I am certain you also remember who finally retired the Mitchell permanently."
"You do have a point," Valentin said. Then, surprisingly, he saluted. "Gentlemen," he said, "we shall eventually meet again in space—and there continue our... race... for the lack of a better word." He smiled grimly. "The trophy we retire in that competition will be considerably more consequential than the Mitchell." Then, turning on his heel, he strode through the door....
Amherst's launch was airborne well before Calhoun's ten-cycle deadline.
* * *
With the coming of the new Leaguer ships, Nergol Triannic's second war took a considerably more dangerous twist. Toronders and their Dampiers had been a minimal threat to IVG Starfuries. Clearly, they had inflicted damage; no one fights a war without inflicting some injury. But most of it had been minor, and even though the eleven leased ships were significantly outnumbered, not a single volunteer had been killed.
That ended immediately following Brim's first, admittedly providential, double victory. The Leaguers were natural warriors, superbly trained and equipped. Their very next raid left three Starfuries crippled, one for more than a week because of the IVG's primitive repair facilities. Moreover, during that raid, five Dampiers got through to Magor, where they caused the first significant ground damage of the war. Five additional Dampiers that attempted a simultaneous raid against Varnholm Hall were all badly damaged by McKenzie's reserve force before they could fire a single bolt at the gravity pools.
A week later, however, it was Starfury's turn for damage....
Brim was leading both attack quads on a regular defensive patrol roughly five thousand c'lenyts out from Ordu when they came on at least twenty-four Gorn-Hoffs in four groups of six. Immediately, he went in to attack, hitting at least two on their way through the Leaguers' formation. Then he remembered that he had no faithful MacAlda guarding his tail, as Starspite had turned back with grav trouble shortly after takeoff. He was about to rejoin for a second attack when Moulding called with the other six Starfuries to give his rough position. Brim said that he was in the same general area. Spotting six shimmering graviton contrails, he immediately climbed toward them. He was little more than five c'lenyts away when—instead of graceful, three-piece Sherrington hulls—he sighted the angular shapes of... Dampiers!
Peeling off in a violent maneuver, he raced directly away from the big planet to lower his visibility, then swung rapidly to port and kept Starfury turning as tightly as he possibly could. For a few cycles, they all spun around in a crazed globe perhaps five c'lenyts in diameter until Brim threw maximum power to the gravs and tried another maneuver—a steep drive toward Ordu. Five of the Toronder Helmsmen stuck grimly behind him, and as he reached fifteen hundred c'lenyts, he could see eruptions of blinding light from very near misses. The deck bucked from their energy waves. Suddenly, he heard a faint, rapid, two-beat thud and Starfury shuddered while half his energy display turned bright red.
"Direct hit in the starboard power chamber," Chief Baranev reported from the power distribution center, deep within Starfury's hull. The indefatigable old Bear spoke as if he were announcing some sort of sporting event.
"Flood both starboard power chambers with N rays!" Brim ordered, switching one of his view globes to the view below decks. He winced. The Aft chamber had been opened to space like an old-fashioned tin of fish. A huge radiation fire in one of tire Krasni-Peych plasma generators was just coming under control as the N rays saturated its collapsium fuel. However, great bolts of runaway energy were still arcing to the chamber walls, bathing the chamber in lurid reddish-yellow light as if it were a scene from the Gradygroats' vision of Hell. And through it all, burly figures of Sodeskayan Bears scurried here and there, dragging portable N-ray mains and struggling with half-melted control systems. .
A moment later Brim heard Strana' Zaftrak counting over the intercom.
"Thirteen crag volves... fourteen crag volves... fifteen crag volves..." she counted, as if she hardly dared to take a breath .
Tissaurd glanced across at him. "What's she counting, Skipper?" she demanded.
"Clicks, Number One," Brim replied, his heart in his mouth. "We just took a hit in power chamber eight. If she can count all the way to thirty, the N rays will have damped any radiation fires and we probably won't blow up."
"... Twenty-one crag volves... twenty-two crag volves... twenty-three crag volves..."
"Power's out to the main disruptors, Skipper!" Ulfilas warned.
"Very well," Brim said between clenched teeth. He careened to port again. The ship now felt heavy and difficult to maneuver, as if a delay had been thrust into her normally supple reactions to his control inputs. And the Dampiers were catching up quickly. Clearly, the only hope was to get the main battery going again—if Starfury didn't first blow them all to kingdom come.
"... Twenty-six crag volves... twenty-seven crag volves... twenty-eight crag volves..."
Brim held his breath....
"Thirty crag volves! VOOF!"
There was an immediate and simultaneous exhalation from all over the bridge. Now, they needed disrupters!
And so the battle went on: a few turns and then a flat-out run for it, some more turns and then another bout of straightaway. They lost two of the Dampiers, but the other three hung on tenaciously, sensing that Starfury was somehow disabled. As soon as Brim sensed they were about to open fire, he had to start turning again. Occasionally Meesha got in a burst with the secondary armament, but the 127-mmi disruptors were more a gesture than a determined attack.
After what seemed like an age, but was in fact only five or so cycles after the Toronders first spotted Starfury, the red lights on Brim's power panel suddenly went out.
"We've got power to the disruptors," Meesha whooped triumphantly.
Brim nearly shouted for joy. They'd made it! He let the Dam-piers catch up, and approximately three clicks later, all twelve of Starfury's 406s lashed out at her pursuers. By the fourth salvo, two of the Toronders were reduced to space refuse and the third had limped off with fierce radiation fires blazing in at least three locations along her hull.
Brim glanced back at the burning Dampier with a sense of relief. So far, so good. Now, however, he had to set his own damaged starship down as quickly as he could. The overworked plasma generators that remained operable would only run her gravs against the planet's gravity for a short time. Already they were overheating. Working quickly, Omar Powderham, Starfury's navigator, expeditiously located a remote Fluvannian base: R.F.F. Station Calshot on frigid Lake Solent—near Ordu's Boreal pole, and Tissaurd radioed ahead for permission to set up a straight-in approach, direct from space. Not surprisingly, they were immediately granted permission. Now, all he had to do was set thirty-four thousand milstons of hullmetal and assorted, more-or-less sentient
crew members down on the surface of the planet gently enough so that nobody got hurt. He ground his teeth. It wasn't going to be as easy as he liked to make things appear....
* * *
After what seemed like at least a Standard Year, Starfury was finally beneath the confused layers of dirty clouds, descending in a graceful glide despite her flagging gravs. A mottled landscape passed rapidly beneath the ship's nose: snow in every direction Brim looked, lighted in patches by thin, wintery sunlight. Everywhere else were shades of white and gray, broken only by occasional green expanses of dense conifer forest. He checked his readouts for the ten-thousandth time—the power quadrant was edging back into the red. Starfury's lift would last for only a few more cycles now. And although her glide ratio was better than a rock—it was only slightly so. Hunching his back to stop the knot that was forming in the middle of his shoulders, he frowned. The next few cycles might well challenge his worth as a Helmsman.
Ahead, sunlight glinted momentarily from ice covering a slender lake, foreshortened by the angle of their descent. A ruby landing vector shone steadily from the left-hand shore, directly centered on a boiling strip of water melted in the frozen surface.
"Fleet K5054: Calshot Tower clears for one nine right landing approach; wind zero nine zero at fifteen, gusts to forty-five."
"Fleet K054," Brim replied absently, totally absorbed with landing the stricken cruiser. "One nine right. Thank you, ma'am," he grunted. The wind didn't much matter. One way or another, he was coming in. Period.
He was no more than five c'lenyts from touchdown when Voot's Law struck—as somehow he knew it might. Without warning, the generators stammered... thundered on for a moment... then abruptly quit altogether as his instruments indicated zero thrust!