The Mercenaries

by Bill Baldwin

  "Do not for a moment think that I have forgotten my pledge to repay you personally, Wilf Brim," she whispered without aiming her head. "I never—how do you Imperials say—'renege' on a promise." Then she giggled in her husky voice. "Especially when Lady Fortune practically ordained such an assignation for us tonight."

  Brim felt a surge of excitement. Did she mean what he thought she meant? He took a deep breath and waved off Barbousse waiting in the staff skimmer. Then he turned to look the beautiful Consort straight in the eye. "An assignation with you, Raddisma, would be the crowning glory of a man's life," he said. "But if something of the sort ever came about, I should certainly hope that it was not granted entirely in a spirit of... compensation—especially for a debt that I shall never acknowledge in the first place."

  She stopped and raised her eyebrows for a moment. "Why, Captain!" she murmured with a look of astonishment. "You saved my life. Remember?" Then, while a tall, alluring chauffeur with fiery red hair and long, gorgeous legs held the door of her limousine skimmer, she stepped gracefully into the passenger compartment and smiled with an expectant look in her huge, almond-shaped eyes. "Come in here, Wilf Brim," she urged, patting the seat beside her, "I want to make certain you understand about my so-called 'debt.' "

  Frowning, Brim stepped inside, and as soon as the door had shut, she took his hand and looked deep into his eyes.

  "Do you have any idea what it is to be a Consort?" she asked.

  "No," Brim admitted. "I suppose I'd never thought much about it."

  She smiled, this time a little sadly. "You are not alone, my handsome Captain," she said. "We Consorts are taken more or less for granted throughout the court—most glamorous and successful of all the courtesans. And I am the most successful of all—for I have clawed and scratched my way to the top." For a moment her eyes grew hard. "You must understand that one does not reach my position by being a lady, Captain. I used the word 'courtesans' with great care, because Consorts are first and foremost whores. And one maintains her position by competing with other whores—on whore's terms."

  Brim felt his eyebrows rise. Of course, he'd guessed as much. It was just that, in Fluvanna, Consorts were considered as a rather extraordinary class. Like wives, only much more significant, in a political sense. It was simply astounding to hear the Principal Consort calling the shots as he imagined they really must be.

  "Oh, don't get the wrong idea," she continued. "Each of us who holds the title of Consort is also highly educated. We have to be. I myself have earned three academic degrees." She said this with a proud little nod. "One of them in Avalon itself—at your prestigious Estorial Library near the Imperial palace."

  "Impressive," Brim said, "but not at all surprising, not after watching you in conversation with the Drive engineers this afternoon. No wonder you so completely mesmerized them. Your long metacycles of study certainly manifest themselves well."

  She smiled sadly. "But after all that brain work, it was still only vigorous application of a far different organ that first installed me in Mustafa's court."

  Brim pressed her hand. "You can't blame him for that," he said. "You are a most beautiful woman."

  "Thank you, Captain," she said. "I know I am. And—strange as it must sound in light of my, er, profession—I still find myself with very normal urges in the proper circumstances, and with the proper man."

  "Such a man would be very fortunate indeed," Brim said. He meant every word.

  "That," Raddisma said with a smile, "brings us back to our original conversation, then—about debts."

  "It does?" Brim asked.

  "It certainly does," she said with a little smile. "Because, while your eyes tell me that you obviously crave my body, you also evidence at least some respect for Raddisma the woman. And that respect makes you very special, my friend. It also changes the whole complexion of our relationship."

  Brim raised an eyebrow.

  "Oh, not that kind of change, silly," she said with a little laugh. "You must certainly realize you are very attractive in your own right, Wilf Brim, and that alone was enough to draw me to you in the beginning." She laughed in her husky voice. "While your body covered mine in the palace that day, I found myself becoming... intensely stimulated. And I decided that very day that we, someday, should share a bed, as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Which, of course, it did today. The kind of 'debt' I spoke about this morning had to do with sex, pure and simple. However," she said with a very serious expression, "my attitude changed radically when you invited me to tour the hospital this afternoon. It turned our relationship into something very much more deeper and meaningful—at least to me. Do you understand?"

  Brim frowned. "I think I may, Raddisma," he said, recalling most of the other women in his life. Her intellect made her even more desirable—high intelligence nearly always had that effect on him.

  "We seem to have arrived at the Officers Club," she said presently, peering out the window. "I feel most fortunate that Dame Fortune has granted us time for this little conversation before we dilute our intellects with... hormones, and the like. It has become somehow very important to me that you understand."

  Brim had no words for the rush of emotion he felt for the beautiful woman who had just bared her soul to him. He scarcely had time to kiss her hand before the door opened and a blast of cold air stung his cheeks. Stepping to the pavement, he took a deep breath and bowed with all the dignity he could muster. "Madame Raddisma," he said, offering his hand, "please allow me."

  Gently taking his fingers, she stepped gracefully from the limousine and nodded regally. "Thank you, Captain," she said in her public voice. "I look forward to continuing our conversations later this evening." Then she winked. "In somewhat more private circumstances," she added in a whisper. With a surreptitious rise of flawlessly plucked eyebrows, she then swept regally through the door as if she were the Nabob himself.

  Brim followed in her perfumed wake with an internal frown. Just whose "private circumstances" did she have in mind, he wondered. Then he grinned to himself. Lady Fortune would work something out. She'd already invested too much in this particularly magical evening to miscarry so late in the game.

  * * *

  Commodore Atcherly's reception was a small but quite gracious version of a thousand-odd receptions Brim had attended all over the galaxy. He endured a receiving line consisting of Calshot's senior staff officers and their wives—most of whom were anxious to brag that they had spoken to officers from Mustafa Eyren's now-celebrated IVG. Commodore Atcherly occupied the position of honor with his charming and famous wife, a thought creator known far and wide for her delightful historical treatises on the curious artifacts left behind by Fluvanna's previous civilizations.

  Tissaurd had clearly stationed herself near the end of the line, and was in deep conversation with a handsome Fluvannian Army officer who sported great bushy mustaches, wide shoulders, and a huge chest. The man was, of course, as good as seduced already. Brim fought back a grin as he passed them on his way to the bar. Suddenly Tissaurd reached out and snagged his arm. "Captain Brim," she said, as if she were surprised to see him, "may I present... er."

  "C-Capitan-Comandor Photius," the Fluvannian stumbled with a deep bow.

  Brim shook the man's hand—it was soft and warm, like a woman's. Clearly, Mustafa's Army spent little time on maneuvers. "Pleased to meet you, Capitan," he said.

  "Well, Skipper," Tissaurd demanded before either man could utter another word, "so how are things going tonight?"

  Brim could only grin. "Tonight, Number One," he said, "things seem to be going... ah... swimmingly—at least so far."

  "You don't say?" Tissaurd commented, her eyebrows raised. "So you're going to... a..."

  "Would the word 'score' be appropriate to your question?" Brim asked caustically.

  "What was that?" Photius asked, struggling in vain to keep abreast of the conversation in Avalonian.

  " 'More,' " Tissaurd replied with a serious nod of her head. "
'More.' "

  "Oh, I see," the man said. "My Avalonian is far from perfect."

  "Lucky for you, soldier," Tissaurd mumbled in a grinning underbreath, "that it's not your Avalonian I'm interested in tonight." Then she winked at Brim. " 'Score' is most adequate, Skipper," she said. "And... well?..."

  "Looks promising, Number One," Brim replied. "If the lady can once disengage from all the social climbers who want to rub elbows with a palace favorite."

  "She'll disengage, Skipper. I'd bet on it," she said, clapping him on the arm.

  Brim winked. "We'll see," he equivocated. "You'll be on the bridge in the morning?"

  "Probably late in the morning, Skipper," she said with a sidelong glance at the big Fluvannian at her side.

  "We'll carry on somehow, Number One," Brim said, manifesting a theatrical look of concern. "I don't think Starfury will be ready to fly for quite a while yet.'' Then be nodded to Photius and continued on toward the bar.

  During the next metacycle, he bought rounds of Logish Meem for Omar Powderham, Owen Morris, and Ulfilas Meesha, but went easy on the spirits himself. Unless Raddisma were in the midst of a tremendous practical joke—to be inflicted on him—he would need to be in command of all his faculties later on that evening.

  He stared across the gaily decorated ballroom, watching the tall, alluring Consort in spirited conversation with a half-dozen groups of local spouses who looked as if they were about to swoon from the very proximity of so much glamor. He shook his head in admiration. During a single day, this magnificent woman had shown him three very disparate—very real—personalities: one imperious as Mustafa's Consort; one affably gracious in her role as representative of her nation; and one as a most pragmatic human being, making her way in a tough, uncompromising world. He found they all delighted him, each in its own way.

  While he sat at Calshot's cozy Officers Club bar passing time until Raddisma could free herself, Tissaurd and Photius strolled by on their way to the door. She winked as they passed; then they were gone. Atcherly and his wife stopped to regale him with some of the more preposterous aspects of maintaining a base in the polar regions of the planet. Their warm humor revealed a most genuine love for the frozen land in which they made their home.

  Later, after checking Starfury's condition with Baranev for what seemed to be the eleventh million time—and still receiving no final assessment of actual damages—Brim joined a group of Fluvannian space officers as they discussed combat techniques against the new Gorn-Hoffs. In spite of their ancient starships, the audacious Fluvannians had developed effective ways to counter the ultra-modern warships they now faced on a daily basis. They had just begun to question him about uprating some of their existing disrupters when Raddisma abruptly appeared at his side, dressed in her long cape and clearly prepared to depart. Surprised—and not a little concerned about their plans—he introduced her to the group, then took the hand she extended to him.

  "Commander Brim," she said, "it has been a long day for me, and my ship departs for Magor in the morning. Therefore, it is with considerable regret that I must leave the reception much earlier than I had planned." She glanced around the little group and smiled apologetically. "I have rarely enjoyed such a warm, gracious reception—anywhere. However," she added, turning to Brim as if she were issuing a command, "I need to allow time for availing myself of your kind offer to tour Starfury. The Admiralty would be sorely vexed if I blinked away such an opportunity." She met his eyes and for one instant betrayed the hint of excitement he had seen earlier in the limousine.

  Brim grinned to himself. So it was Starfury that constituted the "discreet circumstances" she had in mind! Well, Lady Fortune was taking a lot for granted tonight—especially in view of the rule that required everyone to sign an entrance/exit log! "Madame Raddisma," he replied, his mind racing to overtake the new turn of events, "as I promised earlier, I... er... look forward with great pleasure to personally conducting your tour." He turned to the clearly envious officers and bowed soberly. "Gentlemen," he said, "duty calls." Nothing more was necessary. Then, with Raddisma on his arm, he made his way directly to the cloakroom.

  "I took the chance that you might volunteer, Captain," she whispered while he struggled into his white Fluvannian Fleet Cloak. "I have already dismissed my handmaidens for the evening and summoned a limousine."

  Brim considered Starfury's sign-in/out register—that Raddisma simply could not sign—and put it out of his mind. By the time they got to the ship, he planned to think of something. After all, he was the captain. He smiled mischievously. "Madame Raddisma," he said with a theatrical frown as they strolled to the parking area under a canopy of cold-looking stars, "since nearly everything aboard is classified, the Captain's cabin may be the only part of the ship we can tour. Will such a highly restricted tour disappoint you?"

  She paused some distance from a huge limousine and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, men frowned. "Strangely enough, Captain," she said, her breath condensing into puffs of steam, "I believe it would." She pressed his arm. "I find that when I am with you, life takes on a much more serious aspect—as it did when I visited your wounded crew members in the hospital this afternoon."

  "I don't understand," Brim said, suddenly confused. "...I thought you wanted to..."

  Raddisma smiled sadly and peered into his eyes. "Dearest Wilf," she said, "I have been ready—anxious, even—to lie with you since our chance conversation on the Commodore's HoloPhone this morning. And I look forward to making love yet tonight. But this afternoon you made me feel as if I might have some value beyond my existence as a fetching bedmate." She touched his hand with an impassioned look. "I already know that I am beautiful," she said, "and I thank the Universe each day for such a gift. But beauty is only that: a legacy from one's parents. I crave to be more than that: to achieve a certain significance on my feet—fully clothed, even. Can you understand, Captain Wilf Brim of Avalon's vaunted Imperial Fleet? Or are you so jaded by your own prestige that you cannot envision the unfulfilled yearnings of others?"

  Brim closed his eyes for a moment. "Sorry," he muttered presently. "Believe me, Raddisma, I am no stranger to those same yearnings—or the frustration that goes with them." He took her hand. "You were magnificent raising morale in the hospital this afternoon, and will clearly have the same effect on the exhausted teams laboring in the ruined power chambers. Sometimes," he admitted, "my brains tend to hang between my legs. Will you tour the damaged areas with me tonight before we...?"

  "I want that tour very much, Wilf Brim," the beautiful woman interrupted. "And then, I shall expect you to carry me off to your cabin where we can ravish each other—for the remainder of the night."

  "You've got a deal, Raddisma," Brim said. He grinned. "Somehow, I think I would wait a long time for the privilege of ravishing a woman like you."

  "Strange," she said with a peculiar look in her eyes, "I feel the same way about being ravished by a man like you."

  "Let's go inspect a couple of damaged power chambers," he said, and handed her into the limousine again. Moments later they were on their way.

  Now, all he had to do was somehow get her to his cabin without recording Raddisma's name on the xaxtdamned register. It wasn't the sign-in time that worried him; her tour of the power chambers would justify that. The sign-out time, however, might prove to be embarrassing in the extreme. Especially if someone decided that Mustafa ought to read it!

  * * *

  As the limousine pulled into the parking area beside Starfury's gravity pool, the cruiser's dark bulk made her seem even more massive than she was. Especially with most of her lights extinguished and only a cluster of battle lanterns tossing uneasily in the breeze near the brow portal. Brim stepped out and helped Raddisma to the pavement as guards on either side of the opening snapped to attention.

  "You may return to the ship and retire, Tutti," she directed her red-haired chauffeur. "I shall summon you should I desire to be picked up."

  "Aye, Madame Raddisma," the w
oman said, bowing deeply. She quickly stepped into the driver's compartment and the big limousine whirred into the darkness like some great wraith.

  Brim pressed Raddisma's hand as she took his arm. "It won't be very pretty in the wrecked chambers," he said quietly. "But then you've already seen worse in the hospital this afternoon."

  "I'm prepared, Captain," she said, her voice calm and steady.

  "All right," Brim said, wishing that he could say the same. Returning the guards' salute, he led her way into a moving staircase while he furiously attempted to come up with any even halfway plausible way to finesse Raddisma on board without signing. As they neared the top, however, his mind remained a very frustrated blank.

  Only one alternative was left to him, now: brute force (better known as "Captain's privilege"). Unfortunately, if he resorted to that, eventually everyone would know what he and the Princess were up to.

  Then, suddenly, it was too late. He took a deep breath, smiled reassuringly at Raddisma, and was just about to storm through the boarding hatch when he spied... He couldn't believe his eyes! There was Barbousse, manning the sign-in desk as if it were his normal duty station,... "Good evening, Chief," he said, calmly as he could.

  "Evenin', Cap'm," Barbousse returned with a most routine countenance.

  "Um... Madame Raddisma," Brim said, "m-may I present Master Chief Petty Officer Utrillo Barbousse, who has saved my life on so many occasions that I have lost count. Chief—Madame Raddisma, Principal Consort to the throne of Mustafa Eyren."

  Barbousse rose to his feet and bowed formally. "Madame Raddisma," he said, "I am deeply honored."

  "As am I, Chief Barbousse," she said, returning a graceful curtsy. Tall as she was, she still had to look up at the huge man.

  Brim's eyes strayed to the sign-in log. How in the name of Voot's filth-dripping beard was he going to bluster past somebody like Barbousse? Talk about bad luck. Universe!