by Bill Baldwin
Collingswood turned to the Vice Admiral, who now stood by her side. “I should love to join these people, Erat,” she said, looking into his eyes.
“And so should I,” the Admiral said. “Spa'rzha, Ptitsa, I am most honored to make your acquaintance.” He chuckled. “We Imperials can use all the intelligence we can locate.” He was short and thin with bushy brows, gray hair, and a fleshy nose. He was also clearly involved with Collingswood in a relationship that had little to do with the Fleet. His deep-set eyes fairly shouted how he felt about her.
“My friends,” Borodov said, “we are, this morning, in company of Vice Admiral Sir Erat Pluton, Commander of Fourth Battle Squadron.” He began to introduce the other members of the party.
“I'm going over here for a moment,” Collingswood called to the Admiral. “I should like a few words with Lieutenant Brim while I have the opportunity.”
Pluton smiled. “I don't think I shall be jealous,” he said to Brim with a wink.
Brim nodded and held up his hands. “N-No contest, Admiral,” he said, then moved a chair from a nearby table beside his, holding it for Collingswood while she sat. “Good m-morning, Captain,” he said, returning clumsily to his own chair. He was very much aware his words weren't coming out as well as they should. Bears, he concluded with no little envy, had an unbelievable tolerance for meem.
Collingswood smiled. “Relax, Wilf,” she said quietly — the others had suddenly been drawn into vigorous conversation with Admiral Pluton. “I have been far more intoxicated than you on occasion, for the very same reasons.”
Brim felt his brow knit, but he kept his silence.
“I shan't preach long,” she said, pouring herself an admirable dollop of the best Logish meem (a woman with clearly patrician tastes). “I have other matters to occupy my mind tonight besides Truculent. But then, old DD T.83 was not my first ship, as she was yours.” She fastened her eyes on his. “It may not help much at the present, but you should know that you did a superb job in that last battle. Remember that. You may have had your first ship blown out from under you, but you accomplished your objective admirably — against astronomical odds.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “The three-to-one ship ratio you faced was an impossibility in the first place. Add to this the fact that you were also up against one of the League's most promising, most highly decorated, and probably most clever young Fleet commanders. The whole episode says much for your ability — as well as your accomplishments. You did win, you know.”
“Except,” Brim interrupted, “I t-think Valentin got away in one of the xaxtdamned launches, beggin' the Captain's pardon. “
Collingswood laughed. “I thought you'd notice that,” she laughed. “I did, too. Truculent's Chairman was broadcasting the whole thing to me real time in Tandor-Ra. The Admiralty would love to believe they're rid of the likes of that hab'thall. But I think not. I talked to Erat about it — he feels the bloody criminal got away, too. Evidently, the League trains its officers to desert if a ship appears doomed. They do it a lot, you know. And I don't think it would have been a good bargain risking all those lives in Flynn's sick bay against the capture of a few worthless Leaguers. Do you?”
Brim bit his lip. “Thanks, Captain,” he said. “But a lot of them died anyway. As you well know.”
Collingswood reached and took his hand. “Lots of people die in wars,” she said quietly. “It seems that's mostly what they're all about.” She smiled. “You almost died yourself — on your first mission. A matter of pure chance, I think. You did the best you could; that's all any of us can ask. Living or dead.”
Brim could only stare into her brown eyes as she spoke. “And so far as Truculent herself is concerned … certainly I loved her. I've loved all my ships.” She looked him in the eye. “But never forget, Wilf Brim, she was only a ship. Hullmetal, rivets, crystals, and a couple of oversized antigravs. No life there. No personality. Only what we lent to her while we were aboard. And we took it with us over the brow when we left; never forget that.” She narrowed her eyes. “Yes,” she ruminated in an uncharacteristically hard tone of voice, “we all feel bad old Truculent's gone to the breakers. But we'll take her personality along with us to Defiant — you, me, Ursis, Flynn, Barbousse, even crazy old Grimsby. And Truculent will never die. Just as they'll salvage her parts, we'll salvage her soul. “
Brim shook his head. The talk had finally uncovered his sore spot. “Except I was the one making decisions when they all died, Captain,” he said with renewed gloom. He could hear the others at the table discussing comparative Drive systems with great animation. Admiral Pluton was also a person of far-flung knowledge.
“Finally,” Collingswood said triumphantly. “I believe we're finally at the heart of the matter.”
Brim raised an eyebrow. “The heart, Captain?”
Collingswood smiled. “The heart, Wilf,” she repeated. “If you accept command responsibility, you also accept costs. It goes with the territory. In the most crass terms, it has to do with resources and the fact that nothing is free — simple thermodynamics. As a commander, your resources are ships and lives, including your own. You put what you are willing to gamble on the line, then play toward some goal as best you can. At the end, you have either won that goal or lost, always at some cost of your resources. It's as simple as that. If you win, you measure relative success by comparing your actual cost against the value gained.”
Brim's mind was beginning to function again a little. “I guess my goal was…”
“Your goal — which you instinctively knew without any orders from me — was to prevent further attack on Tandor-Ra. At least until Penda and the battlecruisers arrived.” She looked him in the eye. “Did you do that, Wilf Brim?” she asked.
Brim pursed his lips. “I did that, Captain,” he said — a little proudly, in spite of himself.
“You're absolutely right you did,” Collingswood said. “And don't you ever forget it.”
“But the price,” Brim said, wincing at the thought. “Universe…”
“That part belongs to me this time,” Collingswood answered. “Because, in effect, I ordered you out there on an impossible mission. I set the price I was willing to pay, not you, Wilf Brim.” She smiled. “Of course,” she said, “I didn't expect to pay the whole wager when I put you in charge. And… I didn't.”
Brim could only shake his head.
“Oh, don't try to talk, Wilf,” Collingswood said. “Simply think about what I have said. Objective and price, those are the touchstones. When you work them out for Truculent's last mission, you'll find you accomplished my objective at a bargain. You not only saved a city — with all the lives that involves — but a treaty, as well. And there's no telling how many lives that treaty will eventually save.” She laughed and sipped her meem. “Then,” she said, “there's the matter of the enemy ships. Your score stands at one ship for two — actually one for three, since the last one would probably have gotten away had you not disabled him before Benwell arrived at the scene. Not a bad score in anybody's book, I should think. How do you really feel about that battle, Wilf Brim?”
“Well…”
Collingswood laughed. “Wilf,” she said, “I think I have made my point. If you continue to let this Truculent thing bother you, then it is clearly your own doing.” She turned her head toward Admiral Pluton. “I, on the other hand, have urgent matters on my mind, so if you will excuse me, Lieutenant, we shall see each other next at your decoration ceremonies tomorrow. “
“Aye, Captain,” Brim said. “And I th-thank you for including me in Defiant's crew.”
Collingswood smiled warmly and shrugged. “If you still want to sign on with me, after what I have put you through,” she said, “then I am quite gratified to have you aboard.”
Shortly after that, Collingswood and her admiral took leave of the Sodeskayan table amid wishes for safety, prosperity, and long life from each to all. Not much later, Borodov also rose, stretching his arms sleepily. “Is an early metacycle for
elderly Bears,” he said, glancing at his timepiece. “I think I shall turn in now. Tomorrow promises long metacycles of wakefulness, for I accompany the Prince back to Avalon.” He looked at Brim and grimaced in mock anticipation. “Even Bears are sometimes afflicted with hangovers, Lieutenant,” he said. Then he disappeared with Pro'tif on his arm.
After a final goblet of meem, Ursis accompanied Brim to his room. “Since you started on Sodeskayan meem,” the Bear explained, “this Sodeskayan has the responsibility to insure you find the way to your room, eh?”
Brim shrugged. Were the truth known, he felt a little woozy on his feet, besides, the Bear's room was nearby, and he felt his own responsibility toward his friend. In the end, they assisted each other, with added help from Cherdak, who also professed responsibility for making sure Ursis arrived at his room safely. The Carescrian decided he wouldn't ask any questions about that. The threesome decided (after much serious discussion in committee) to take a shortcut through a spacious courtyard. The night was still clear, miraculously so for Haefdon. Brim scanned the stars as they walked. Suddenly, Ursis and Cherdak picked up their ears.
“Big one comink, Nik,” Cherdak said, turning her gaze toward the ocean.
“Indeed,” Ursis said presently. “Listen, Wilf Ansor — you should be able to hear it any moment. Sounds like battleship.”
Brim listened, peering sightlessly at the sky and concentrating on sounds from the night. There. A low rumble — more felt as a vibration than heard — growing stronger by the click. Soon it was shaking the pavement beneath their feet. All three looked up at the same time to watch a whole flotilla of destroyers blaze through the cold air. This was followed immediately by a monstrous collection of lights and flashing beacons that glided rapidly overhead with the cascading thunder of a thousand lesser starships. And even in the relative darkness, there was no mistaking those majestic lines: Queen Elidean herself, first of the five greatest battleships ever constructed (she alone had tear-shaped shelters at the tips of her bridge wings). Then the great vessel passed behind the roofline of the officers' quarters.
Ursis laughed as the tumult began to ease and they continued across the courtyard. “Your Crown Prince Onrad travels in style, if I may say so.”
Brim saluted his friend. “If it turns out that you may not say so,” he pronounced in mock seriousness, “then I shall take it upon myself to say it for you.” He rubbed his chin and shrugged as if he had suddenly reached a difficult decision. “In point of fact, I have recently divined that such mode of travel is probably even more comfortable than the average Carescrian ore barge. Now what do you think of that, Sodeskayan?”
“Deep thinking, Brim,” the Bear replied, nearly tripping on a raised paving tile. “Deep thinking indeed.”
Cherdak smiled and got a better grip on her countryman.
The two Sodeskayans delivered Brim to his door only cycles after they stumbled out of the sixth-floor lift. The Carescrian never was able to remember getting himself into bed, nor neatly hanging his uniform in the wardrobe.
Brim came muzzily awake before his alarm chimed him out of bed. He didn't bother to open his eyes — clearly he was not finished sleeping, and his thoughts were still muddled from the night before.
Besides, he was still glowing from an erotic dream to end all erotic dreams. About Margot, of course, and oddly enough (now that he thought about it) set right here in the room he occupied. He sighed; the xaxtdamned thing was so real, it might really have happened. His mind's eye could still see her mounted astride him, eyes glazed, red-flushed face twisted into a ravishing mask of effort and delight while her pelvis moved urgently backward and forward, scraping his groin with her coarse, wet gold until they both erupted, howling like maniacs in great, throbbing explosions of delight. Their coupling was even better than he remembered from Avalon, as if the Universe were atoning for time they'd spent apart. If that made any sense at all. If anything in that sort of dream had to make sense.
As he recalled, she'd arrived in the dream out of nowhere — awakening him as she climbed into bed, her clothes folded neatly on a chair by the door.
He smiled as he lay in the lonely darkness. Even dreaming, he'd been too affected by the powerful Sodeskayan meem to take much advantage of the situation. Except, of course… But that had been totally automatic.
She'd giggled happily when she discovered his condition, and placed her lips beside his ear while blond curls tickled his nose. “That's wonderful, Wilf,” she'd whispered. “You've come through splendidly. I shall now take care of all the rest.” It was the most beautiful dream of his entire life.
He sighed again and shifted to a more comfortable position — where he suddenly encountered a warm, smooth curve that had absolutely nothing to do with an empty bed. Either did the perfume he’d been breathing, come to think of it.
He felt himself go rigid. Heart suddenly thundering in his ears, he moved his hand along the softness. And he was awake this time, all right. The curve was very, very real. He carefully opened his eyes to a mass of golden curls on the pillow beside him.
“M-m-mm, Wilf,” she said sleepily. “Ready for more?”
“S-Sweet, thraggling Universe,” he mumbled. It was all he could manage before she rolled toward him, threw her leg over his hip, and smothered his mouth with her wet-crazy wet lips.
A long time passed before either of them said anything sensible at all.
* * * *
“How in the name of Voot himself,” Brim demanded as dim morning light glowed through the window, “can you sit here naked in bed with me and say you are going to marry him? I mean, how?”
Margot smiled impishly, resting her back against a pillow. “Watch my lips,” she said. “I… am… going… to…”
“Universe!”
“Oh, Wilf, for crying out loud — which you are going to make me do before long — I don't love him. You certainly must know that, by now. I'm just going to marry him. That's all.”
“That's all? Universe, Margot. I mean...”
“I know what you mean, Wilf,” she said. “And even if my life isn't my own to live as I choose, I don't intend to give you up. My wedding to Rogan LaKarn won't produce a marriage: A partnership is more like it. He doesn't want me. He's got somebody else, too, you know. A couple of somebody elses, in fact.”
“Well, that's not my case, Margot,” Brim replied. “You know I want you — I've just never wanted to own you. Or anybody else, for that matter.” He looked her in the eye. “But I xaxtdamned well want to make sure nobody else gets to make that claim, either.”
“I understand,” she said, nodding her head. “Universe knows I feel the same way about you.”
“That's good,” he answered, “because there is something else.” He was talking very seriously now. He'd given the matter months of thought on blockade duty and was quite ready to discuss it in a Universe of detail. “What I need — all I need,” he went on emphatically, “is to know that I'm the one special person in your life, permanently. I need that relationship because I need you.”
She looked him in the eye. “You have that already, Wilf,” she said. “It's one of the few parts of my life they can't control with the excuse that royal duty calls for it.” Then she took a great breath and put her hands on her stomach, staring down into her lap. “But will you still believe in that relationship when this belly of mine is swollen with his child?” She looked up and pursed her lips. “That, Mr. Brim will be the true test for us both. And it will happen. They'll expect heirs immediately after the war.”
Brim closed his eyes and winced. “Heirs,” he repeated, emphasizing the plural form of the word. “Ouch.”
“You didn't think it was going to be easy for either of us, did you?” Margot asked. “Listen, Wilf, in the not too distant future, I'm going to have to encourage you to find yourself some… ah… temporary sleeping companions. Either that or you'll end up like a celibate lots of the time. And it's my bet that if I ask for something like that, I'll eventu
ally lose what little I have of you.”
Brim started to protest, but she continued before he could speak.
“This love we think we share will have to be so terribly strong it can last through quite a bit of adversity, especially now that I'm permanently reassigned to Avalon. Just trying to see each other is going to be xaxtdamned difficult. It was no easy matter getting a berth aboard Queen Elidean so I could be here for your ceremony today. And I am required to return with her when she casts off early this evening.” She laughed resentfully. “After my little spying sojourn to Typro, Uncle Greyffin IV is doing everything in his power to keep me safely within the Imperial sphere on Avalon. At least until I produce that heir.”
Brim nodded and smiled gently. “I guess we'll spend a lot of our lives skulking, then,” he said.
She sighed and took his hand. “I should dearly like to find some nicer words, Wilf,” she said, looking down at her manicured nails. “But I suppose it is precisely what everything boils down to. Turns out it's commonly accepted practice among us of the so-called ancienne noblesse, if that's any help. Otherwise, we'd have royal marriages falling apart all over the Empire. Can you live with something like that?”
“Can you, Margot?”
“I asked you first, Wilf Brim,” she laughed quietly. “But, yes. I can live with it.” She looked him full in the face. “I've spent a lot of time weighing the question of 'us;’ now I'm ready to commit.” She grimaced. “I can't find a nice way of putting this, but it's got to be said. Rogan and I have , well, played the beast with two backs a number of times since you and I first made love on Avalon. And never once has it changed the way I feel about you. Not even when it was especially good, as it honestly has been on occasion. Like you, I have certain nerves down there; tickle them properly and it… feels good.” She pursed her lips and squeezed his fingers. “Life is going to be damned difficult over the long stretches we'll be apart. But the most difficult times of all will come when we do see each other and cannot touch.”