Baldwin, Bill - Helmsman 2 - Galactic Convoy

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here yah go...hope someone can use these
[Posted with Osiris]
Chapter 1
ELEANDOR-BESTIENNE
Wilf Brim pointed into the shimmering globular display and glared across the
drafting console, angry now in spite of himself. "If Nik Ursis says a waveguide
installed like that could short the Vertical Generators," he insisted to a
determinedly unpliant Senior Engineer, "then a xaxtdamned waveguide installed
like that could short the Vertical Generators. Nobody understands antigravity
like Sodeskayan Rears, and you bloody well know it!"
"Bears or no Bears, I was not placed in my position of trust and authority
to question Admiralty plans, Lieutenant," the engineer sniffed haughtily. He was
a tall, aristocratic man whose expression was the perfect physical manifestation
of bureaucratic arrogance, though his features themselves were indifferent to
the point of banality. "I build starships strictly to specification," he said,
"and I greatly resent the interruption of my busy day with complaints from
flight crews. You may be certain your superiors will hear of this
insubordination. Imagine, summoning a senior engineer-with wild tales of design
flaws. Certainly you do not believe we meet production quotas by challenging
Admiralty design teams, do you?"
"Voot's beard!" Brim exclaimed. "This has nothing to do with a challenge."
He pointed to a drafting console. "Look for yourself-your design diagrams are
just plain wrong! A hit anywhere near the KA'PPA tower could cripple both
Vertical Gravity Generators-trip 'em out completely. And Verticals are the only
things I know about that keep starships from falling outof the sky, at least
when they're anywhere near something that's got gravity-like for instance the
planet we're standing on.
Beside him, Ursis, a Great Sodeskayan Bear, frowned, shifted his peaked
officer's cap between furry russet ears, and thrummed six tapered fingers on the
console-clearly struggling with his own temper. Presently, he smiled, diamond
fang stones gleaming in the bright lights of the quiet drafting room. "I thank
you for your support, friend Wilf," he said in deep, carefully measured words,
"but we have reasoned fruitlessly for more than twenty cycles, and I for one
possess sufficient of this nonsense." With that, he gripped the massive drafting
console and ripped it from its mountings in a cloud of sparks and acrid smoke.
"Perhaps now, my good man," he said, turning to the startled engineer, "you will
have an easier time shifting your mind from symbolic diagrams to reality, eh? In
spite of what you might think, starships have no lifting devices such as wings,
or the like-only Vertical Gravity Generators keep them up. They are of critical
importance, yet these could be disabled by as little as a chance lightning
strike on the KA'PPA tower." Before the civilian could recover, Ursis lifted him
by his ornately embroidered lapels to a position no more than a milli-iral from
his huge, wet nose. "When I replace you on your feet, Mr. Senior Engineer," he
growled ominously, "you will locate a workable drafting display and carefully
study what Lieutenant Brim and I have attempted to explain this afternoon. Do
you understand?"
The man's face drained of color. "B-but the p-plans s-show..." he
stammered, pointing to the darkened drafting console as if it were still a
functioning instrument. All the bluster had suddenly gone from his voice.
"Defiant is the first warship of her class," Uruis stated firmly. "The
imaginary machine pictured by your precious plans has never so much as lifted
from the image of a globular display, much less east off for deep space. There
are bound to be errors. That is what you engineers are for-to catch mistakes
before they hurt someone...." His laugh returned again, this time with a little
of his normal humor. "It wouldn't be so good if one of your creations lost its
Verticals and fell out of the sky, now would it? Someone could be hurt!"
The man only stared into the huge Bear's eyes, mesmerized.
"Well, civilian engineer?"
"N-no...."
"No, what?"
"N-no... ah, I, ah, w-wouldn't want a starship t-to f-all out of the
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sky..."
"And what will you do to ensure this does not happen?"
"F-fix it-t-the waveguide so the Verticals are b-better insulated from
energy strikes...."
"Excellent," the Bear exclaimed, gently placing the engineer on his feet.
"Your cooperation is most gratifying, civilian. I shall mention it favorably to
my superiors. But," he added, "your equipment here is poor. Behold, Wilf, this
very drafting display is not functional."
Brim could only nod as he fought the gale of laughter that threatened to
overwhelm his control. "I'd noticed that," he choked.
"You should endeavor to find a workable instrument" Ursis advised the man
seriously. "Immediately. Otherwise, by the time you order this waveguide to be
reversed, it will be a difficult operation-every metacycle that passes sees new
equipment installed in Defiant's already crowded machinery spaces. Eh?"
"Of c-course, Lieutenant," the engineer whispered as if he were badly out
of breath. Suddenly, he turned and ran madly along the consoles until he
disappeared through a door at the end of the room.
Ursis pursed his lips and frowned. "I only hope he really will do something
about that waveguide," he said, "instead of just covering the mistake with a
minor insulating job. Once the hull is buttoned up, there will be no way I can
check." Then he smiled wryly and shook his head. "Groaning trees and growling
wolves are all the same in a spring snowstorm, eh?"
"Huh?" Brim responded, looking up from the wreckage of the drafting table.
"An old saying from the Mother Planets," the Bear answered with a grimace,
"and-it seems that I shall never learn to hold my temper," he observed. "Now we
are probably both in trouble."
Brim shrugged. "A little, maybe. But it's at least possible now that
something may be done to protect the Verticals. If we'd kept our mouths shut,
nobody would even had looked. Besides," he chuckled as they boarded an elevator
for the observation balcony, "I've dealt with bullies all my life. Once you
scrape away their rank, as you did so well, they're all the same sort of
cowards." He winked. "Now, if you want to talk about real trouble, imagine us
fighting a dead ship after something like a lightning strike tripped the
Verticals at low altitude-maybe during a landing. Universe...."
Nergol Thannic's all-consuming galactic conflict seemed terribly remote
that day among the ancient starship yards of Eleandor-Bestienne. Outside a lofty
Engineering Tower in the Orange-Eight district, cobalt skies and soft puffs of
summer clouds ruled the late afternoon over Construction Complex 81-B. On an
open balcony, a warm breeze rustled the blue Fleet Cape at Brim's neck and
raised whitecaps out on Elsene Bay. It carried with it the clean fragrance of
green vegetation-tempered by frequent whiffets of hot metal and fused logics
from the frantic wartime construction below.
The object of Brim's attention-emerging from the water-front clutter of
bowing, swinging shipyard cranes-was the flattened teardrop shape of a
half-finished starship hull that rested on a tangle of rusting construction
stocks: I.F.S. Defiant Imperial hull designator CL.921, and the first ship in a
whole new class of light cruisers. As such, she was new in many ways-and subject
to all the ills of each. The morning's waveguide Incident was only one-albeit
the most serious-of a hundred-odd irregularities and disorders uncovered since
the starship's keel was laid. In spite of her great promise for the future,
Defiant was starting life as a most troublesome ship....
While Brim mused, he overheard the voice of Lieutenant Xerxes O. Flynn
joking with Ursis. Flynn was Defiant's medical officer-the position he had
previously filled aboard I.F.S. Truculent. Ho was short, fair, and balding, with
a reddish face and a quick smile. "I say, Nikolai Yanuarievich," he said, "do
you suppose yonder Principal Helmsman has become Inpatient to fly already? He
shows up this time every day to watch them build our ship."
"Well, Doctor," observed the Bear, "either impatience guides his actions-or
a well-known compulsion to single-handedly confound the League of Dark Stars. As
we say on the Mother Planets, 'When the mountain dances with ice maidens, cold
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wand comes quietly at the hearth.'" He grinned suddenly. "One imagines anything
is possible of persons who spend most waking hours flying a simulator-even
Helmsmen.
Brim turned to grin at his old shipmates, fellow survivors of Regula
Collingswood's battle-shattered destroyer I.F.S. Truculent. "You're both right,"
he asserted, "I do spend most of my time flying 'The Box.' But I am clearly not
the only one impatient to get back into space-or the war. In fact, I personally
know a certain Great Sodeskayan Boar who spends most of his time checking
starship plans-and I'm sure he has the same thing in mind. Besides, it's rarely
lonesome here on the balcony, as you both well know." He chuckled. "I understand
people are starting to call it 'Point Defiant.'"
"Actually," Flynn admitted, "I might just prefer a battle zone if I had my
choice-some place where I could occasionally contribute to the war effort by
treating disorders more serious than meem hangovers." He shook his heed. "That
one task seems to occupy most of my duty time while we wait for those bloody
civilians to build our ship."
Ursis laughed as he charged the bowl of his Zempa pipe with Hogge'poa. "You
must never underestimate your contribution here, my dear Doctor," he asserted,
tamping the weed with a professional countenance. "Hangovers are important on
worlds like Eleandor-Bestienne. Especially since meem-and the drinking
thereof-remains the principal diversion." He nodded sagely while he puffed a
glow into the bowl of his pipe. "You will soon enough be up to your elbows in
battle blood again."
Flynn nodded. "That's why I drink meem," he said wrinkling his nose as a
cloud of smoke momentarily enveloped his face. "And they're my own hangovers, by
the way."
While the two continued their salty banter in the lengthening shadows, Brim
returned his attention to the stocks. For the thousandth time, he traced
Defiant's convexed upper deck as it gently arced from a pointed bow and peaked a
regulation thirty irals from four Drive outlets in her ponderously rounded
stern. Dramatically larger than old Truculent, her very size seemed to
Symbolize-dauntingly-the new responsibility Brim was about to shoulder as her
Principal Helmsman. Abaft the forward mooring cupola, work gangs were
energetically fishing heavy-gauge cable of some sort between two circular access
hatches. Farther back, a pair of surveyors appeared to be checking the hull's
loft lines against a fat book of blue-prints. The ship's ebony hullmetal was
everywhere marred by bright blue of welding, and her upper decks were littered
with cuttings, fastener cartridges, cables, and general sweepings. Apparently a
great deal of the morning's construction effort had been expended preparing for
installation of the two ventral turret assemblies. With the acrid smell of
Hogge'poa burning his nostrils, Brim watched a heavy mounting ring glide slowly
beneath the starboard beam, towed by one of the ubiquitous yellow shipyard
locomotives. The two dorsal twin-mounts had been in place abaft the bridge for a
week now; they required only installation of their long-barreled 152-mmi
disruptors. The final turret, however, a single-mounted 152 that would complete
the ship's primary armament, was still marked by little more than a circular
opening in the hullmetal directly forward of the skeletal bridge.
Presently, a fourth voice joined the others on the balcony. Elegant and
polished, it belonged unmistakably to Commander Regula Colllngswood, Defiant's
Captain and commanding officer. She was a statuesque woman, tall and well-shaped
with a long, patrician nose, piercing hazel eyes, and soft chestnut hair that
she wore in natural curls beneath her peaked uniform hat. An extraordinary
commander of military warships, her appearance never for a moment let anyone
forget she was also a woman, every milli-iral of her, She was known throughout
Kabul Anak's fleets as a very dangerous adversary, and had lived with a price on
her head for years. She seemed to enjoy the distinction. Brim saluted wit the
others.
"I rather expected I might find the three of you here," she pronounced with
a fatigued smile. "I too need tangible evidence that someday we shall find
ourselves back in space. Especially since I presently spend most of my life
staring at desiccated verbiage in a display." She grimaced at the portfolio
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under her arm. And making peace with angry shipyard bosses," she added hotly,
scowling first at Brim and then at Ursis. "What in the name of the Universe did
you do to that poor engineer? His manager found him reduced to tears at a
drafting display and mumbling nonsense about lightning strikes and Bears-as well
as Carescrians. Wilf Ansor Brim."
Brim and Ursis began to speak at the same time, but Collingswood held up a
perfectly manicured hand. "Don't bother, either of you. There was also the
matter of the reversed waveguide that they installed-everybody in the yard was
overjoyed that I declined to fuss to the Admiralty about that little blunder-a
damned serious problem as I am given to understand."
"We, ah, did bring it to the engineer's attention," Brim stammered.
"Indeed," Ursis seconded, "one of the senior types initially found it
difficult to separate his diagrams from the reality of hullmetal."
Collingswood closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. Then she nodded pointing
an accusing finger at the Bear. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "You helped him
understand how to do it, didn't you? That probably explains the uprooted
drafting table. We all sort of wondered about that bit of mayhem." She shook her
head again, then chuckled. "At any rate, now that the two of you have finished
dealing with recalcitrant civilians on your own side of the war, I trust you
have saved a little violence to counter the promises of our opposites from the
League as well."
Her voice trailed off. Everyone in the Fleet knew Emperor Nergol Triannic's
boast of slavery and death-at best-for every Imperial Blue Cape who stood in the
path of his plans to sack and subjugate the galaxy for his League of Dark Stars.
And for eight grim years, the badly outnumbered Fleets of Emperor Greyffin IV
had spoiled those plans out of all proportion to the meager resources at their
disposal. Now, thanks to efforts like the one in the shipyard below, those
fleets were growing larger-and more powerful....
Sudden thunder boomed and crackled overhead as two pairs of starships
plunged in formation from among the clouds. Brim identified them even before
they entered the shipyard's landing pattern: Sinister-class light cruisers. At
315 irals overall, they were only a little smaller than Defiant and carried
150-mmi disruptors. Although they were known as handy ships with excellent
habitability, experts considered that placement of blast deflectors near the aft
deck house provided an ungainly appearance.
Ungainly-looking or not, these certainly could maintain formation.
Perfectly synchronized, they banked into an abbreviated base leg, then rolled
out on final, antigravity generators bellowing as they drew into line abreast
and descended toward the bay. Cycles later, they were skimming the whitecaps,
cooling fins whistling in the slipstream. Brim watched with professional
judgment while their speed dropped and the ships gently unloaded mass onto the
Verticals buried 'midships in their hulls. Each of the cruisers came to a
hovering stop twenty irals or so above the thrashing footprint it pushed into
the surface of the water, then turned smartly to taxi toward the wharves beyond
the shipyard. Still in line abreast, they crossed between Brim and
Eleandor-Bestienne's close-set trio of suns, now setting on the horizon. For an
instant, every hull plate stood highlighted in the rippled path of blazing
colors; then the starships continued on their way and disappeared into the
forest of gantry cranes.
"Did that landfall meet with your professional approva, friend Wilf?" Ursis
asked quietly, bringing Brim once more to reality.
He felt his cheeks burn. "They all look good to me, Nik," he admitted with
a grin. "I won't be able to judge until I've had a bit of real experience
landing a light cruiser." Then he laughed. "But from what I've been able to
simulate in The Box, I'd allow we were watching some pretty competent
helmsmanship."
"I suspect you'll find yourself at real controls sooner than you think,
Wilf," Collingswood interrupted with a knowing smile. "Something big seems to be
in the wind." She paused significantly to look each of them in the eye. "I have
been informed that management here has specially stepped up Defiant's completion
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schedule on direct orders of the Admiralty-even though the yard is already far
beyond its rated capacity. That, and a few other hints I cannot share at this
time, lead me to believe that we can expect a most difficult-and
critical-assignment." She paused for a moment in thought, watching a destroyer
stand out into the bay for takeoff. As its running lights pierced the
early-evening darkness, she turned again to her three senior officers. "And,"
she continued, "before the year is over, we may well help decide the outcome of
the entire war...."
Weary metacycles later, Brim's strenuous workday finally came to an end
when he climbed gratefully from a simulator and signed out of the Training
Operations Complex for the night. Under a mighty canopy of midgalactic star
swarms, he waved off a hovering tram and made his way inland on foot, following
a maze of streets winding circuitously through the shipyard complex. A damp bay
breeze plastered the Fleet Cape to his side as he picked his way over glowing,
multicolored tracks that crisscrossed the cracked and potholed pavements on the
way to his temporary quarters. To either side, the shipyard's ear-splitting
cacophony continued unabated from the daylight hours while shadowed forms of
half-finished starships hovered under Karlsson lamps. Here and there hullmetal
welding torches filled the sky with fountains of sparkling color, and high above
it all the monstrous cranes swung and bowed to a rhythm all their own.
Brim smiled as the officers' quarters came into view from the top of a
slight rise. His step quickened in spite of his deepening fatigue. Down there in
his spartan room, a message would be waiting from halfway across the galaxy.
Today was the day she customarily posted.
Casually returning salutes from sentries at either side of the doors, he
strode across the lobby to the bank of lifts on the far wall. Cycles later, he
entered the tiny cubicle that was his temporary home on Eleandor-Bestienne. As
he hoped, the message indicator was flashing over his bunk: YOU-HAVE-NEW-MAIL.
YOU-HAVE-NEW-MAIL....
He closed the door and settled himself before the tiny desk that-along with
its totally inadequate chair-constituted the only furniture in his tiny room.
Instantly, a globular display materialized above the surface of the desk, then
filled with a list of correspondence received since he last accessed his message
queue. He smiled with pleasure, then selected the entry sourced "Margot
Effer'wyck, Lt., I. F. @ Admiralty/Avalon 19-993.367."
A swirl of damp, golden curls and a flashing smile filled the display.
Margot Effer'wyck was a princess in every respect. Tall and proud-looking, she
was an ample young woman with oval face, full moist lips, sensually heavy
eyelids, and the most endearing habit of frowning when she smiled. Her
complexion was almost painfully fair and brushed with pink high in her cheeks.
She had smallish breasts, a tiny waist for her size, and long, shapely legs. To
Wilf Brim, she was the most beautiful woman who ever drew breath.
Discontent with nonproductive court life, she served on and off as an
inordinately brave-and successful-young "operative" who risked her life on a
number of clandestine assignments to Leaguer planets for Emperor Greyffin's
Empire. Now-unwilling subject of that same emperor's protection-she still
commanded a highly secret intelligence-gathering section at the Central
Admiralty. But her days of life-threatening danger were now at an end. She was
too politically valuable to risk.
In the background, Avalon's trees wore their brilliant autumn colors under
a gray and lowering sky. When she spoke, her voice was soft and modulated:
"I have toiled sufficiently for the Empire today, dearest," she began. "Now
I'm free to walk home instead of taking the limousine, so I can steal a few
moments alone to compose." She smiled and looked into the sky, eyes slitted
against a misting drizzle. "Avalon has not yet quite accommodated itself to the
coming of winter. On the side walks, leaves are sodden and slippery, and the
rain has just let up a little."
She closed her eyes and smiled wistfully. "'Red o'er the city peeks the
setting star,'" she recited, "`'The line of yellow light dies fast away / That
crowned the eastern roofs; and chill and dun / Falls on the streets this brief
autumnal day....'"
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Presently she brightened. "That's not really my autumn, Wilf," she said.
"Not when I dream of you. Anshelm's Ode to Autumn I think is much more like it:
'Season of gold and misted grace, / Close bosom-friend of the life-granting sky;
/ Enveloping all with thy warming embrace, / Fruiting the vines the 'round my
gardens lie....'" She shook her head slowly. "Oh, but how I miss the harvest of
love you bring to my life, 'What gleaning half so sweet is / As still to reap
thy kisses / Grown ripe in sowing? / And straight to be receiver / Of that which
thou art giver, / Rich in bestowing?'"
Brim frowned. Who wrote that last poem? Compton?...Calpon?...Campion! That
was who. Thomas Campion-a little-known ancient from a long-forgotten star
system. Only the playful lyrics survived him and his whole civilization. He
shook his head. "All passes. Art alone endures," as Margot often put it. Smiling
wistfully, he recalled the archaic love of verse they shared-a nearly forgotten
art form that brought them together for the first time in old Truculent's
wardroom. It seemed like a million years ago. Not many of Truculent's crew
survived her last battle off the planet of Lixor in the Ninety-first Province.
"Oh Wilf, I miss you so today," Margot continued. "Not a sad missing
anymore, mind you-not like just after we've been together when there's real
pain." A sudden swirl of wind rushed leaves past her face; she absently pushed a
curl back in place. "But, after six months or so, you are the warmest spot in my
heart. You are the part of me that petty politics can never reach-and the
sanctuary to which I can always escape."
The rain began again, and she pulled her Fleet Cloak tighter about her
neck. "I use many routes to walk home from the Agency," she continued, "short
and not so short. Usually I take the one that crosses the old Broix River
bridge. You've seen the district: narrow streets and tall, beautiful houses.
Tonight, though, I've chosen the longer one that passes the Lordglen House. It
always reminds me of you somehow-and the ball they gave for..." Her laugh
sparkled like sudden starlight. "I forget now. That's how important he was. But
you were there-and you never did have a chance to stay the night in that great
house of state, did you, poor Wilf? I shall always hope sharing my bed for the
first time was adequate recompense...."
She blushed suddenly. "It's almost as if Gol'ridge wrote Ristobel about me
that night-our night. Remember? 'Before my lover's gaze I bowed, / And slowly
teased myself around; / Then drawing in my breath aloud, / With loving pleasure,
I unbound / The coverings that concealed my breasts: / My silken gown and inner
vests, / Dropt to my feet and full in view, / Behold! my bosom to pleasure you-
/ And legs and hips and secret place! / Oh come and fill me with thy grace!...'"
While the long message played, Brim marveled, as he did so often, that this
young noblewoman-and quietly genuine war heroine-was actually in love with him.
Of course, she was not entirely his in any sense-merely in love with him. Being
a princess came with certain requirements, and Princess Margot Effer'wyck would
soon enough pay her dues in a political marriage to (The Hon.) Rogan LaKarn,
Baron of the Torond. Their wedding date-mandated by no less a personage then
Emperor Greyffin IV himself-was to be set shortly.
And while Brim knew he could probably tolerate the marriage itself, he had
long ago given up trying to make himself accept the fact that LaKarn would also
share Margot's bed-even though he knew full well that no real love existed
there. She was always careful that he understood where she stood on that point.
In the privacy of her suite at the Embassy, she had concluded the message so
erotically she left him sweating and short of breath. He fell asleep after his
fifth replay....
Next morning, as Chief Steward Grimsby, Collingswood's ancient family
retainer, chauffeured the foursome to the stocks, Flynn sat bolt upright in his
seat the moment Defiant came into view. "Who is that?" he exclaimed, pointing
through the skimmer's windscreen, "and what in the Universe is he doing?" At the
entrance, a huge, familiar figure was intently raising a great blue-and-gold
banner onto a flagstaff newly attached to one of the gate uprights.
Brim recognized "who" in an instant, even though the man's broad back was
turned from the road. "That's Barbousse!" he exclaimed, hopping through the
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hatch before Grimsby could fully bring the vechile to a stop.
"Lieutenant Brim," the huge rating bellowed, turning to salute with his
free hand. He stood half an iral taller than Brim, was completely bald under his
garrison cap, and might have weighed a quarter millstone-yet there was clearly
not a measure of fat on his powerful body. He had gentle brown eys that shone
with intelligence and compassion, the nose of an eagle, and a jaw that must have
stopped a thousand fists-clearly to the detriment of the fists. He had large
hands and feet, yet he was perfectly proportioned in every respect. And he wore
a huge, ear-to-ear grin. "Defiant's a beauty, sir," he exclaimed, "every iral of
'er."
Collingswood followed Brim from the skimmer with Ursis and Flynn close on
her heels. "Utrillo Barbousse," she whispered, shaking her head in helpless
wonderment, "you weren't supposed to report for at least a week. I thought you
were on leave...."
"Aye, Captain," Barbousse admitted, saluting again, "that I was. But...
Well... I sort of figured the four of you would have your hands full gettin' the
new ship finished and all." He shrugged and blushed momentarily. "An' to tell
the truth, I was gettin' tired of nothin' important to do, so..." He saluted
Ursis and Flynn, then nodded toward the ship while he secured the flag halyards
to a cleat on the flagpole. "I thought it wouldn't hurt if I pitched in signin'
on the new crew."
Collingswood suddenly seemed to have something in her eye. She looked up at
the great flowing pennant with its colorful depiction of a deadly Rhondell
falcon-Defiant's hallmark-then bit her lip for a moment before she spoke. "It's
a most elegant banner, Barbousse," she said, "and we can certainly use your help
with the crew."
Ursis kissed his fingertips and shook his great, furry head. "Utrillo, my
friend," he interjected with a baleful eye, "this new banner will make such a
fine impression on the entire shipyard that we shall have our hands full merely
preventing other crews from signing on without orders."
Flynn frowned and stared at the great pennant flying lazily in the
early-evening breeze. "How in the world did you manage to get your hands on..."
His voice trailed off and he winced. "Ah, belay that, my friend," he said
hurriedly.
"Aye, sir," Barbousse mumbled, busying himself with the flag halyards
again.
Brim stifled a laugh as Collingswood suddenly scanned the empty sky as if
expecting the arrival of an extremely important starship. No one who had ever
shipped with Barbousse really wanted to know how the big rating acquired
war-vanished luxury items like cases of fine old Logish Meem, and flagstaffs
with custom pennants far in advance of launch ceremonies, only the he could and
did-with satisfying regularity.
"Barbousse," Brim choked presently, "your banner is perfect-as is your
timing."
"True," Ursis agreed, nodding his head gravely. "'Winter songbirds trill
lustily from autumn treetops,' as we say-and with your arrival, Utrillo, comes
my own personal feeling that this war may yet be won by our tired old
Empire...."
During the next days, specialists among Defiant's crew began to report
aboard. For the most part, they were engineering technicians assigned to the big
antigravity generators that lifted and propelled the ship at speeds below
Sheldon's Great LightSpeed Constant. They went to work immediately on the two
Admiralty CL-Standard-84 Verticals that would soon be needed when she was towed
from the stocks for finishing.
One new lieutenant who was not assigned to the Engineering spaces appeared
one morning at the simulators and reported directly to Brim. He was tall,
redheaded, and barrel-chested-and he was not dressed in the blue cape of Emperor
Greyffin's Galactic Fleet. Instead, he wore a stiff crimson collar, dark knee
breeches with crimson side stripes, and lightweight, knee-high boots.
He could also fly-with no help from the machines. Midway between his
shoulders, his tunic opened to accommodate a pillow-sized swelling common to his
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species known as a "tensil." This protrusion covered an outgrowth of his
reflexive nervous system that automatically coordinated the complex motions of
an enormous pair of auburn wings-really a second, specialized, set of arms-that
arched upward like sandy cowls trailing long flight feathers in cascades that
reached all the way to the floor.
He was an A'zurnian, dressed in the wonderfully old-fashioned regimentals
of his home planet, the mild, lushly vegetated world on the edge of Galactic
Sector 944. Entirely populated by flighted-determinedly peaceful-being, A'zurn
had been easily seized by League invaders early in the war. Less than a year
previously, Brim distinguished himself in a daring raid to assist the very
active A'zurnian resistance movement-and was subsequently decorated for his
efforts by Crown Prince Leopold, leader of the Free A'zurnian
gorvenment-in-exile at Avalon. There was something about the cut of this
lieutenant's uniform that said "unusual." Especially his shiny, new Helmsman's
insignia that fairly shouted of recent graduation from the Academy near Avalon.
He had a wide forehead and narrow chin with a sharply chiseled nose. His huge
eyes were those of a born hunter, and they sparkled with intelligence and
compassion, as well as humor.
"Leading Torpedoman Barbousse suggested I report directly to you after I
signed in," the young A'zurnian said in a strong, steady voice, saluting
formally. "I am known as Aram of Nahshon, and I have wished to meet you since I
learned that you personally freed my father on A'zurn."
"Your father?" Brim asked in astonishment.
"Yessir," the lieutenant said. "A man in a tricornered hat. You gave him
your captured field piece-just before you boarded the launch for home. Do you
remember?" he asked anxiously. "Torpedoman Barbousse did."
"Universe," Brim whispered. "Of course I remember-the nobleman."
Aram smiled. "Yes," he said. "First Earl of Xeres-and cousin to Crown
Prince Leo who decorated you. The other A'zurnian in the field piece was
Tharshish of Josias, our Prime Minister at one time. You and your men freed them
both from the prison at the Research Center. It was by their personal petitions
that you were awarded our Order of Cloudless Flight."
Brim ground his teeth as gruesome memories of the raid flooded back. The
prisoners had all been horribly mangled-wings cruelly snapped in half to prevent
their escape. To the Leaguers, such treatment was quite normal-there was no
conscious desire to inflict punishment. Pragmatism ruled their entire military
establishment-especially the black-uniformed Controllers. Wingless prisoners
simply required fewer guards than one who could fly.
"Never for a moment pity them," Aram said gently, breaking the Carescrian's
awful reverie. "Even though they are now flightless, they are still proud-and
quite capable of considerable fight, as the Tyrant discovers each new day they
are free."
Brim smiled and nodded his head. "Yes," he said quietly. "I understood that
by looking into their eyes."
The A'zurnian lieutenant returned Brim's smile. "Thank you," he said
simply. "Perhaps aboard Defiant I can somehow begin to repay my personal debt to
you and Mr. Barbousse."
It took Brim a few moments to understand just what the young A'zurnian was
talking about. Then he shut his eyes and shook his head. "No one owes anything
to anybody," he stated firmly. "Barbousse and I were only doing our jobs as
imperial soldiers." He laughed. "Besides, if you have even half the guts of the
other A'zurnians I met during that raid, then we'll all feel xaxtdamned lucky to
have you aboard. We've got one hell of a war on our hands-all of us." With that,
he motioned Defiant's new Helmsman Second Class into the simulator room. "Now,
let's introduce you to this new ship of ours...."
On the stocks, Defiant herself gained a somewhat finished appearance amid
the coils of wire, hullmetal plates, cables, ducting, hoses, rumbling
generators, and other detritus that littered the construction site. Within two
weeks, the officers' quarters were more or less completed, and Brim moved
aboard-marveling that his fortunes had so improved that he now required two
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traveling cases instead of the one that bobbed at his heels when he first passed
through the gates of the Eorean Complex on Gimmas Haefdon, fresh from the
Academy.
While more systems were completed within the hull, each succeeding day saw
larger groups of crew members muster through Barbousse's makeshift office near
the main hatch, and the ship began to take on some aspects of an operational
Fleet unit.
In due course, Defiant's hull and superstructure exteriors were finished,
and the day arrived when the starship could be moved to an ordinary gravity pool
for completion. According to hoary tradition, a small launching ceremony marked
the occasion-sadly rushed by a mysterious construction speed-up that had
suddenly affected the entire shipyard.
Brim and Ursis witnessed the late-afternoon proceedings from Defiant's
rain-soaked, half finished bridge with the ships two CL-Standard-84 Vertical
Gravity Generators rumbling steadily in the background. Barbousse's great banner
snapped and fluttered in the strong wind from a temporary flagstaff at the bow.
Overhead, a dreary sky was pregnant with lowering, scudding clouds-sure
precursors of another in a constant parade of violent summer thunderstorms that
had darkened most of the day and wrinkled the lead-toned bay with whitecaps.
"Defiant is certainly a much larger ship than was our little Truculent,"
the Bear observed, standing at the forward starboard corner of the bridge beside
the only control console yet installed. He was holding on to his hat and
motioning toward a pair of large, humpbacked tugs that had turned from the main
waterway and were battling into the teeth of the wind toward the stocks. The
powerful vessels rode atop streaming clouds of spray and foam as they ploughed
contemptuously over the deeps troughs. "I have often seen T-class destroyers
moved with a single tug," Ursis observed with a grin, "but even incomplete, our
Defiant requires at least two." He bent over the shoulder of Sublieutenant Alexi
Radosni Provodnik to check the Vertical readouts personally. Provodnik, a new
engineering officer fresh from Sodeskaya, was a much smaller Bear who had been
assigned to Defiant only a short while. He had sharper, more pointed ears than
most of his colleagues and smaller fangs-inlaid with two positively immense
Starblazes. The young Bear was clearly scion of an extraordinarily wealthy
Sodeskayan family. He was also enthusiastic about anything that provided an
opportunity to learn about starships, and had quickly become the darling of the
whole crew.
Brim smiled as he leaned his elbows on a control ledge beneath empty frames
for the ship's Hyperscreens-glasslike crytals that provided "normal" views of
the outside at faster-than-light velocities. "From the feel of things in The
Box, Defiant will be a lot bigger to fly, too," he observed with a chuckle.
"Probably a lot like one of those tugs."
"If that is the case, friend Wilf," Ursis growled with a sparkle of humor
in his eyes, "we shall tow Nergol Triannic to his doom. One fights with the
weapons one finds at hand." His wink was punctuated by a lengthy rumble of
approaching thunder.
Aft, at the beam ends of Defiant's stern, teams of shipyard workers dressed
in reflective clothing were already balancing themselves on the slippery
hullmetal while they retracted protective covers from stout optical cleats set
in the afterdeck end of the sheer strakes. By this time, the tugs had lumbered
into position some two hundred irals out from the stocks and were hovering just
clear of the tossing waves. Presently, thick hawser beams flashed from their
huge optical bollards, contacted the cleats, and brightened as the tugs smoothly
shifted into reverse, laying on the tension against Defiant, which was still
fastened securely to the stocks.
To landward, a small crowd had gathered at a temporary platform near the
bow-automatic umbrellas bobbed and hovered nervously in the gusty wind. Someone
read a short speech that was totally unintelligible on the bridge. Then a brass
band energetically yerked out a few off-key bars of Heroic Music from the
Grat'mooz Sector-that came through all too well, at least to Brim's way of
thinking.
"Hull 921," a voice rasped suddenly from a temporary COMM module fastened
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to a stringer by two oversized C-clamps, "contact Lauch Operations on GTD zero
five one. Good afternoon, sir."
"Hull 921 on GTD zero five one, and thank you," Brim answered, switching
frequencies on the battered little box. "Hull 921 checking in from the stocks."
"Hull number 921, good day," a female voice answered promptly. "Verify
readiness to melt the trennels, please."
"Hull 921, one moment," Brim answered. He looked as Ursis and raised his
eyebrows. "OPS wants to know if we're ready to melt the fastenings to the
stocks," he said.
The bear bent to peer at the readouts again, frowned, then shook his head
thoughtfully and spoke to Provodnik at the console. "Before the launch crew
frees us from the stocks, Alexi Radosni," he said gently, "you may wish to
balance the gain on the portside Hartzel feedbacks. We want Defiant to ride an
even keel from the very beginning, eh?"
"I think ve mayeh have problem, here, Nikolai Yanuarievich," the younger
Bear said, passing delicate hands over an array of power controls. Immediately,
a bank of indicators turned from yellow to steady green. "Is third time port
generators have lost balance in last couple of cycles," he asserted; "I vas
about to bring this to your attention." As he spoke, the indicators suddenly
changed color again. "Ah, like that, sir," he added. "One of the feedback
circuits seems to drop control data. Ten'stadt Fields there in X-Damper quadrant
dump all the vay to minus sixtyeh-seven just before it happens."
Ursis bent and glowered at the readouts. "Hmm," he muttered. "Isee what you
mean." He frowned as he studied the flowing colors on the console readouts, then
turned to Brim. "As you have probably gathered, Wilf," he said with a serious
look on his face, "we have lost automatic balance of the port Verticals." He
thought for a moment, staring out over the tossing gray water of the wind-swept
sound. "Perhaps it would be wise to request a brief systems delay."
Brim nodded. "Hull 921," he announced after another, much louder, crack of
thunder rattled to a conclusion in the distance. "Request five-cycle systems
check, please."
There was a measurable pause before an answer came. "Hull 921: cleared for
one five-cycle systems check," the woman's voice acknowledged with a slight
edge. Brim understood that launch operations were meticulously timed, and delays
of any kind could result in horribly tangled schedules. "Check in immediately
when you complete, please," the controller added.
"Hull 921. Many thanks," Brim answered, then nodded to Ursis. "You've got
five cycles, Nik," he said.
Ursis and Provodnik huddled for perhaps two cycles, conversing rapidly is
Sodeskayan and exercising the controls. Presently the older Bear straightened
and nodded to Brim. "It seems that we have serious problems indeed, my friend,"
he said, nodding his head gravely. "Probably Alexi and I can jury-rig a fix
around the trouble in perhaps a metacycle. Would you inquire as to what that
might do to the launch schedule?"
Brim naddoed. "Hull 921. Requesting one-metacycle systems workaround," he
said, but was pretty sure of the answer before he started.
The controller's voice returned almost immediately. "Hull 921: sorry, that
is a negative. Do you need to scrub your launching?"
"Hull 921. How long before you could schedule us again, please?"
"Hull 921," the controller answered after a slight pause, "estimate ten
standard days before we have openings."
Brim looked at the Bear, who had been listening to the conversation. "What
now, Nik?"
Ursis turned to Provodnik. "We could take the starboard generator off
Automatic and run it ourselves, Alexi Radosni," he suggested. "Otherwise, we
cause immediate cancellation of the lauch-and put Defiant at least a week behind
schedule." He stared the young Bear directly in the eye. "Do you think you can
use the manual controls here to balance the generator with its mate to port?...
If you feel any uncertainty at all, I should count it a privilege to take your
place at the console-immediately."
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file:///G|/rah/Bill%20Baldwin/Baldwin,%20Bill%20-%20The%20Helmsman%2002%20-%20Galactic%20Convoy.txthereyahgo...hopesomeonecanusethese[PostedwithOsiris]Chapter1ELEANDOR-BESTIENNEWilfBrimpointedintotheshimmeringglobulardisplayandglaredacross hedraftingconsole,angrynowinspiteofhimself."IfNikUrsissays...

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