Bill Baldwin - Helmsman 4 - The Mercenaries

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"Ten."

Barbousse announced grimly.

"Nine... Eight... Seven..."

Brim had to fight the controls with all his concentration. Come on, Barbousse!

"Four... three... two... one... Torpedoes running, Cap'm!"

In the wink of an eye, eight dark spindles flashed out from beneath Starfury's bridge and

headed squarely for the battleship. Instantly Brim threw in full military power, pulled the nose up

and rolled out into a violent jink. But he was moments too late.

With unbelievable concussion and sound, the whole forward tip of Starfury's starboard

pontoon disappeared in a tremendous blast of radiant energy. Her hull jumped and quivered for a

long moment and the generators skipped a beat as Brim fought to bring the skewed ship back

under control.

Then, without warning, they were again blasted off course—this time by an even more

stupendous explosion. The whole Universe seemed to light up by the birth of some hellacious

new star...

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have

been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither

the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

WARNER BOOKS EDITION

Questar is a registered trademark of Warner Books, Inc.

Cover illustration by John Berkey

Cover design by Don Puckey

Warner Books, Inc.

1271 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N. Y. 10020

A Time Warner Company

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing: June, 1991

The Mercenaries

Bill Baldwin

CHAPTER 1

Bromwich, 52009

Commander Wilf Brim, I. F., scanned a mass of polychrome data cascading over his four

readout consoles—then checked the panel clock, "It's time, Number One," he said, nodding to

Lieutenant Nadia Tissaurd at the CoHelmsman's station beside him. "Let's pipe it on the blower."

"Aye, Captain," Tissaurd replied; a deft pass of her index finger triggered the starship's

intercom. "Hands to lift-off stations," she announced, her voice resounding into every cubic iral

of the big starship. "Hands to lift-off stations. Stand by mooring and fender beams!"

Abruptly, the bridge filled with noises of imminent departure: running footfalls, airtight

doors slamming, the cadenced babble of thirty different checklists. Brim settled into his recliner

with a full measure of excitement. Beneath his boots, I.F.S. Starfury's deck trembled to the steady

beat of six Admiralty A876 gravity generators running at fast idle in long pontoons at either side

of the main hull. Above it all, he sensed (more than heard) the treble rush of steering engines as

Engineering Officer Strana' Zaftrak carried out her last-moment checklist at the Systems Console

behind him. No need for worry there. The Sodeskayan woman was thorough.

A scraping thud announced the brow had been swayed back to the edge of the gravity

pool; anyone aboard now was on his way to the space trials—whether that was what he intended

or not.

"Hands stand by for internal gravity," Tissaurd announced on the blower. A woman in her

early forties from the Lampsen Provinces with laughing eyes, jet-black hair, and a compact

figure, her matter-of-fact competency had been an asset since the day she signed on as First

Lieutenant—only metacycles following Brim's own arrival as Commanding Officer. With the

million-odd tasks to be accomplished before the new ship was commissioned, her kind of

cheerful willingness had been doubly appreciated. Besides, she was sexy in her own way.

Once more Brim verified the flow of information over his console, then swallowed hard

and nodded to Zaftrak's furry visage in a display. "Switch it, Strana'," he ordered quietly.

The Sodeskayan winked and passed a delicate, six-fingered hand over the gravity console

beside her, changing sixteen flashing red indicators to steady blue—and savaging Brim's stomach

in an avalanche of nausea as gravity cycled from planetary to the ship's artificial gradient. During

twenty-nine years in space he had never become inured to the change, especially if it happened

abruptly.

When his vision cleared, he shunted one of his displays to the PoolMaster in a control

cupola on the rim of the gravity pool, twenty-five irals beneath Starfury's levitated hull. "Single

up the moorings, if you please, Master Scirri, " he ordered.

"Singling up moorings, " replied Scirri's bearded face from the display. He had narrow

lips, a sharp nose, and the humorless, close-set eyes of a sharpshooter. He was the best

PoolMaster at Sherrington's.

Through the Hyperscreens—normally transparent crystalline windows that simulated

conventional vision at Hyperspeeds—Brim watched a network of greenish mooring beams wink

out one by one. Presently, the ship was tethered by a single set of four springs projected from the

corners of the gravity pool, flaring up and abating as Starfury moved to the wind.

Outside, the weather was moderating—at last. Bromwich city (indeed all of Rhodor's

boreal hemisphere) had been stormy that winter. But at present, the air was clean and crisp over

squalid, whitecapped Glammarian Bight. Brim looked out across the ship's snub-nosed prow,

drinking in the pair of graceful ebony pontoons that jutted almost fifty irals beyond. From the tip

of each, two 406-mmi disruptors continued forward for another seventy-five irals. Once

exclusively reserved for use on the largest battleships, twelve of these deadly and brutally

efficient ship-killing mechanisms could now be mounted on light cruisers like Starfury—but only

by dint of recent technology, developed not a moment too soon. A sad, fragile peace that

doggedly persisted among the Galactic dominions reminded Brim of the thin winter dayshine

outside: it still managed a pallid light, but all the heat had long ago escaped. Even as he sat in his

Helmsman's seat, the old enemy was constructing new, deep-space fortifications in a score of

locations. War was about to break out all over the galaxy, and with a sadly depleted Imperial

Fleet, only Starfury and the sister ships that would follow her from the Sherrington Works held

any genuine promise for a bleak-looking future....

The bridge had grown quiet now, every console manned and active. "Ship's buttoned up,

Captain," Tissaurd reported with a grin. "All hands are at stations and pretaxi checklists are

done," she said. "Ready to proceed...."

"Good work, Nadia," Brim replied. He touched the COMM panel at his right hand.

"Bromwich Ground," he sent, "Fleet K5054 requests immediate G-pool departure."

"K5054: affirmative. Cleared immediate G-pool departure."

"K5054," Brim acknowledged. Then, into the display: "Master Scirri, stand by springs!"

He checked fore and aft through the Hyperscreens—all clear. Starfury had a quartering wind on

her starboard bow. No particular problem, but it never hurt to be careful.... Narrowing his eyes,

he waited for the proper balance of wind and mooring beams, before "Let go port springs!"

"All clear port, Captain," the bearded PoolMaster reported from his console.

The crosswind meant that Brim would have to go ahead on the back spring and get the

stern to swing out to port. He touched his power console. Immediately two narrow amethyst

damper rays warmed the palm of his hand, each controlled three of the ship's six gravity

generators on its respective side. Nudging the starboard glow forward without altering its color,

he called up only enough power to move the ship. "Let go the forrard spring!" he barked.

"All clear forrard, Captain," Scirri acknowledged.

Starfury's deck throbbed steadily to the increased beat of her Admiralty A876s; a mug of

cvceese' rattled on a nearby console.

"Stow that mug," Brim snapped quietly.

"Aye, Captain," came someone's embarrassed reply. The mug disappeared immediately.

Brim regarded the spring tightening below. Too much strain and the poolside projectors

would override—letting Starfury skid downwind into a sleek destroyer moored on the next

gravity pool. Unthinkable! He trained a second display aft, watching his gravity generators ram

the view to shimmering haze, men remembered to breathe as afternoon light began to blank the

blue glow of stationary repulsion units at the bottom of the pool. The stern was beginning to

swing out, angling away while the solitary spring took the starship's slow thrust like a great leash.

Starfury was soon skewed across the gravity pool at about ten degrees, with the

PoolMaster's cupola hidden beneath the port pontoon. Brim drew the starboard damper ray back

to idle. "Let go aft spring!" he ordered.

"All clear aft, Captain!"

At the precise moment the last spring beam disappeared, Brim moved both damper rays

forward together. With only a moment's hesitation the big starship eased off her gravity pool and

out over the strand, hovering a regulation twenty-five irals above the unique, three-element

footprint she pushed into the surface of the dirty water thumping and foaming beneath her hulls.

"Bromwich Ground," Brim sent, "K5054 requests taxi instructions."

"K5054: cross one seven left without delay and hold at locus six five."

"K5054," Brim acknowledged. He glanced off to starboard. A trio of Sherrington F.7/30

attack ships was running up at the landward termination of takeoff vector Seventeen Right,

clouds of mist and spume mounting into the pale blue sky behind them. They'd have to salute

Starfury, of course. "Ready to take fee honors, Lieutenant?" he prompted Morris at the COMM

console.

"Ready, Captain,"

Presently, old-fashioned characters flashed across his KA'PPA display, "MAY STARS LIGHT

ALL THY PATHS."

He looked up in time to see glowing KA'PPA rings shimmer out from Starfury's high

beacon—the message would arrive instantaneously throughout the Universe, though all but the

three F.7s would ignore it; "AND THY PATHS, STAR TRAVELERS." Gradually moving both damper

rays forward, he hurried across their path, then slowed and came to a hover with HOLD buoy

number sixty-five off the tip of Starfury's port pontoon. Moments afterward, the malevolent-

looking F.7s thundered past in close formation, trailing three lofty cascades of spray that doused

Starfury's Hyperscreens like a waterfall before they abruptly subsided about a c'lenyt out on the

bight, where the three ships soared gracefully into the sky.

Brim grinned to himself. Cheeky rascals, those young Helmsmen, just about as cheeky as

he'd been himself twenty-live years ago in his native Carescria—especially when he thought he

had a faster ship. They clearly hadn't heard of Starfury's dazzling acceleration—yet. He relaxed

in his recliner and listened to Tissaurd and Zaftrak completing their lift-off checklist.

"Transponders and 'home' indicator?" Tissaurd asked.

"On," Zaftrak responded.

"Fullstop cell?"

"Powered."

"Warning lights?"

"On."

"Engineer's check?"

"Complete."

"Antiskid?"

"Skid is on."

"Speed brake?"

"Forward."

"Stabilizer trim—delete the gravity gradient, if you please."

"Gradient null."

"Course indicators?"

"Set and checked."

"Lift-off check is complete, Captain," Tissaurd reported.

"Very well, Nadia," Brim responded, then used the next brief moments to make his own

audits of the starship's systems, finishing only moments before Ground Control came back on

line. "K5054; taxi into position, hold one seven right," the controller sent. "Contact Bromwich

Tower. Good day."

"Into position and hold, 5054. Good day," Brim acknowledged, easing forward again to

follow a series of bobbing markers until a ruby light gleamed out of the distance. Then he put the

helm over, turned into the wind, and centered the glimmer in a small circle projected on the

Hyperscreen from his console. "Bromwich Tower K5054 in position and holding...."

"K5054 is cleared for lift-off," the Tower sent. "Wind three one five at two seven gusts

four seven."

"Cleared for lift-off, K5054," Brim acknowledged. He flicked the blower. "All hands

stand by for lift-off," he warned the crew, then glanced over his shoulder.

Zaftrak was holding her left hand up, thumb in the air. Starfury was ready.

In all his years at a helm, Brim had never outgrown the wild, almost-physical thrill of lift-

off. "I'll have full military power, Strana'," he said.

"One hundred percent military," Zaftrak replied.

"Steering engine's amidships," Tissaurd added—the last item on Starfury's preflight

checklist.

Taking a deep breath. Brim stood on the gravity brakes and cautiously moved both

damper rays forward until they passed from amethyst to blue, then to green... yellow... orange...

finally to flashing red. The deep rumbling of the gravity generators changed voice to a

thunderous bellow that shook Starfury's whole spaceframe and resonated deafeningly through the

Hyperscreens as if the big ship were centered in the midst of some gigantic explosion. Astern, a

long strip of the Bight had suddenly flattened into a madly flowing millrace that ended in a

towering cloud of spray and ice particles soaring at least a c'lenyt into the pale winter sky.

"Six lights are on, Captain," Zaftrak called above the noise, "you've got one fifteen

thrust!"

Brim cleared his flight path visually, made another pass over his readouts. "Here we go!"

he shouted, then released the brakes....

Instantly, the big starship began to move forward—completely unlike generations of

predecessors that took what seemed to be eternities at full power before they would even respond

to their steering engines. In only moments Starfury was trailing lofty cascades of spray and

plunging smoothly across the water at tremendous velocity. The enormous quantities of power

available did little to interfere with the ship's naturally delicate, quick, and positive response to

control manipulations. After a moment, her bows lifted slightly to the mighty beat of the

generators, then fell again while speed increased through 165 c'lenyts per metacycle. At about

170, Brim eased back on the controls overcoming a slight tendency to nose down farther, then as

she accelerated through 180, he lifted the bow and let the ship's weight transfer to the gravs,

applying about a third rudder to check a normal swing to port during lift-off. A moment later she

separated from her shadow and began climbing smoothly over the Sherrington Works on the way

to the ultimate freedom of her native element: deep interstellar space.

"K5054 is at one thousand and climbing," Brim reported.

"K5054: turn port fifteen to join two thirty radial outbound blue, contact Blue District

Departure Control," Sherrington Tower advised while Starfury bounced through light turbulence.

"K5054: turning port fifteen to two thirty radial outbound blue. Good day," Brim replied.

"Best o' luck on the trials, Commander."

"Thanks, Control, we can always use it."

As he trimmed the ship's head toward the assigned departure radial, Brim glanced down at

fifteen Starfury-class warships on gravity stocks below—in various forms of completion. He'd

inspected three of them the previous afternoon. Another fifteen —fitting out on bay-side gravity

pools—were on HOLD status while Sherrington engineers awaited results of his prototype's space

trials. He shook his head while the course indicator settled onto its new heading. Those ships

down there were being put together on little more than faith alone: faith that I.F.S. Starfury's

original design was sound—and a sincere hope that the mistakes she did embody could be easily

and economically corrected. Major modifications to a fleet of thirty-one warships could actually

spell financial disaster to the credit-strapped Imperial Fleet. They would almost certainly mean

that Crown Prince Onrad would be deprived of his succession. The only son of Emperor Greyffin

IV and heir to the Imperial throne at Avalon, Onrad had personally ordered Starfury's creation at

the historic Dytasburg conference in Sodeskaya the previous year, then immediately funded thirty

additional "prototypes" using discretionary development funds. He took these seemingly rash

actions because he truly believed that war might soon engulf the "civilized" dominions of the

galaxy, during a time when the once-great Imperial Fleet had been reduced to a mere shadow of

its former might.

Abruptly, the COMM light blinked green. Tissaurd was in contact with Blue District

Departure Control. "K5054, climbing through fifteen thousand on two thirty radial/" he reported.

"K5054," Control replied. "You are cleared through three hundred c'lenyts on two thirty

radial outbound blue. Advise slower traffic approximately twenty-five c'lenyts off your bow.

Contact Blue Planetary Control."

"K5054 cleared through three hundred c'lenyts on two thirty radial outbound blue.

Contact Blue Planetary and acknowledge slower traffic approximately twenty-five c'lenyts off

bow. Good day."

"Much success with the trials, Commander."

"Thanks, District," Brim acknowledged. "We'll give them our best shot." He nodded his

head. A lot of people believed in Starfury and the royal orders that had put her into production.

But that belief was by no means universal among the diverse peoples of the Empire. Since the

year 52000 when the delusory Treaty of Garak ended open warfare between Nergol Triannic's

League of Dark Stars and Greyffin IV's far-flung Galactic Empire, a sinister and powerful

antimilitary organization had infiltrated the Imperial Government as well as the Admiralty itself.

Known as the Congress for Infra-Galactic Accord, and almost openly funded by the

League itself, it was chaired by a one-time shipmate of Brims, Commodore Puvis Amherst. The

CIGAs' avowed goal was dismantling—from within—the mighty Imperial Fleet that had nearly

annihilated League Admiral Kabul Anak's spaceborne armadas. All, of course, in the name of

"Peace."

Unfortunately, during almost nine-odd years of false truce, the craven Amherst and his

CIGAs had been all too successful at their task—at the same time their League masters secretly

rebuilt war-decimated battle squadrons at a feverish pace. And now they were working on their

xaxtdamned space forts....

Brim had seen Onrad's courageous move raise a predictable hue and cry from CIGAs all

over the Empire, but the Prince remained undeterred, indefatigable in his belief that the new ships

constituted the absolute minimum counterforce necessary to insure survival of civilization.

Clearly, he trusted that eventually he would be vindicated—and meanwhile, each new Starfury

added to the possibility that the Empire might persevere into the second phase of a war that was

coming as surely as helium follows hydrogen on the chart.

Brim's LightSpeed meter read .86 when he passed the three F.7s at nearly double their

speed, leaving them tossing wildly in his graviton wake. He smiled briefly, imagining the

consternation aboard the fast little ships as Starfury swept past them as if they were still sitting on

a gravity pool.

Again, the COMM light flashed on the panel before him. "K5054 at two eighty c'lenyts on

two thirty outbound and climbing," he reported.

"K5054: cleared direct to deep space and light speed. Knock 'em dead, Starfury!"

"Count on it," Brim answered. Then, moments later, the LightSpeed meter passed 1.0 and

normal radio communications ceased.

* * *

They were fourteen Standard Days at Starfury's space trials, conducted for reasons of

secrecy at the gigantic—and nearly abandoned—Fleet base on Gimmas Haefdon. Gimmas had

been Brim's first duty station out of the Helmsman's Academy, nearly sixteen years previously,

when he was assigned to Regula Collingswood's old T-class destroyer I.F.S, Truculent. Closed

for nearly ten years now by CIGA-contrived "economic" concerns, the great base—covering

much of the planet's land mass—would already be yielding to the corrosive effects of Gimmas's

brutally frigid climate. Brim had been in contact with the trials party for nearly half a cycle when

Starfury thundered down out of perpetually dense storm clouds over the tossing Sea of Garnatz;

however, nothing could have prepared him for the barren, frozen wasteland that lay below. The

base's great, ocean-spanning causeways appeared to be intact, but they were covered with snow

and ice, and seemed to be no more navigable than the gray, ice-strewn sea they surmounted.

Nothing moved as far as his eye could see. The planet's wearisome flatness was broken only by

vast complexes of forlorn structures that looked as if they were constructed of nothing more

permanent than the ice and snow that covered them.

Closer to the surface, Tissaurd pointed out vast compounds of battleship-sized gravity

pools covered with drifted snow and locked in ice that must now extend all the way to the bottom

of their feeder canals. In sprawling scrap yards, hundreds of discarded starships lay in slipshod

rows beneath the drifted snow. Some of the hulls, by their very shapes, were obsolete. But far too

many were clearly serviceable, modern starships, relegated prematurely to abandonment by

industrious CIGAs—citizens of the Empire who were causing more damage to their own Fleet

than all the powerful squadrons of warships Nergol Triannic had been able to effect in a fully

declared war.

Within half a metacycle they were sweeping low past the colossal structures that were

once the Base's Central Complex: lofty glass and metal towers so tall their exaggerated

perspective gave Brim a brief feeling of vertigo as he sped past. Nearby was the enormous parade

ground where he received his first medals from Crown Prince Onrad so many years ago—just

before he'd been transferred to I.F.S. Defiant. From thirty thousand irals, the great tract appeared

to be no larger than his thumbnail.

Broad—empty—avenues extended out from the deserted complex like c'lenyts-long

spokes of some gigantic wheel whose interstices were filled by jumbles of odd-shaped structures,

soaring conduits, rows of ship-sized tanks, huge mushroom-shaped reactor sites, and a maze of

empty tram lines. All were covered by unblemished layers of drifted snow—except, strangely,

the reactor sites. Every one of these appeared to be free of snow and clearly operational.

Surrounded by soaring energy-transmission towers and topped by blazing beacons, their

enormous collapsium domes gleamed as if they had only just been installed. Odd, Brim

considered, that so much power was necessary for a purely maintenance effort, even if one

counted the enormous energy needed to protect some of the base's larger, more valuable

structures. But the Admiralty never had been noted for its logic —especially in peacetime.

Near the shore, and verging a prodigious expanse of half-buried maintenance structures,

two small groups of buildings fronted six active gravity pools in a tiny aggregation of cleared

streets and melted snow. Five of the pools were already occupied. As Tissaurd piped landing

cautions throughout the hull, Brim picked out two speedy-looking V-class destroyers—those

would act as chase ships during the trials. A large supply vessel in the colors of AkroKahn, the

Sodeskayan space line, clearly housed shops and facilities for tuning Starfury's Drive

components. On the next two gravity pools, a huge repair and salvage vessel and a smaller

commissary transport completed the little squadron. He shook his head. All for testing a single

ship.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Tissaurd's voice broke into his thoughts.

"I was thinking 'wasteful,' myself," Brim muttered as Starfury bumped through turbulence

over the shoreline. "But I'm sure it's ironic, too," he allowed grimly. Ahead, a five-c'lenyt-long

section of ice was melting into a landing strip as he watched. Clearly, the reactors here were

operating flawlessly, too.

"You bet it's ironic, Skipper," Tissaurd said firmly, "sending all these ships to provide

trials facilities at one of the most significant military bases in the known Universe. The Admiralty

should never have closed Gimmas in the first place. Someday, we'll be sorry we let Amherst and

his CIGAs get away with it."

"A lot of us were sorry way back when it happened," Brim replied. "I wasn't even in the

service then. I got bumped in the first Reduction In Force."

"The first RIF—after the Treaty of Garak?" Tissaurd asked.

"That's the one," Brim said, banking into a course paralleling the long strip of ice mush

that was now churning wildly from tremendous convection currents. "I'd been in enough action to

know the Leaguers for the zukeeds they really are, so I wasn't exactly in a mood to stop fighting."

Tissaurd laughed wryly. "That must have been just about the time I graduated from the

Helmsman's Academy," she said. "I suppose we cadets were more acceptable to them. We hadn't

seen much of the real war."

Brim chuckled. "Well, you've certainly sullied your acceptability now, shipping out in

Starfury the way you have," Brim observed. "The CIGA factions in the Admiralty are really upset

about Starfury—they'll be keeping a sharp eye on anyone associated with her."

"That's what I wanted," Tissaurd replied. "You know, you've only a few Standard Years

on me, Skipper—I've been around awhile myself. It was about time I declared a choice."

"A declaration, unfortunately, for Right, not Might," Brim observed, glancing into the

rearview monitor. "Those CIGAs all but run the Admiralty these days.'' Nearly ten c'lenyts distant

now, the patch of slush was now turned to water and the convection currents had already

subsided. He pulled off power and rolled into a bank, hauling the big starship around in a tight

curve until she lined up with the strip of gray water, already speckled with whitecaps from

Gimmas's constant wind. "I'll have the landing checklist now, Number One," he said, men pushed

the nose over and started for the surface.

* * *

When the last mooring beams had flashed out to Starfury's optical bollards and the ship

was secure on her gravity pool, Brim switched the controls to Strana' Zaftrak and winked at

Tissaurd. "I think we're getting the hang of this, Number One," he quipped.

Tissaurd grinned. "Best team in the Fleet"—she chuckled, sliding out of her seat—"and

damned quickly, if I do say so myself."

"Just the same, we ought to keep on practicing for a while," Brim called over his shoulder

as he looked out at the little group waiting at the entrance to the brow. Even in heated battlesuits,

the few humans who had ventured into the frigid wind looked miserably cold huddled in the lee

of the brow entrance.

The Bears who waited with them, however, were waving heartily at the big warship.

Dressed in colorful Sodeskayan winter garb, they looked right at home in the driving snow.

Sodeskaya, "Mother Planet" of the G.F.S.S. (Great Federation of Sodeskayan States), orbited a

cool dwarf star named Ostra that meted out little more energy than Gimmas itself.

Brim quickly donned his heated Fleet Cloak and followed Tissaurd off the bridge,

clapping Zaftrak on the shoulder as he passed. "Best damned team in the known Universe,

Skipper," she called after him.

"Unknown Universe, too," Brim added from the companion way. "Don't sell us short!"

* * *

Nikolai Yanuarievich Ursis, one of Brim's oldest friends and Dean of the famous

Dytasburg Academy on the G.F.S.S, planet of Zhiv'ot, met him at the end of the brow with an

authentic Bear hug. Standing a quarter again as tall as Brim, he had small gray eyes of enormous

intensity, dark reddish-brown fur, a long, urbane muzzle that terminated in a huge wet nose, and a

grin so wide that fang jewels on either side of his mouth blazed out in the light of the doorway.

Although a Polkovnik in the Sodeskayan Home Guard (and an equivalent full Captain in the

Imperial Fleet), he was dressed in his civilian persona. On his head he wore a colossal egg-

shaped hat of curly wool that covered his ears and added at least an iral to his already formidable

height. His black, knee-length greatcoat—embellished by two rows of huge gold buttons and

jasmine waist sash—was cut in the old military style with a stiff collar, embroidered cuffs, and a

wide skirt. Crimson trousers bagged stylishly over his thick calf-length boots, the latter of black

leather so soft that it bunched at the ankles. His hands were protected by delicately embroidered,

six-fingered gloves of ophet leather. "Wilf Ansor, my old comrade!" he roared- "Grand Duke

Anastas Alexyi sends regards."

"Nik!" Brim exclaimed through a happy grin, "what in the Universe are you doing here? I

thought you'd be tied up in Zhiv'ot this time of year."

Ursis looked serious for a moment. "Matter of relativity, Wilf Ansor," he said soberly.

"Old Dytasburg Academy will survive well enough without me for little while—but not without

Starfury, here," he said, gazing past Brim at the ship, "I doubt Nergol Triannic would permit such

academic liberty as students there presently enjoy." He scowled grimly. " 'Freedom,' they say, 'is

sure possession only of those who can defend it.' "

"I'm glad you're here," Brim said with feeling.

The Bear grinned, this time with good humor. "You will be lot more glad to learn that I

am accompanied by large contingent from Krasni-Peych you see trooping across brow toward

Starfury. They, not I, will attempt to remedy any problems you may experience with new

Reflecting Drive that gives them so much pride." He motioned toward a low building just visible

through the driving snow. "Operation's headquarters," he explained. "Come. I show you where

you officially sign in your ship. Then, you buy us both goblet of Admiralty's rather modest

meem."

Brim nodded as the Bear led off along snowdrifted walkways toward the headquarters.

"I've done my best to stock Starfury's wardroom," he said, "but I'll never do even half so well as

Utrillo Barbousse—remember him?"

"But who could forget Barbousse?" Ursis mused with a grin. "Truly, I have lost track of

that splendid individual. Greatest of all ratings. In midst of most austere wartime shortages he

could supply literally anything—as if magic." He kissed the tips of his fingers. "Logish Meem

that would make Universe itself jealous."

" 'Shortage' is only a relative term to people like Barbousse," Brim interjected, "like

'impossible.' You knew he sent a message of congratulations when I took over Starfury, didn't

you?"

"He did?" Ursis said with an interested frown. "And how did this missive arrive?"

Brim shrugged. "One of the ancient Cerendellian COMM channels. I'd never seen it used

before."

Ursis smiled. "Impossible to trace, of course."

"Absolutely," Brim replied. "I tried. The last time I heard from him, he was in the

Helmsman's Academy. Then after I was RIFed, I lost track of him. Something happened there,

but I don't know what it was. He certainly wasn't able to finish school."

"I doubt if our one-time associate Amherst and his CIGAs had much use for ex-ratings,"

Ursis offered.

"Too much of a free thinker, anyhow," Brim added as they reached the building.

"Whatever it was that happened to him, he disappeared. Completely."

"Somehow," Ursis mused, opening the door for Brim and stamping snow from his boots,

"I have feeling we've not seen last of Mr. Barbousse. He will turn up when he can do some good;

mark my words."

Brim never got a chance to answer. Before he could open his mouth, he was cut off by the

familiar twang of Mark Valerian, chief designer for the Sherrington Starship Works and the

virtual creator of Starfury.

"Brim, this is absolutely horrible!" me little man growled with a twinkle of laughter in his

eye. "If I'd had any idea they'd pick an orbiting iceberg like this for the trials, I'd never have

designed the xaxtdamned ship in the first place." Valerian was almost painfully slim with a

sizable nose; damp, humorous eyes; and a drooping black mustache of truly prodigious size. As

usual, his coat and trousers were made of soft-looking wool. These were coupled with an old-

fashioned white shirt, necktie, and high, pointed boots cut in the Rhodorian style.

The Carescrian grinned happily as they shook hands. He'd seen very little of Valerian

since driving the designer's M-6B to victory in the final race for the Mitchell Trophy nearly a

year previously. The hiatus was no reflection on their friendship; it was purely the times. Both

men had all they could do simply keeping up with responsibilities. "Don't blame me for the

weather," he quipped, casting a sidelong glance at Ursis. "I certainly didn't opt for this wretched

stuff. We do, however, have associates who are known for their affinity to nippy climates."

"Who can deny the benefits of bracing wintery weather," Ursis sighed theatrically, his

fang jewels glinting opulently. "Look how well preserved it keeps us Bears."

Valerian grimaced. "Nik's got a point, Brim," he declared—just as they were joined by a

bantam Commodore with gray-blond hair, high cheekbones, piercing gray eyes, and a most sober

bearing. Beneath an open Fleet Cloak, his perfectly fashioned formal uniform looked as if it had

been tailored only moments previously.

"Wilf, may I present Commodore Zorfrew Tor from the Fleet Design Bureau?" Ursis

interjected quickly, "In command of this operation."

Brim extended a hand. "A pleasure, Commodore," he said.

Tor nodded and smiled a little. "Yes, I'm certain it is," he said without so much as raising

an eyebrow.

"Er, yes," Brim allowed.

Suddenly Tor chuckled, the quick change in his aspect like sunrise after a particularly

dark night. "Ah," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "You were listening."

"Well, ah..." Brim stumbled, "yes, I was."

"Nearly a lost art," Tor commented with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Brim asked.

"Listening," Tor replied with a little grin as he glanced through the windows in the front

door. "Watch...."

A moment later two civilians entered the foyer in a blast of cold air and snow. One

immediately glanced over at the Commodore and smiled while he stomped snow from his boots.''

How goes it today, Doctor?" he asked.

Tor nodded his head affably. "Horrible," he said with a pleasant smile.

"Good—glad to hear it, Doctor,'' the civilian replied, opening his parka with cold-

reddened hands. Then, with a friendly nod to Brim and the others, he opened the door for his

partner, and the two of them hurried off along an inner corridor, deep in conversation.

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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Ten."Barbousseannouncedgrimly."Nine...Eight...Seven..."Brimhadtofightthecontrolswithallhisconcentration.Comeon,Barbousse!"Four...three...two...one...Torpedoesrunning,Cap'm!"Inthewinkofaneye,eightdarkspindlesflash...

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