The Mercenaries

by Bill Baldwin

  "Toby Moulding!" Brim exclaimed. "What in the crazy name of Voot are you doing here?"

  Moulding grinned and handed Barbousse a magnum of Logish Meem so ancient that the bottle was actually made of glass. "I suppose I shall be doing the same as you and Commander McKenzie," he said, grasping Brim's hand. "It's my understanding that the poor benighted Fluvannians have hired us to fly these bloody buses around, frightening Leaguers, and such. That's how I'm to earn my modest living, at any rate."

  "I suppose you two have more time in Starfuries than anyone else in the Universe," McKenzie said with a grin. "If I weren't so hardheaded, I think I'd be intimidated."

  "Let him intimidate you," Moulding replied, pointing to Brim, "not me. Aside from the metacycles I've spent training in Starsovereign, all I've done is chase the man around in some of Mark Valerian's racers."

  "Well, that's chasing I never got a chance to do," McKenzie replied.

  "Before this is over," Brim predicted, "we'll all probably have more chasing than we want."

  "Amen," the ex-gunner agreed, taking a goblet of Logish Meem Barbousse served discreetly from a magnificent silver tray that Brim couldn't remember seeing before.

  "And speaking of 'tired,' old chap," Moulding interjected, "you must be damned tired yourself after getting this base set up." He sipped his meem and looked appraisingly into the goblet. "Excellent," he said at length, "like the job you've done around here. Calhoun's lucky they had you to put in charge."

  Brim was about to comment about that when Beyazh's words echoed in his ear: Someone has to be in charge, my friend. The man was right. "Only till the Commodore shows up," he hedged.

  "That could be a while," McKenzie commented. "Last I heard of Baxter, he was somewhere in Beta Jagow when the League attacked."

  "True," Brim said with a grimace, "but I'm far from giving upon him yet."

  "If I know Calhoun," Moulding interjected, "he's not only safe in Beta Jagow, he's also doing something that will eventually cause the bloody Leaguers a lot of trouble. Mark my words."

  "I hope you're right," Brim said, peering into his meem for a moment. "I certainty hope you're right."

  By the time the evening was over, the three officers managed to resurrect at least an aeon of war history, while putting away a lot of Logish Meem.

  * * *

  Early next morning, Brim balanced himself—and one mighty hangover—atop Starfury's bridge, a dizzying seventy irals from the surface of the gravity pool while Barbousse supervised a sealant repair to Hyperscreen panel 81D. As their little party of maintenance ratings eased the heavy crystal plate back in place, his ears picked up the thunder of approaching gravity generators. Big ones. And they were definitely not the Galaxy 10-320-BlCs that powered ancient ED-4s below Light Speed velocities. Looking up into the overcast, he frowned. "If those are League ships, we could be in big trouble," he grumbled to Barbousse. "Wonder why Tissaurd hasn't sounded some sort of warning."

  Barbousse nodded. "I can't say as I know, Cap'm," he replied, "but I'd really find that hard to believe that Lieutenant Tissaurd is prone to makin' mistakes like that."

  Brim nodded, but the noise continued to vex him, especially since the mysterious starship continued to circle, hidden in the dense overcast. Finally Tissaurd herself popped through the hatch. "Oh, there you are, Skipper," she called. "That's a ship from the Sodeskayan national space line, AkroKahn, up there with a cargo of spare parts. And your friend Nik Ursis is on board, demanding Chief Barbousse's personal guarantee of a bottle of good Logish Meem before they'll land."

  Brim and Barbousse looked at each other for a moment. "Thank the Universe the crews got those extra pools going yesterday," the latter whispered, casting his eyes skyward.

  Brim looked down at Tissaurd for a moment. "Seems to me you said a few words about starting something that could bring down a wall, didn't you?"

  The tiny officer grinned. "Watch out for flying bricks," she said. Then, spontaneously, both broke out laughing.

  "What do you think, Chief," Brim said to Barbousse after a few moments, "are you going to let 'em land?"

  "I think I'd better, Cap'm," the big rating said with a look of mock concern. "Strikes me they might just stay up there till we do." Then he winked. "Besides, I've stashed away a few cases of Grompers, vintage '81, that I know Polkovnik Ursis especially relishes."

  "Why am I not surprised?" Brim laughed. "Then we'll deliver a case in person! Number One," he ordered, "message Ursis that the Chief capitulates unconditionally, and"—he thought for a moment—"yes, as soon as they moor, he will lead a party to their brow and surrender the meem,"

  "I'll have that relayed to the Bears," Tissaurd chuckled with an overdone salute and disappeared into the hatch.

  "Call Moulding and McKenzie, too," Brim called after her with a grin. "They ought to share in the capitulation, after all."

  "An' we'll finish here in plenty of time for all that, Cap'm," Barbousse promised, casting a baleful eye at the three maintenance hands, "won't we, gentlemen?"

  "Aye, Chief!" the trio said in unison, bending to their work with renewed fervor. No one ever questioned Barbousse's ability to get action out of work parties.

  Indeed, the work detail completed their task in record time. Brim finished his inspection long before the giant, bluff-bowed AkroKahn freighter thundered in from the swirling mists, stark white except for the line's distinctive red hull stripe and wreathed six-pointed stars on either side of the bridge, aft of the Hyperscreens.

  Sacha Muromets was one of the Sodeskayan Morzik-class freighters: big, good-looking starships of twenty thousand milstons, intended for the general carrying trade, but each had accommodations for passengers as well. Out of the corner of his eye, the Carescrian saw a beacon begin to flash on one of the newly refurbished gravity pools and the starship's taxiing speed dropped off as the Helmsman brought her head around. Then, as she came abeam of the beacon, she swung hard to port with the gray waters thumping and foaming under her hull until she drove onto the pool like a ship half her size, putting mooring beams across in a most spacemanlike manner. The Imperial ground crews had her secured in a matter of cycles.

  "Nice," Barbousse said quietly. "I'll wager it's a Bear at the helm."

  "Nice indeed," Brim chuckled, leading the way back through the hatch and into the starship, "but I wouldn't touch your wager with a ten-iral pole...." The occasional Bears who chose to fly starships were always superb pilots. Cursed with relatively poor eyesight in comparison to other spacefaring races, most Sodeskayans preferred to employ their vast intellectual energies by engineering vessels for others to operate.

  * * *

  Trailed by a dusty-looking case of rare old Logish Meem, the little party arrived at the gravity pool only moments before Ursis stepped from the brow, resplendent in full Sodeskayan military regalia: high black boots, an olive-green greatcoat, and a billed service cap, all trimmed in crimson. Bright crimson epaulettes with the three gold stars of a Sodeskayan Polkovnik embellished his broad shoulders.

  Brim saluted. "I thought you'd be at Dytasburg," he shouted over the din of six thundering repulsion generators. "It can't even be time for midterms yet, is it?"

  "Academy is in good hands, Wyilf Ansor," Ursis replied, returning the salute with a sober look. "Dr. Borodov has come out of retirement to act as Dean until I return. My place is here at present; Sodeskayan intelligence organizations believe Great War will shortly resume." Then his brown eyes softened as he extended his hand. "Is good to be working with you again, my furless friend."

  Brim gripped the huge Bear's delicate, six-fingered hand. "I'm awfully glad to see you for a number of reasons, Nik," he said, looking his old friend in the eyes. "And I've brought a number of people whom I know feel the same way."

  Ursis looked up and grinned as the others saluted in unison. "Ah yes," he boomed, returning the salute with a huge, toothy grin, "Chief Barbousse and his surrender party! Come!" he ordered, sweeping the little group into the brow with his a
rm. "At top of stairs, Steward will lead you to place where we sacrifice some prisoners!"

  Cycles later, in the Muromets's comfortable main dining saloon, he greeted Moulding and Tissaurd, then introduced himself to McKenzie before shaking Barbousse's hand. "Chief," he said, placing a fraternal arm around the big rating's shoulders, "is been long time. Where did you manage to disappear after war? You did even better job than friend Brim here."

  Barbousse blushed for a moment, then grinned. "Other people have asked me that, too, Polkovnik Ursis," he said with a mock-serious look, "but I can't seem to remember. Must be one of those memory lapses they talk about."

  "I understand," the Bear replied, matching Barbousse's look of concern. Then he winked. "I think Calhoun himself must have had lapse when he put three of us on another operation together, eh?"

  "You've heard from Calhoun?" Brim interrupted.

  "But of course, Wyilf Ansor," Ursis replied. "Message came through secure network—from covert field operative, of course. He said you needed maintenance apparatus. So I brought some of what you need—a whole ship full, vould you believe? And more is on way."

  Brim shook his head in amazement. Somehow, it all made some sort of sense. Bear sense, anyway. "When did you hear from him?" he asked.

  Ursis shrugged. "Perhaps two Standard Weeks ago," he replied with a frown. "The Commodore isn't in touch with you?"

  "I don't suppose he could be, now that I think about it," Brim said. "Beta Jago's an occupied dominion now, and most of our Imperial intelligence organizations are riddled with CIGAs."

  "He got in touch with us instead," Ursis said, lighting up one of the Sodeskayan's dreaded Zempa pipes. "Is same thing; we Sodeskayans are Imperials, too, in own way. So you got your supplies and me—although tomorrow I must temporarily return with Muromets to Sodeskayan before my own induction into Fluvannian Fleet." Then he smiled broadly. "But," he added, "according to friend Harry Drummond, combination of you, Chief Barbousse, and myself comprises perhaps greatest threat to League in existence. Is that not so?"

  "If nothing else," Brim said, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the Zempa smoke that—at least to humans—smelled a lot like burning yaggloz wool, "we are certainly a great threat to much of the Universe's Logish Meem."

  "Aha!" the Bear said, grinning now so his fang gems gleamed. "Until war actually does resume, we should certainly attempt to make good on such threats. Speaking of which...."

  "Speaking of which..." Brim continued, "you said something about Grompers, vintage '81, didn't you. Chief?"

  "Absolutely, Cap'm," Barbousse replied with a twinkle in his eyes, indicating the dusty meem case that hovered just inside the room.

  "Grompers '81?" the Bear said, holding an index finger in the air. "Ah. but I knew there must be good reason I travel nearly halfway across galaxy to end up in remote parts of Fluvanna. Chief, you will do honors...?"

  * * *

  Just before a slightly woozy Brim turned in that evening, he heard a light tapping at his door. Barbousse was in the hall with a sealed envelope. "Personal message for you, Cap'm," he said quietly. "I thought I'd seal the hardcopy and deliver it personally on the way to m' cabin."

  Brim nodded. "Which is all the way at the other end of the hull," he observed with a frown.

  "Beggin' the Cap'm's pardon," Barbousse said, handing over a sealed blue plastic envelope, "but... well, it was a personal message, an' all."

  Brim squeezed the man's forearm. "You take damned good care of me, Utrillo Barbousse," he said.

  Barbousse grinned. "Don't want anythin' to happen to you, Cap'm," he said. "It'd be too easy goin' back to the Governor's privateer—an' then I'd probably get myself killed."

  "What makes you think it'll be any different with me?" Brim asked. "We went through some pretty hairy times during the last war."

  "Well, Cap'm," Barbousse replied emphatically, "there's no way I can refute that, now. But if I do have to get myself killed, at least with you I'll go in service to the Empire. An' that's mortally important to me." He shrugged. "Besides," he added, "we have had some excitin' times together, haven't we, sir? Like when we captured that bender with the little spin-grav launch from I.F.S. Intractable."

  "It's rarely been boring," Brim chuckled, recalling that they had nearly been vaporized a number of times during that desperate action.

  "Good night, Cap'm," Barbousse said, interrupting Brim's reverie. "You'll want to be woken early so you and Polkovnik Ursis can work on settin' up that covert supply line to Commissioner Gallsworthy at the Atalanta Fleet Base. Sacha Muromets is scheduled to lift before midday."

  "Thanks, Chief," Brim said, starting to shut the door.

  "Oh, an', Cap'm..." Barbousse added.

  "Yes, Chief?"

  "Probably, you won't want to wait until morning to read the message I brought," the big rating said with a quick salute. Then he hurried off down the hall.

  Brim settled wearily into an expensive ophet-leather recliner. It was one of the few luxuries he afforded himself in Starfury's commodious Captain's cabin. He peered at the envelope. No clue there: Barbousse had sealed the message into a standard unclassified hardcopy container. Frowning, he ripped off the side of the envelope, puffed it open, and extracted a single sheet of common message plastic used to record unclassified KA'PPA messages. It was from an old acquaintance, and its short message made his heart feel as if it would burst from his chest.

  QQOW-97RTRV762349HUSE GROUP KJ64L 132/52010

  FROM: H. AMBRIDGE, RUDOLPHO, THE TOROND

  TO: LCDR. W. A. BRIM, R.F.F.

  CAPTAIN, R.F.S. STARFURY

  VARNHOLM HALL, ORDU, FLUVANNA.

  COMMANDER BRIM:

  HER SERENE MAJESTY, GRAND DUCHESS MARGOT EFFER'WYCK-LAKARN BIDS ME INFORM YOU OF HER PLANNED MORNING ARRIVAL IN MAGOR 136/5210 ABOARD T.S.S. KATUKA FOR THE STATE CELEBRATION OF NABOB EYREN'S FIFTIETH BIRTH ANNIVERSARY. THE DUCHESS WILL REPRESENT THE TOROND IN LIEU OF GRAND DUKE ROGAN WHOSE SCHEDULE PRECLUDES HIS ATTENDANCE. SHE SENDS THESE WORDS FOR YOU:

  O' THAT 'TWERE POSSIBLE

  AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN

  TO FIND THE ARMS OF MY TRUE LOVE

  ROUND ME ONCE AGAIN!

  LARITIEES /31887

  THIS MESSAGE ALSO CONTAINS MY OWN WARMEST REGARDS FROM OVER THE YEARS, COMMANDER.

  SINCERELY,

  HOGGET AMBRIDGE,

  CHAUFFEUR TO PRINCESS MARGOT

  QQOW-97RTRV762349HUSE

  It was almost as if the message had been sent by the Margot of old—the woman he had known and loved before her disastrous addiction to the Leaguers' TimeWeed. Even the old poetry was there—a deep bond they had shared only moments after they met. In seven days he would see her again—an invitation to the Nabob's huge soiree had already been delivered to all the officers of the IVG. Would she turn out to be real, or was this another perversity dreamed up by the Leaguers? Seven days!

  Starfury's Captain passed an exceedingly unsettled night....

  * * *

  Even with Brim's normal overload of work, the next seven days passed like seven years—Standard Years. Three of his ED-4s arrived with overloads of critical materiel, and close on their heels was another Starfury: I.F.S. Starspite, captained by a longtime friend of Brim's from Atalanta, Commander Stefan MacAlda. And still another pair of Starfuries was due early the following week. Events like these seemed only remotely significant, at least on a personal level. Did miracles really occur? Could Margot someday actually conquer her deadly addiction? At one point, he actually calculated the metacycles (Standard as well as local) remaining before he would have a chance to see for himself. And the daydreaming affected his work. Not a lot, but enough that at least one of his crew recognized that his mind was often elsewhere—and she had no problem bringing it to his attention.

  "Voot's beard, Skipper," Tissaurd demanded the morning before Margot's arrival, "where in xaxt are you these days?" She'd found him alone on the bridge, staring out to sea at a time when he should have been making quarte
rs inspections. "All of a sudden, you're not Wilf Brim anymore," she protested in frustration, "except when you're at the controls. And even then you fly like some sort of an analog. What gives? Your insufferable friend Barbousse knows, but I can't get a thing out of him."

  Brim reached inside his tunic and silently handed her his message from Ambridge.

  Frowning, Tissaurd seated herself at the right-hand helm and unfolded the sheet of plastic, staring at the text as if she were trying to insert herself inside the words. "I guess I'm not surprised," she said at length. "Word got around that you two met at one of Mustafa's parties a while back."

  Brim nodded. "The last I'd seen her was a couple of years ago, and she'd been in bad shape. I guess I just"—he shrugged—"wrote her off at the time. It was terrible."

  Tissaurd narrowed her eyes as she rose from her seat and quietly took a place behind him. "Isn't she the Leaguer Baroness who got herself addicted to Time Weed?"

  "She's not exactly a Leaguer," Brim protested.

  "Sorry, Skipper," Tissaurd replied, "but The Torond's close enough for me."

  "I know," Brim conceded without turning around. "I guess I just don't see her that way. You had to know her before she married that zukeed LaKarn. She was a different person then— and she seemed like her old self at the ball."

  "She seemed like she'd thrown the habit, then?" Tissaurd asked, gently kneading the back of his neck.

  "No," Brim replied. "She talked about having a greater tolerance for it, or something. But she looked... well... normal, for lack of a better word. And she acted rationally, too. You know, almost as if everything were all right, again."