by Bill Baldwin
He was also due in Avalon to receive an unheard-of honor, his second Order of the Imperial Comet. The medal itself consisted of an eight-pointed starburst in silver and dark blue with a single word engraved in its center: valor. This was attached to an ivory sash embroidered in gold with the full title of the awarding Emperor. An even greater honor, at least for Brim, was that his sash would be the first to read: onrad v, grand galactic emperor and carry a serial number of "1." Over the history of the Empire, only forty-one had been awarded. Each was still in existence, preserved through the centuries in a collection that was considered to be one of the most important Imperial treasures. The Comet was an honor for all eternity—at least so long as the Empire existed.
As Brim mused, a gravity pool three ships distant from Starfury erupted with landing crews and glowing optical bollards. Overhead, Brim watched one of the billion visible stars execute a smooth curve down from the heavens, level out, and thunder to a landfall just off the strand, its passing marked only by sound and a long glowing trail on the bay. Later, he watched the cruiser nimble in, great white wakes creaming away on either side of her gravity footprints. In a few cycles more, the pool complex had returned to the quiet of evening, broken only by occasional shouts as the starship's crew debarked and maintenance crews prepared her for the next patrol.
He leaned back on his hands and stared again at the glittering farrago of stars. Somewhere out there was Margot Effer'wyck. She was either alive or reduced to atomic particles, but he stubbornly chose to believe the former. The fact that "LaKarn" was tacked to her family name had little meaning for him anymore. Perhaps they might never meet again—or love again—but he truly believed the bond between them existed as a two-way spiritual ligature that not even the Universe could sunder again. Ever.
Meanwhile, he thought, climbing to his feet and starting toward the hatch along a dark divider strip between two Hyperscreen panels, there was a war to win. It might be temporarily on hold, but it could—and would—begin again in earnest on a moment's notice.
Like everyone else, he had a responsibility to be ready for it....
* * *
Baxter Calhoun's IVG came to an official end one morning when fifteen superbly outfitted new Starfuries made landfall at Varnholm Hall, arriving direct from the great Fleet base at Atalanta. The ships had been prepared and crewed there under the special supervision of one Claudia Valemont on the orders of Chief Commissioner Bosporus Gallsworthy himself.
Three days afterward, and precisely one Standard Year following Brim's arrival at Varnholm Hall, the IVG and its seven battered Starfury survivors were ordered back to Sherrington's for a refit and eventual reassignment. Because Starfury had clearly suffered the most damage, she was the first to depart, with a short stopover in Avalon.
Now, with Tissaurd at the controls, the ship was descending in and out of an indefinite overcast directly above the Imperial capital, trailing long contrails that whirled in the damp air like gray streamers of raveling cable. Through a chance break in the overcast, Brim momentarily glimpsed the Grand Terminal before all was swallowed up in clouds again. To port, Lake Mersin was completely lost to view, covered by a thick mass of gray—right down on minimums for the area.
They intersected the outer marker at two thousand irals in dense white nothingness while Brim cross-checked the altimeters to make certain nothing was missed. Clearly, Tissaurd would have to feel her way down to the water, and a normally "inconsequential" error of thirty or forty irals could have quite an impact—literally—near the surface. Starfury was now stabilized on speed, with gravity gradient and lift modifiers down and all checklists complete. Brim's only job now was to monitor. They'd left the landing lights off to improve the contrast outside. It was an old trick Brim had picked up during his youth in Carescria where the weather was usually unpleasant. Often, it meant the difference between seeing the welcome red glow of a landing vector or a cloaking reflection of white incandescence.
At a thousand irals, Brim verified that a small amber flare light in the forward panel had illuminated, indicating that the autohelm's self-test was complete. They could now continue their approach through the soft white haze to a fifty-iral decision height. By that time, if Tissaurd hadn't seen the landing vector, Brim—who was monitoring instruments—would take over controls and execute a missed-approach procedure. Busy Lake Mersin was simply too crowded with small shipping to risk a totally blind landing.
At five hundred irals, both sets of eyes were now looking for things that could go wrong as the soft white cloud lulled them closer to the bay. They double-checked the minimums and ran a second test of the autohelm, but as they passed through two hundred, the view outside the Hyperscreens continued to remain featureless, and brightened only slightly after another hundred irals of descent.
"Approaching minimums; going heads up," Tissaurd said, concentrating all her attention outside, as though she could drill a hole in the remaining few irals of fog. She was ready to follow through with the autohelm if she elected to land with it or disconnect and let Brim manually fly the starship on a go-around. "Hope there's some water down there by now," she added with a tight little laugh.
"That would make me happy," Brim joshed back gently. "I'm the one who signed for this battle-weary bus, you know." His hands were over his own controls now, poised for a go-around with the autohelm disconnect under his right thumb and Starfury's missed-approach procedure memorized by countless hours simulating blind landings at Varnholm Hail.
Slightly above the fifty-iral decision height—when Brim was just about to start a go-around—Tissaurd announced, "I have the landing vector," and took the controls. Brim's eyes remained glued to his flight panel while he called out radio-altitude increments every ten irals until the starship settled firmly onto her gravity gradient in towering cascades of spray. He chuckled they slowed to taxiing speed amid happy shouts and cheers from all over the bridge. They were home! Now, all that remained was the hard part: finding their way to the military complex through approximately four c'lenyts of intermittent pea-soup fog....
* * *
As Tissaurd eased Starfury onto a transient gravity pool and the last mooring beams flashed into place, a huge, late-model limousine skimmer—in Fluvannian scarlet—pulled up at the foot of the brow with diplomatic flags flying. The chauffeur and footman no sooner had the passenger doors open than Drummond and Beyazh popped out one side while a Blue Cape wearing the two and a half stripes of a Lieutenant Commander exited the other. The three strode to the brow as if they were in a hurry.
"Looks like big doin's down there, Skipper," Tissaurd observed, shutting down the propulsion controls.
"At least," Brim replied with a frown. "I think I'd better go meet them."
"You'll have to hurry"—she laughed—"they're liable to beat you here."
As it turned out, they met in the main corridor, just outside Brim's cabin. "Brim," Drummond said, somewhat out of breath, "meet Commander Ambrose Contrell. He's replacing Tissaurd, who's been reassigned as skipper of this clapped-out derelict." He offered both his hand and an official-looking envelope. "These, you will be glad to know," he continued with a chuckle, "are your reassignment orders and travel voucher. We pride ourselves in the advance notice we give people."
Only slightly taken aback, Brim laughed; he'd been expecting something like this since the ship lifted for the last time from Penard Bay. "That's good to know, sir," he said, gripping the General's hand. "If I ever need a little extra time for something, I'll be sure to come to you." Then he turned to Contrell. "He hasn't done you any favors in the ship-assignment department, Commander," he said. "We treat equipment rough in the IVG."
"Er, yes, Captain," Contrell replied, looking just the slightest bit bewildered. "I couldn't help notice the missing forequarter of your port pontoon—or the... ah... excellent patching that has been done in the field." He had a wispy blond mustache and slightly buck teeth with just enough superciliousness about him to indicate that Starfury woul
d soon have still another First Lieutenant. Contrell was an administrator, not a Helmsman.
Brim clapped him on the shoulder. "She's a good old bus," he said gently. "She just needs a little bit of work." Then he offered his hand to Beyazh. "Mr. Ambassador," he said with a smile, "to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
Beyazh grinned, "I wanted to make certain you actually were still alive. Captain," he said. "In my business, one learns never to trust word-of-mouth reports completely—and the General here knows how much importance Mustafa Eyren places in your person. Had you lost your life jousting with that Leaguer space fort, I might never have heard the truth about you."
"Oh, we'd have had to admit it," Drummond laughed. "We couldn't fake him if we wanted to."
"I sincerely believe that," Beyazh said, then drew a red envelope from the folds of his robe. "But I had a second reason for meeting the Captain, too." He handed the envelope to Brim. "In spite of my best detective efforts, I have no idea what this envelope contains, only that Raddisma herself sealed it in my presence and commanded me to personally deliver it into your hands." He smiled. "I have now obeyed her wishes."
Brim frowned as familiar perfume teased his nostrils. "Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," he said, placing the letter inside his white IVG Fleet Cloak (that would soon be traded for a version in Imperial blue). A small inner voice had warned him that it would be a good idea to put off reading its contents until he was alone.
"And now, Captain," Drummond intruded into his thoughts, "you and I need a few moments of privacy. Commander, I assume you can find your way to the bridge with Commander Tissaurd's promotion and orders."
"I can indeed, General," Contrell replied. He nodded to Brim. "My best to you, Captain," he said. Then—to Brim's horror —he bowed to Beyazh and strode off down the corridor. True Imperials never bowed.
Drummond shook his head. "Ex CIGA lickspittle," he explained. "He's only here because Tissaurd's in charge. He'll merely fill out her crew complement on the way to Sherrington's for the refit."
Beyazh nodded approval. "It would be frightening to discover that your actual combat billets were filled with such persons." He laughed. "I have always rather admired the way you Imperials normally refuse to bow." He placed a hand on Brim's shoulder and smiled. "If we do not meet before you depart for your new assignment—which General Drummond refuses to divulge," he added, peering with mock displeasure over his eyeglasses, "then I shall wish you well until the next time." With that, he touched his forehead and lips in the Fluvannian gesture of fellowship and strode off down the corridor.
In Brim's cabin, Drummond waited impatiently while the Carescrian scanned his new orders.:
ASHF234812-19E GROUP 198BA 113/52011
[TOP SECRET]
PERSONNEL ACTION MEMORANDUM, IMPERIAL FLEET,
PERSONAL COPY
FROM:
BU FLEET PERSONNEL;
ADMIRALTY, AVALON
TO: W. A. BRIM, CAPTAIN, I.F. AVALON
<0893BVC-12-K2134MV/573250>
SUBJECT: DUTY ASSIGNMENT
(1) YOU ARE DETACHED PRESENT IVG DUTY AS OF 205/52012.
(2) PROCEED MOST EXPEDITIOUS TRANSPORT GIMMAS STARBASE, HAEFDON. REPORT REAR ADM B. GALLSWORTHY, 11 GROUP, CENTRAL COMPLEX AS SECTOR COMMANDER.
(3) EMPEROR'S AWARD CEREMONIES POSTPONED. IMPERIAL COMET FORWARDED GIMMAS UNDER SEPARATE COVER.
(4) SUBMIT TRAVEL EXPENSE VOUCHERS DIRECT ADMIRALTY C/O K. I. BARNETT, LTCMDR, IF @ FLEET PERSONNEL, ADMIRALTY, AVALON
FOR THE EMPEROR:
TANDOR K. KNORR
CAPTAIN, I.F.
[END TOP SECRET]
ASHF234812-19E
"Sector Commander," Brim yelped in horror, "under Bosporus Gallsworthy? General, I'm just a simple Helmsman!"
Drummond laughed. "A Helmsman, maybe," he allowed. "But simple? Not on your life! At least not the way either Gallsworthy or Calhoun look at things. Those old friends had a tremendous row over who got you. It took Prince... er... Emperor Onrad to settle things. And since Calhoun's new assignment will be in the arena of overall strategy, Gallsworthy got the nod."
"But he's a Commissioner, not an Admiral, General!"
"You didn't read the message carefully enough," Drummond said with a chuckle. "It says 'Rear Admiral,' not 'Commissioner.' "
"Yes, sir," Brim grumped. "I guess I saw it."
"Old Bosporus wanted back into the war," Drummond continued. "He'd had enough of fighting from a desk chair. So he yelled loud enough—and in the proper ears—to make the switch."
Brim" nodded. "Somehow, I'm not surprised, General," he said. "He was the most superb Helmsman I've known."
"In that case," Drummond said, "I'll assume you've accepted the assignment without an argument—as if that would do any good?"
Brim frowned. "General," he remonstrated, "I hardly even know what a wing is much less what commanding one entails. Will I still get my hands on the controls of a starship once in a while?"
"Starfury's been in a foreign country too long for me to trust that she hasn't been bugged," Drummond replied, glancing around the cabin. "And the details of your new job are highly classified. So you'll have to learn about all that when you arrive at Gimmas. But I will promise you this: Eventually, you will be quartered just outside Avalon—and if my predictions are anywhere close to accurate, even you may put in more flying time than you want."
This time, it was Brim's turn to smile. "In that case, General," he said, "no argument."
"Good man," Drummond said. "I figured that you'd come through. That's why I'm in such a hurry this morning—and also why Starfury's parked where she is. On the next gravity pool to starboard is I.F.S. Jacques Schneider, scheduled to lift off in just one metacycle—or as soon as you pack a light travel bag. My office already forwarded the Imperial uniforms you had in storage here, and I'll have Barbousse pack and send the rest of your shipboard gear with his own." He chuckled for a moment, "Onrad gave strict orders that the two of you are not to be separated. Says you're the worst thing that's happened to the League since we invented the 406-mmi disruptor...."
* * *
Less than one hectic metacycle later, Brim scrubbed at vestiges of Tissaurd's lipstick on his cheek while he strapped himself into a jump seat on the destroyer's tiny bridge. He looked back through the clearing afternoon at his first command. Even patched as she was, Starfury remained one of the most naturally beautiful machines he'd ever encountered. He thought about the great Mitchell racers she claimed as direct ancestors, and smiled. Every iral a thoroughbred!
Then, abruptly, the whole waterfront of the military complex disappeared behind cascades of water as Schneider began her takeoff run and presently soared into the overcast. So much for vacation plans....
In the excitement of his transfer, it wasn't until that evening in the wardroom that Brim remembered Raddisma's letter. Relaxed in a comfortable recliner, he crossed his legs and broke the elaborate crest that sealed the envelope, extracting an old-fashioned letter written on what felt like authentic parchment paper. Incredible! But then, so was Raddisma....
Dearest Wilf:
A few days ago, I discovered to my utter joy that our splendid evening together had indeed produced much more than merely a night of fleeting pleasure. I do hope you will forgive me, but following our afternoon tour of the infirmary, I decided, precipitously perhaps, that I wanted to bear your child. It was the proper time for me. And so before we departed for the Officers Club, I prepared myself to conceive. Later on, you accomplished the remainder, in a most delightful manner, I might add.
In a few Standard Months, then, you will become the father of a baby girl. Sorry, my Captain: I realize that men normally desire sons. But I desired a girl. And since the task of bearing the child falls to me, it seemed only fair that the choice should be mine as well.
Please understand, Wilf, that you bear no responsibility for this child whatsoever, except for putting me in a rare mood to make love and babies in the same night. And, of course
, supplying your own juices, which I carefully, and respectfully, retained. Because the Nabob believes that the baby is his, this letter is one of joyful proclamation only—not one of obligation. All things being equal, including a war that I count on you to win, our daughter will be raised to a life of high privilege, comfort, discipline, and education. It will be as if she were a princess, without the grinding duty that rides with the title. And, of course, I shall insure that she never becomes a courtesan.
Finally, my once-and-future lover, please also know that although you bear no responsibility for this child, you are also most welcome to share as much of her life as you might desire—with the exception, obviously, of a proclaimed fatherhood. The Nabob, bless his heart, is much disposed to male heirs, and although he will love her in his own way, he will rarely remember that she exists. Therefore, at your own discretion, you may take any role with her you wish, from "nonexistent" to "favorite uncle." Over the next years, Wilf Brim, it will be interesting to discover which you choose.
Clearly, I shall be in no shape, either literally or figuratively, to entertain you during the next few months. But please be assured of two things. First: believe that I shall notify you as soon as our child is born, and second: know that we shall have other nights together if you so desire. Aside from being the father of my only child, Wilf Brim, you are a very, very special man to me.
With sincere and respectful love,
Raddisma
As the destroyer thundered out across the galaxy, Brim sat stunned for the second time in a single day, staring blindly at the stars rushing past the small Hyperscreen scuttles. When he finally corraled his galloping thoughts, they resolved themselves into two personal crises that he would need to resolve in the reasonably near future. First, he had to somehow discover if Margot Effer'wyck was still alive, because, in spite of a thousand declarations to the contrary, he still loved her—no matter what had transpired in the last few troubling years. And now, a daughter! He had some pretty unsettling thoughts about his still-unborn child—especially considering the war in which she would start her life, but he vowed he would sidestep those issues until he could at least start to resolve the first.
