THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (28 page)

Brim's curiosity was
really
piqued now. Senior Helmsmen
never
shared personal opinions with people who reported to them. He waited. Gallsworthy would get it all out in his own good time.

“What it boils down to,” the man continued at some length, “is that you, your friend Ursis, Theada, Barbousse, and a couple of ratings are going to form a temporary team — Regula will brief you in a couple of cycles about it. And she's put Amherst in charge of the whole thing.”

Brim nodded within. So
that
bothered her! He calmly scanned the instruments, waiting.

“She wanted you to know,” Gallsworthy said presently, “that she didn't make the Amherst assignment by choice. That part came in a
personal
note from Amherst's father — you've heard of Rear Admiral Amherst, I'm sure.”

Brim nodded sourly. He'd heard, all right. According to Borodov, the Admiral had been among the loudest and most vocal opponents to passage of Lord Wyrood's Admiralty Reform Act. It certainly showed in his son.

“The old boy decided Puvis needed a bit more exposure in the media. Maybe a couple of medals to help the next promotion.” He chuckled gruffly — and uncharacteristically. “Probably
you
had something to do with that, punk, what with those articles
you
got in the
Journal.
So whatever happens, figure it's your own fault, one way or another.”

“I'll try to remember that, sir,” Brim said, more than a little relieved it wasn't something worse. Life as an everyday Carescrian was still fresh enough in his mind that he could put up with quite a bit of harassment.

“Thank Collingswood sometime. I'm just the messenger,” Gallsworthy said. “And, yeah, there's one more thing.”

“Sir?”

Gallsworthy nodded his head, indicating the systems console farther back in the bridge.
“You
have the job of telling Ursis. He's not going to like this at all.”

* * * *

Within the metacycle, all four officers sat awkwardly together in Collingswood's cramped cabin, Ursis' bulk crowded in a center position. The Captain (dressed, as usual, in her worn sweater) was explaining what little she knew about the mission. “The Admiralty wouldn't give me much detail. Not even where you are going. Just that it involves a
very
small starship—one of those little
astroplanes
both sides have been playing with lately-— and for me, a much-curtailed period of short-handedness: three Standard Weeks maximum, they say.” Her eyes looked at Brim with a twinkle of humor. “These little side trips are getting to be a habit with you, Wilf,” she said.

“Aye, Captain,” Brim agreed with a grin.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one,” she declared. “From the scuttlebutt I get, the little ships are fun to fly.”

“And tricky, from what
I
hear,” Brim added with a grin.

“At any rate,” Collingswood continued, “the requirement is for four officers: someone in command, two Helmsmen, and an engineer. That ought to tell you where each of you fits. Plus a Torpedoman and a crew of six general-purpose ratings. I'll be sending Barbousse to run that lot for you.”

“Barbousse,” Amherst gasped with raised eyebrows. “Why, he's only
just
been promoted to that rank. Besides which, the big lout has absolutely
nothing
between his oversized ears, er, Captain. “

Collingswood's eyes narrowed. “I believe,” she said patiently, “Barbousse will serve quite admirably. His records indicate a number of assignments within that duty category.”

Amherst sniffed, glancing first at Brim, then at Ursis. “Bloody lowbrow crew, if you ask me,” he grumped peevishly.

Brim glanced at Ursis. The Bear scowled.

“That will be sufficient, Lieutenant,” Collingswood warned. “You will carry out the assignment as ordered, whatever your personal feelings. Is that understood?” Her quiet voice had suddenly turned to hullmetal.

“Yes, Captain,” Amherst agreed hurriedly. “I, ah,
understand.”

“Good,” Collingswood said. “Because I am also
permitting
the mission to proceed as organized, while harboring some rather serious reservations of my own.”

“Well!” Amherst started, then clearly thought better of it and abruptly shut his mouth.

Collingswood closed her eyes and tapped her toe. “Since I have little more information to impart,” she said stiffly, “I declare this meeting at an end. We rendezvous with your pickup ship in approximately two metacycles; it will, I am assured, take you to your mysterious destination. Good luck to all,” she said in a clear sign of dismissal. “I am sure I do not have to remind any of you that I expect performance that reflects favorably on the Imperial Fleet and on
Truculent.”
Then, abruptly, she busied herself at a console.

“We shall do all in our power, Captain,” Amherst muttered stiffly, leading the way from her cabin. Brim followed Ursis and shut the door quietly behind him.

“Try to report to the transport hatch on time, you three,” the First Lieutenant said. “I shall leave it to your judgment who should be responsible for notifying Barbousse.” Then he hurried self-importantly down the ladder and disappeared into the next level below.

Brim looked at Theada and smiled. “Don't worry,” he said. “It won't be all that bad. Besides, Amherst has no objections to
your
pedigree at all.” He patted the younger Helmsman on the back. “Go down and pack for a three-week trip; we'll meet you at the hatch. All right? If we all stick together, everything will come out all right. You'll see.”

Theada nodded his head and smiled bravely. “I guess,” he said uncertainly. Then with a grimace he followed Amherst down the ladder.

Brim stood and shook his head and looked at Ursis. “Wonderful,” he said with a wry grin. “Just thraggling WUN-der-ful.”

The Bear frowned. “Perhaps, Wilf Ansor, is not as bad as seems, especially in light of, shall we say, 'special' information Captain Collingswood provides.”

“How can that be, Nik?” Wilf asked. “We both know what he's like when he's got the wind up.”

“Just so,” Ursis growled quietly. “And for selfsame reason, I for one will never unthinkingly follow orders from him again. Nor, I suspect, will you.”

Brim nodded. “You're right, Nik,” he said. “Never again.”

“Therefore,” Ursis pronounced, holding his hands at his chest, palms inward, “we may be only team
can
operate successfully, given circumstances.” He narrowed his eyes and looked Brim directly in the face. “Others might well hesitate crossing him — as I once hesitated — with same disastrous results.”

“I was as guilty of that as you,” Brim interrupted.

“'Guilt' is Imperial word looks only toward past,” Ursis observed with a smile. “One of most useful truisms from my homeland.
This
duty is only in present and future. Yes?”

“It is.”

“Then Lady Fate smiles once more on tired old Empire,” Ursis said. “Let us notify large compatriot, Barbousse, and prepare for whatever Lady has in store.”

* * * *

Shortly after midwatch, the “volunteers” gathered at
Truculent's
main hatch in time to view their rendezvous. Directly on schedule, a light cruiser swooped up out of the blackness and pulled smartly abreast. “Brand new,” Ursis observed. “One of the new Nimrons, from her silhouette.”

“I.F.S.
Narcastle,”
Brim read, squinting through the Hyperscreens.

“That one's just finished fitting out,” Theada said. “They must have called her in from her space trials.” Outside, brows connected with a muffled series of clangs. Only moments later, air hissed into the passage and a mooring crew unsealed the main hatch.

“Look lively,” Amherst whispered impatiently. “I shall brook no slackers while I am in command.” Motioning the others to hurry, he shoved Barbousse roughly toward the transparent tube. Brim frowned. Something was definitely bothering the First Lieutenant. He briefly wondered what it was as he followed Barbousse into the hatch.

On his way through the tube, he got a better look at the new starship. She was shaped like an oversized lance and appeared twice the length of
Truculent's
angular hull. Like all Nimrons, she was specially built for high-speed reconnaissance work supporting battle-fleet operations in deep space. Accordingly, she was also lightly armed for her size, carrying only six small turrets on rings about a third of the way from bow and stem. A scant superstructure was topped by a sharply raked control bridge, and six hefty Drive plumes merged from oversized blast tubes exiting just behind her aft turret ring.

Inside, she smelled every bit as new as she was. Ozone, sealant, hot metal: all the familiar detritus of a starship — except the odors of life. Those latter took time to accumulate. And she certainly had been called in from her space trials. Civilian contractors everywhere he looked. Even the tube operators were dressed in the distinctive silver and green space suits of the big commercial shipyard at Trax.

The team was met at the opposite air lock by a tight-faced lieutenant commander with a large red mustache and narrow-set eyes, who regarded them as if they were some special brand of nuisance. “This way, gentlemen,” he directed unceremoniously, directing the way down a narrow companionway to a large cabin clearly intended to house portions of a permanent crew. “I shall have to ask all of you to stay here for the remainder of the trip,” he said. “Someone doesn't want you mingling with any of the trials crew we've got on board — too many civilians and all that sort, you know.”

“By whose authority, Commander?” Amherst protested peevishly.

“Mine will do as well as any, Lieutenant,” the officer said, pointing to the lieutenant commander's rings on his cuff. “And besides,” he added as he slid the door shut in Amherst's face, “I'm not authorized to talk to any of you,
either.
“

Brim shrugged and looked at Barbousse, who was standing politely with his five ratings. “What do
you
know about this?” he asked out of the side of his mouth. “You always have advance word about what's going on.”

Barbousse chuckled quietly. “Aye, sir,” he admitted. “That I usually do — but not this time. It's caught me as much by surprise as you.”

Moments later, the steady rumble of the cruiser's Drive increased to a deep thunder, and Brim watched through a small Hyperscreen scuttle as the familiar shape of
Truculent
dwindled rapidly in the distance.

Ursis cocked a furry ear for a moment, then frowned. “The flight crew is certainly in a hurry to go somewhere,” he said. “Drive crystals are wide open, from the sound of things.” He settled into a recliner, crossed his legs, and folded his hands across his chest.

“Just what do you think you are doing, Lieutenant?” Amherst demanded angrily.

“Relaxing, Lieutenant Amherst,” the Bear said as he shut his eyes. “Until someone lets us out of this cabin, it seems to be the most intelligent thing we can accomplish.”

Brim and Theada spent a few moments in desultory exploration of what little there was to see in the room, but eventually thumped into recliners beside him. Barbousse and the other ratings followed suit.

Amherst continued to look annoyed, but clearly had no acceptable rejoinder to any of them. “Oh, very well,” he said lamely. “I shall, ah, notify you what is expected next.”

“I look forward to that,” Ursis grunted quietly. In a few moments more, he was snoring.

The team was confined in the cabin for more than two Standard days, during which time the sound of the Drive never slackened from its original high setting. They transferred to a large, curiously rust-colored shuttle craft only when the
Narcastle
had driven deep into a very empty-looking portion of the galaxy.

* * * *

Their mysterious destination turned out to be a barren, irregular chunk of red-oxide rock orbiting an isolated gas giant where none of the star formations looked familiar to Brim. A flattened, bubble-shaped structure perhaps one hundred irals in circumference clung to a reasonably “level” section of the rock — colored to blend into the background. As the shuttle dove toward landfall, a worried-looking Amherst nudged the pilot and pointed below. Outside the bubble, three, tiny, mean-looking astroplanes hovered in the stillness at the end of short mooring beams. They were examples of an entirely new type of starship with comparatively short range but often capable of speeds in excess of 150 LightSpeed. Many Helmsmen — including Brim — thought starships with such capabilities might well become dominant in many types of future applications. All three of these were of League manufacture, and all appeared to be heavily armed.

“Don't let our little astroplanes bother you,” the pilot drawled through a reddish mustache as he turned onto final approach. “All three of those little tubs down there belong to
us.”
Oddly, his name was Blue, though his hair was red, crested to a remarkable degree, and his complexion a chalk-like white. He had a narrow face with a thin nose and long freckled hands. He wore no battle suit (strictly against Imperial regulations in a shuttle), only a rumpled fatigue uniform with soft, casually scuffed boots that looked far more comfortable than military. He also handled the big shuttle as if he had been born at its controls.

Brim chuckled to himself with a strong suspicion that Blue and he would have much in common, as backgrounds went, but elected to keep his silence. The subject of pasts wasn't one of
his
favorites, either. He peered down at the enemy astroplanes and felt his curiosity piqued again.
What now
?

Inside, the bubble structure was divided into a warren of “rooms” by partitions that did not quite touch the curviform top. Everything about the structure looked ready to be dismantled at a moment's notice. Military gray prevailed nearly everywhere, though occasional areas were finished in more humane colors. The air was uniformly dry and almost unappetizingly without odor, a common attribute of such tiny, self-contained way stations, which recycled the same limited set of atoms to sustain life in the midst of the lonely void.