THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (34 page)

Moments later, the Hyperscreens pulsed again, this time remaining dark for a full five clicks while the whole control room shook with a massive series of thunderous tremors. Loose gear clattered to the deck as the bow erupted in a cloud of sparks and debris that smashed back along the deck and grated deafeningly along the walls of the control cabin. Green sparkling radiation cascaded over the control cabin and vomited into the wake; when it cleared, the 60-mmi was completely gone, replaced by a jagged, glowing hole.

“Where did
that
come from?” Brim exclaimed over the din of the straining generators. “Wasn't even a direct hit!” Two more stupendous explosions erupted off to starboard, smashing the astroplane off course again and pulsing what was left of the Hyperscreens.

“Sweet
thraggling
Universe,” Theada exclaimed. “I see it! Over there, just coming up from the shadow of the planet.”

“The old cruiser!” Brim yelled as he suddenly realized he had flown into a classic trap. The little patrol craft were actually herding him like a grazing animal. His mind raced furiously as he crankled wildly through the sky. With no more disruptors to use against the patrol craft, escape was virtually impossible; any way he might choose to go, the huge disruptors of the cruiser could easily destroy him. Yet the only way out now was past the old ship. He made his decision swiftly. “Barbousse,” he yelled, “prime those torpedo tubes!”

“They're primed, Lieutenant,” Barbousse declared presently.

Brim swung the astroplane’s shattered bow toward the cruiser and sighted carefully through his target display. He set his jaw and frowned. A bad deflection, that: low and close to the disk of the planet—but it was the best he was going to get. “Here we go!” he yelled. More explosions battered the racing astroplane in every direction, but each time Brim fought his way back on course. As they approached, space itself seemed to catch fire with shattering detonations and radiation from the big ship's disruptors. “Ready,” he yelled.

“Ready,” Barbousse answered tensely.

Outside, a torrent of explosions ripped the blackness of space. Brim gritted his teeth and held a steady course while he struggled to acquire the target. He had only a single chance. Every passing click was an eternity.

“Now,”
he called at last. “Fire both!”

The astroplane jumped as the powerful Leaguer torpedoes blasted from their tubes on either side of the ruined 60-mmi disruptor turret.

“Torpedoes running, Lieutenant,” Barbousse confirmed.

“Reload!” Brim ordered, skidding to port just in time to avoid a whole string of monstrous detonations. Powerful machinery whined and labored on either side of the deckhouse as the spare torpedoes were drawn from their storage canisters and inserted into the torpedo tubes. An eternity later, two thumps announced the task accomplished.

“They're primed, Lieutenant,” Barbousse announced. “Fire both!” Brim shouted.

Again the ship jumped.

“Torpedoes running.”

By now, every disruptor on the old cruiser that could bear was in rapid fire at them. “Ready the Drive, Nik,” Brim warned.

“The Drive is already on standby, Wilf,” Ursis assured him.

Brim judged the fast-narrowing distance carefully. Hesitated one more click, then, “Fire it off!” he yelled.

The single Drive crystal came to life at the precise instant the first two torpedoes found their target — they struck dead amidships with an immense explosion that immediately hid the middle third of the old cruiser with a roiling ball of blinding flame and radiation. And now E607 was rushing down at it with the acceleration only a Drive can provide.

“We're going to hit,” Amherst shrieked over the suit channel.

A milliclick later, the second two torpedoes slammed into what remained of the Leaguer's midsection, a dull glow boiling out into surrounding space until her hull opened like a rotten fruit. Her KA'PPA mast subsided slowly into the seething mass of energy, then suddenly took off in the opposite direction like a missile. Simultaneously, another glow began forward until the whole ship seemed to collapse inward in a massive explosion of starflame. Slowly, she rolled to starboard, her massive hull breaking raggedly into two parts at a gaping hole in her side.

Brim steered straight for the opening, he was too close and too fast for any other choice. The little astroplane pitched and rolled in the awesome shock waves. Then they were through to open space in less than a click, Brim steering by instinct alone. He remembered an instant of great ruined galleries, flame, and destruction on either side — and debris. Something huge had smashed past the control cabin, ripping a deep gash along the deck and opening the spare torpedo compartment like a ripe ca'omba. The Drive surged for a moment all out of control; a colossal hammer stroke smashed at the hull; then Gandom's V
_e
effect started and moments later they were in HyperSpace. When Brim turned in his seat, the giant wreck was only a flicker in the aft Hyperscreens, with the Drive growling raggedly beneath their feet and the generators spooling to a stop in their scarred outriggers.

“It probably looked as if we blew up with the cruiser,” Theada commented in a voice still weak from excitement. “We were on our way into HyperSpace before we cleared the wreckage.”

“No doubt,” Ursis grumbled. “Unfortunately, whatever it was we collided with nearly did for Drive, too.” He frowned at his readouts and rubbed his jaw. “Hundred and ten LightSpeed is best speed we'll get in HyperSpace, unless, of course, you wish to be out of phase with time.”

Brim shuddered. Everyone knew about occasional time castaways. He decided long ago he preferred death — of any kind. “Can we maintain a hundred and ten?” he asked.

“That, fortunately, poses no particular problem,” the Bear replied.

Brim shrugged. “Let's go for it, then,” he said. “Even a little Hyperspeed is better than none at all.”

“As you say, Wilf Ansor,” Ursis said. The Drive continued its uneven thunder.

Brim quickly took stock of the rest of the ship. All in all, it appeared to be in reasonably workable form, considering the treatment he'd given it during the last few metacycles. In the corner of his eye, he saw Margot remove her helmet; Barbousse was at her side in a moment. She looked at Brim through tired, bloodshot eyes, her face so drawn she was hardly recognizable.

“I-I watched that, Wilf,” she said with awe in her weak voice. “I watched
you.
No wonder you're building such a name for yourself.”

“Desperation, as usual,” Brim said as his cheeks burned. “I can't seem to do anything unless I'm in trouble.”

“Oh, Wilf,” Margot pouted with a tired grin, “you
are
impossible, aren't you?” She smiled sleepily, then her eyes closed and her head lolled onto her shoulder.

Barbousse opened her space suit at the wrist and gently counted her pulse. “She's asleep, Lieutenant,” he asserted with a wink. “I think you've got this mission just about complete.”

“Not until we get that lady aboard her pickup ship,” Brim said. “But I guess even I'll be surprised if we don't pull that off pretty soon, considering what we've come through so far.” Then he turned to Amherst. “All right, Number One,” he said without emotion, “now we're on our way home, as you wished. You'd better get yourself cleaned up and back in command.”

E60T’s rendezvous with Margot's pickup ship took place only metacycles after they limped from the boundaries of the League at 110 LightSpeed. This time, they were not met by a lightly armed reconnaissance craft. Instead, the massive form of I.F.S.
Defiance
, a heavy cruiser, hove into view in what was left of the forward Hyperscreens — signaling imperiously for an immediate linkup.

After Brim matched speeds and came alongside, the ships were quickly connected by mooring beams and a brow extended from the cruiser to the astroplane’s scarred and dented well deck. In moments, the Carescrian found himself alone with Margot in the control cabin, the others conveniently hurrying through the air lock after Ursis, who had Amherst firmly by the elbow.

Brim carefully slaved his controls to the larger
Defiance
, then slipped from the helm and made his way aft: where he bent over Margot's sleeping form and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

She opened her tired eyes slowly, blinked, then opened her arms. In a moment, Brim embraced her. “How I've dreamed of holding you,” he whispered, his heart beating out of control.

“I've dreamed of you, too, Wilf,” she said breathlessly. “It got me through the bad times back there.” She trembled. “I never did that reset we talked about back at
Prosperous,”
she said. “I couldn't.”

Brim felt a thrill course through his whole body. He looked into her bloodshot eyes. “Nor did I,” he said with a passion he had never before experienced. Then their lips touched, hers soft and wet against his. For a dizzy moment, the war ceased to exist — only Margot and her lips and her breath and her arms and her crazy, crazy wet lips…

Abruptly, someone was hammering on the aft Hyperscreens. Brim surfaced just in time to see Barbousse knocking gently from the well deck. Behind him, Amherst was leading a group of officers from
Defiant
through the wreckage toward the air lock. The newcomers were dressed in elegant battle suits that clearly had never seen a battle. “We've got visitors, Margot,” he warned.

She continued to hold him for a moment, then released her grip. “I want you to hold me again, Wilf,” she whispered, peering intently into his eyes. “I don't know how, but,
'Can e'er I bid these joys farewell?/No greater bliss shines out among the stars.'
“

“I'll get to where you are somehow,” Brim said, Lacerta's poetry glowing like a brand in his memory as the air lock hissed. He got to his feet unsteadily, his heart racing.

“Together,” Margot whispered while he helped her from the recliner. Then the others were inside, doffing their helmets and looking around the little control cabin as if its clutter might stain their battle suits. “Princess Effer'wyck?” a bowing commander inquired, ignoring Brim as if he were part of the ship's equipment. The man was short, and inside his helmet he wore a too-neat mustache.

“Lieutenant
Effer'wyck, if you please, Commander,” Margot corrected. Then, turning to Brim, she said, “I shall remain on Avalon for a time, Wilf. If Fortune wills, we shall meet there. Otherwise, Haefdon.” She touched his hand, then reached for her space helmet. “Thank you forever,” she whispered. Less than a cycle later, she led three of the officers through the air lock, across the ruined well deck, and out of Brim's sight.

The remaining officer placed a hand on Amherst's shoulder and scanned the burned and splintered deck outside. “Looks as if the rescue wasn't all that easy, Puvis,” he said, removing his helmet. He was tall and elegant, even in a battle suit. Like Amherst, he had a long patrician nose, narrow-set, sensitive eyes, and another perfectly groomed wisp of mustache.

Amherst colored. “Ah… no. It w-wasn't, Uncle Shelgar,” he stammered, looking at Brim pleadingly.

“We accomplished our mission, Commander,” Brim said.

“That's the important part.”

“Yes, you brought the Princess back,” Shelgar said, nodding his head, “thereby avoiding a large and nasty galactic incident.” He laughed. “She won't do
that
again, I'll tell you — they've reassigned her
permanently
to Avalon this time. Why, when the Emperor found what she was up to, he was furious. Perfectly furious.”

“She
is
next in line for the throne of Effer'wyck, isn't she?” Amherst observed. “Sort of a crown princess, except they don't use the term there.” He frowned. “How did she get herself such an assignment in the first place?”

“A strong-willed youngster,” Shelgar chuckled. “They say she usually gets what she wants.” He smiled. “And from what I hear, she did a perfectly
superb
job of what she was doing. All very hush-hush, you know.” He took a moment to stare at the wreckage-strewn decks, peering intently at the jagged, blackened hole where Theada's 6O-mmi used to be. “But,” he continued, holding up an index finger, “I did
not
remain on your, ah, bridge here to discuss the Princess. I have orders for you, Puvis, and also for what is left of this astroplane of yours. “

“Sir?” Amherst asked.

“First,” Shelgar said, “you are ordered to return with us in
Defiance
— your father's personal and direct wishes, of course. He will want to bestow your decorations himself.”

“I see, yes,” Amherst said, his eyes brightening for the first time since the mission began. “I have a few things in the cabin, forward,” he said. “If you will be so good as to pass the remainder of the orders to Brim, my Helmsman, I shall be ready to leave momentarily.”

Shelgar nodded and watched Amherst disappear into the companionway before he turned to Brim. “So you are the Carescrian Helmsman,” he said, folding his arms and smiling.

“Yes, sir,” Brim answered uncertainly.

“Regula Collingswood speaks highly of you, Lieutenant,” Shelgar said. “I assume you flew the mission?”

“Some of it,” Brim answered.

“I won't ask any embarrassing questions, Brim,” Shelgar asserted with an ironic smile. “I've already formed my own guesses about the nature of young Amherst's contribution from what I long ago learned of my brother's son.” He winked. “So I also won't bother to read the official version when it appears in the
Journal.”
He laughed quietly. “Enough of that,” he said. “Politics disgust me, and time grows short. I think you'll like your orders; they get you to Avalon just as soon as you can coax this clapped-out wreck to fly you there.”

“Did you say
Avalon,
sir?” Brim asked, heart suddenly racing.

“Well, close enough,” Shelgar said. “You're to take what's left of this astroplane back to the Technical Intelligence Center on Proteus, Brim. Afterward, you can catch a return ride to
Truculent
from any of the five planets of Avalon. And I shall convey the same information about you to Her Majesty, the Princess Effer'wyck; If I am any judge of quick looks, it will no doubt soften the shock of her reassignment. Especially if you were to, ah, spend some leave time on Avalon herself when you finish with the boffins on Proteus.”