THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (45 page)

Ursis laughed as the tumult began to ease and they continued across the courtyard. “Your Crown Prince Onrad travels in style, if I may say so.”

Brim saluted his friend. “If it turns out that you may
not
say so,” he pronounced in mock seriousness, “then I shall take it upon myself to say it for you.” He rubbed his chin and shrugged as if he had suddenly reached a difficult decision. “In point of fact, I have recently divined that such mode of travel is probably even more comfortable than the average Carescrian ore barge. Now what do you think of that, Sodeskayan?”

“Deep thinking, Brim,” the Bear replied, nearly tripping on a raised paving tile. “Deep thinking indeed.”

Cherdak smiled and got a better grip on her countryman.

The two Sodeskayans delivered Brim to his door only cycles after they stumbled out of the sixth-floor lift. The Carescrian never was able to remember getting himself into bed, nor neatly hanging his uniform in the wardrobe.

Brim came muzzily awake before his alarm chimed him out of bed. He didn't bother to open his eyes — clearly he was not finished sleeping, and his thoughts were still muddled from the night before.

Besides, he was still glowing from an erotic dream to end
all
erotic dreams. About Margot, of course, and oddly enough (now that he thought about it) set right here in the room he occupied. He sighed; the xaxtdamned thing was so real, it might really have happened. His mind's eye could
still
see her mounted astride him, eyes glazed, red-flushed face twisted into a ravishing mask of effort and delight while her pelvis moved urgently backward and forward, scraping his groin with her coarse, wet gold until they both erupted, howling like maniacs in great, throbbing explosions of delight. Their coupling was even better than he remembered from Avalon, as if the Universe were atoning for time they'd spent apart. If that made any sense at all. If anything in that sort of dream
had
to make sense.

As he recalled, she'd arrived in the dream out of nowhere — awakening him as she climbed into bed, her clothes folded neatly on a chair by the door.

He smiled as he lay in the lonely darkness. Even dreaming, he'd been too affected by the powerful Sodeskayan meem to take much advantage of the situation. Except, of course… But
that
had been totally automatic.

She'd giggled happily when she discovered his condition, and placed her lips beside his ear while blond curls tickled his nose. “That's wonderful, Wilf,” she'd whispered. “You've come through splendidly. I shall now take care of
all
the rest.” It was the most beautiful dream of his entire life.

He sighed again and shifted to a more comfortable position — where he suddenly encountered a warm, smooth curve that had
absolutely
nothing to do with an empty bed. Either did the perfume he’d been breathing, come to think of it.

He felt himself go rigid. Heart suddenly thundering in his ears, he moved his hand along the softness. And he was awake
this
time, all right. The curve was very, very real. He carefully opened his eyes to a mass of golden curls on the pillow beside him.

“M-m-mm, Wilf,” she said sleepily. “Ready for more?”

“S-Sweet, thraggling Universe,” he mumbled. It was all he could manage before she rolled toward him, threw her leg over his hip, and smothered his mouth with her wet-crazy wet lips.

A long time passed before either of them said anything sensible at all.

* * * *

“How in the name of Voot himself,” Brim demanded as dim morning light glowed through the window, “can you sit here naked in bed with me and say you are going to marry him? I mean, how?”

Margot smiled impishly, resting her back against a pillow. “Watch my lips,” she said. “I… am… going… to…”

“Universe!”

“Oh, Wilf, for crying out loud — which you are going to make me do before long — I don't
love
him. You certainly must know
that,
by now. I'm just going to
marry
him. That's all.”

“That's
all?
Universe, Margot. I mean...”

“I know what you mean, Wilf,” she said. “And even if my life isn't my own to live as
I
choose, I don't intend to give you up. My wedding to Rogan LaKarn won't produce a marriage: A
partnership
is more like it. He doesn't want me. He's got somebody else, too, you know. A couple of somebody elses, in fact.”

“Well, that's not my case, Margot,” Brim replied. “You know I want you — I've just never wanted to
own
you. Or anybody else, for that matter.” He looked her in the eye. “But I xaxtdamned well want to make sure nobody else gets to make that claim, either.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding her head. “Universe knows I feel the same way about you.”

“That's good,” he answered, “because there
is
something else.” He was talking very seriously now. He'd given the matter months of thought on blockade duty and was quite ready to discuss it in a Universe of detail. “What I need — all I need,” he went on emphatically, “is to know that I'm the
one
special person in your life, permanently. I need that relationship because I need
you.”

She looked him in the eye. “You have that already, Wilf,” she said. “It's one of the few parts of my life they can't control with the excuse that royal
duty
calls for it.” Then she took a great breath and put her hands on her stomach, staring down into her lap. “But will you still believe in that relationship when this belly of mine is swollen with
his
child?” She looked up and pursed her lips.
“That,
Mr. Brim will be the true test for us both. And it will happen. They'll expect heirs immediately after the war.”

Brim closed his eyes and winced. “Heirs,” he repeated, emphasizing the plural form of the word. “Ouch.”

“You didn't think it was going to be easy for
either
of us, did you?” Margot asked. “Listen, Wilf, in the not too distant future,
I'm
going to have to encourage you to find yourself some… ah…
temporary
sleeping companions. Either that or you'll end up like a celibate lots of the time. And it's my bet that if I ask for something like that, I'll eventually lose what little I have of you.”

Brim started to protest, but she continued before he could speak.

“This love we think we share will have to be so
terribly
strong it can last through quite a bit of adversity, especially now that I'm permanently reassigned to Avalon. Just trying to see each other is going to be xaxtdamned difficult. It was no easy matter getting a berth aboard
Queen Elidean
so I could be here for your ceremony today. And I am required to return with her when she casts off early this evening.” She laughed resentfully. “After my little spying sojourn to Typro, Uncle Greyffin IV is doing everything in his power to keep me safely within the Imperial sphere on Avalon. At least until I produce that heir.”

Brim nodded and smiled gently. “I guess we'll spend a lot of our lives skulking, then,” he said.

She sighed and took his hand. “I should dearly like to find some nicer words, Wilf,” she said, looking down at her manicured nails. “But I suppose it is
precisely
what everything boils down to. Turns out it's commonly accepted practice among us of the so-called
ancienne noblesse,
if that's any help. Otherwise, we'd have royal marriages falling apart all over the Empire. Can you live with something like that?”

“Can you, Margot?”

“I asked you first, Wilf Brim,” she laughed quietly. “But, yes. I can live with it.” She looked him full in the face. “I've spent a lot of time weighing the question of 'us;’ now I'm ready to commit.” She grimaced. “I can't find a nice way of putting this, but it's got to be said. Rogan and I have , well, played the beast with two backs a number of times since you and I first made love on Avalon. And never
once
has it changed the way I feel about you. Not even when it was especially good, as it honestly has been on occasion. Like you, I have certain nerves down there; tickle them properly and it… feels
good
.” She pursed her lips and squeezed his fingers. “Life is going to be damned difficult over the long stretches we'll be apart. But the
most
difficult times of all will come when we
do
see each other and cannot
touch.”

Brim nodded.
That
made abundant sense. “How long before the wedding?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and frowned. “Sometime during the summer season in Avalon next year,” she said. “I shall have to set the actual date soon after I return.”

“And until the wedding?” Brim asked.

“Until the wedding — and
after
the wedding — we'll skulk, Wilf Brim, just as we're skulking now. Whenever we can be together.” She smiled (and frowned). “The more we practice, the better we'll be: At skulking as well as other, more interesting activities. Starting right now.” Her eyebrows raised and she smiled salaciously. “It's still more than two metacycles before Cousin Onrad presents your decorations, and
I need you. 'Like a king fulfill then my
life/Fill
my
unsatiated soul/With all the bliss of paradise!'“

Miraculously, the morning continued to hold fair, though telltale cloud formations promised an expeditious return to Haefdon’s more conventional meteorological fulsomeness not too many metacycles hence. The frozen world had almost become placid by the time Brim stood at attention in dim midday light. Behind Headquarters Plaza, flags rustled crisply in the chill breeze. From the corners of his eyes, he could see ranks of Blue Capes lined on either side as far as they'd cleared the melting snow; representatives from hundreds of organizations comprising Gimmas/Haefdon. He smiled to himself. Margot was among them somewhere, watching, sharing the moment with him, as were Borodov and Ursis. The two Sodeskayans stood to his right, with Borodov in a center position as befit his great seniority. Nearby, a single rank of ratings, including Barbousse, waited for their own decorations.

Distant thunder from a lifting warship momentarily drummed his ears, then faded into the yellow-gray sky. Someone in the formation sneezed. Another coughed. Brim smelled the nearby sea as it tossed itself to vapor on the jetties and boulder-protected causeways. At last, the main doorways to headquarters were thrown wide by white-gloved Imperial Marines. They moved in perfect unison, a professional honor guard if Brim had ever spotted one. He wondered idly how the beautifully attired escorts would face up to a day's terror on blockade duty. Presently, a military band yerked out one of the brassy war marches from nearby Glamnos-Grathen, then Crown Prince Onrad emerged from the building. He was followed by a number of high-ranking naval officers, including Gimmas/Haefdon's commander, (the Hon.) Rear Admiral Dianna C' J' Herrish, Vice Admiral Eug'enie Drei'ffen, commander of the Sixth Battle Squadron, Star Admiral Sir Gregor Penda, Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, and First Star Lord Beorn Wyrood!

Brim was stunned. He had trouble even
imagining
such an assemblage, much less seeing one — especially walking toward
him.
For a moment, his knees felt more than a little weak. Then the feeling passed in a wave of relief. These sage visitors from the Admiralty had little interest in
any
of the Truculents as
persons.
Rather, they were using the little ceremony to personally address the commoners of the Fleet. He took a deep breath, then smiled inwardly. If admirals really had that sort of need, then Wilf Brim was glad for an opportunity to assist — after all, they'd brought him a long way from the Carescrian ore mines.

* * * *

Mercifully, none of the senior Fleet officials had many thoughts to inflict on the gathered hoi polloi. Brim listened to their words echoing hollowly from military voice amplifiers. He even
concentrated
, and appreciated the praise he heard for men and Bears. He was especially gratified to hear Lord Wyrood state that, “the Carescrian
Wilf Brim”
had done much to prove his Admiralty Reform Act (and that a number of new Helmsman Academy slots would be opened in honor of his accomplishments). But when he attempted to probe below the glossy surface of their flawlessly delivered words, he encountered the same lack of basic understanding that characterized the absentee owners and controllers of the mine operations in which he'd once toiled.

No matter
who
you were, it seemed, once you reached — or surpassed — a certain level of command, you eventually lost contact with the reality of the work being done — mining, fighting, either one. Herrish, Drei'ffen, Penda, even Wyrood spoke in vainglorious terms of “glory,” “bravery,” “heroism,” and the like. Brim wondered if any had ever lived on a blockade line, where the most common terms were more like “terror,” “desperation,” and “death.” He wasn't sure if anybody aboard old
Truculent
ever did have
time
for heroism. He was xaxtdamned well sure
he
hadn't himself.

Then he relented… a little.
Unlike
the mine controllers, it actually seemed as if these officers
wanted
to say something worthwhile. In their own manner, they cared, partly to save their own skins, of course. But nevertheless, he felt they did care. And at least for now, it was enough.

Laurels were awarded
after
the speeches (Were they afraid to lose their audience otherwise?). The admirals stood in a line facing the Blue Capes, Prince Onrad in the center. On one side, Admiral Penda dispensed medals; on the other, Lord Wyrood called out names from a tabulator board. “Utrillo Barbousse, Torpedoman,” Wyrood boomed.

Brim watched the big rating stride impassively to a point directly in front of the Prince and salute as if such an encounter had been a daily occurrence for years. Gallsworthy's words suddenly echoed from
Truculent's
ruined bridge. “Now there's a
real
Blue Cape.”