Altogether, two full metacycles passed as if they were no more than a few elapsed clicks.
All too soon, Brim found himself back under the blazing sun, and Claudia was dropping him off at Defiant's brow. "You think you can fly Her, then?" she asked as she braked the skimmer to a halt.
"I don't suppose I'll really know until I've tried her out," he answered truthfully. "But I certainly want to give it a try. When could you have her delivered?"
"Soon," she said, looking him in the eye. "But I shan't promise when."
"You'll be around to check when she arrives?" he blurted out as he stepped to the pavement. He certainly hadn't planned to say anything like that-and truth to tell, he felt a little guilty about the whole thing. After all, he'd never even mentioned Margot....
"Perhaps," she said, revving the little grav. Then she smiled and smoothed her long hair.
"I shall try to stop by. But if I can't, and Defiant leaves before I see you again, good luck with her, Wilf. Consider that you owe me a drink someday when you're back in town." Then, before he could answer, she was gone in a rush of heated afternoon air.
As he watched the skimmer disappear along the dusty road, ft feeling of loneliness suddenly descended on him-and didn't go away even when he subsequently resumed his duties.
The next morning before work was scheduled to begin on the Hyperscreens, Brim was up early running checks on Defiant's homing apparatus when Ursis stuck his head through the bridge hatch.
"Wilf," the Bear called, "Captain Collingswood finds herself 'invited' to a surprise briefing at headquarters immediately. We are expected as well, it seems."
"We got briefed yesterday, didn't we?" Brim asked with a frown, entering a PAUSE command at the console.
"Concerning the city and the base, yes," Ursis said. "Today's, however, carries a high security classification-so I think it will be something new."
"Another lecture on social diseases, I suppose."
The Bear grinned while he replaced his Zempa pipe in its pouch. "Possibly," he allowed.
"But it matters little in light of the fact that our attendance is required. Commanding officers, Executive Officers, Principal Helmsmen, Principal Systems Officers, Principal Weapons Officers, and selected civilians," he recited, counting each category on each of his six fingers.
"Voot's beard." Brim laughed. "I was going to get some useful work done this morning."
"Fleet Regulations forbid useful work when in port," Ursis stated flatly. "Had you forgotten? After all, 'Blue snow brings cheer to the young hearts of red meer cabbages,' as we say."
"Yeah," Brim said, keying in a test exit and returning the console to the system.
"Will there be anything else?" the Chairman asked.
"Not today," Brim said. "Admiralty rules, I guess."
"It does," the Chairman acknowledged as Brim and Ursis passed through the companionway. "It certainly does...."
The briefing took place in the sprawling stone headquarters complex at the edge of me Grand Canal. Brim followed Collingswood into an airless auditorium that reeked of new upholstery, fresh paint, and floor polish. It was nearly filled with ranking Fleet officers and civilians, many of the latter wearing the stovepipe hats of shipyard managers. Brim smiled.
He'd never before seen the unusual headgear look as if they belonged. However, worn with the traditional Hadician dress of air-conditioned frock coats and vests with straight, tubular trousers and varnished boots-all in somber tones-they seemed quite natural. A singular place, Hadic, Brim considered as he peered about the hall.
Just as the house lights began to dim, his gaze met a familiar pair of brown eyes glancing at him: Claudia, bewitchingly dressed in a severe dark business suit and talking to a handsome redheaded Commodore. Grinning, he waved, and was rewarded with a soft smile and a wink. The Commodore turned and nodded in a cordial-if disinterested-manner.
Then the room faded to complete darkness except for a beam of light at the podium, and they took their seats.
Into this stark illumination stepped a pudgy civilian dressed in a formal suit who introduced himself casually as Y. Adolphus Fillmore. His brooding eyes were deeply set in his head; he had a huge double chin; and his mustache looked like two straw brooms joined-where their handles ought to be-by a bulbous nose. He was also missing one of his front teeth. Fillmore might have made a comic figure there at the podium, except that his name was known everywhere-he was one of the most famous starship designers in the known Universe.
"Today, ladies and gentlemen," he began, setting a tall stovepipe hat beside his notes, "I have been sent to tell you about 'benders' and what we know of them."
Brim frowned while a rustle of surprised conversation abruptly swept the room. Benders were the stuff of runaway imaginations and science fiction: starships that could render themselves invisible by literally bending all electromagnetic waves of the spectrum around their hulls without otherwise altering their path. The technique required a data system so capable that it could track particles at the subatomic level, processing-in real time-terabits of information for every square milli-iral of hull surface. Such a system, for a ship even the size of an escort vessel, required unheard-of computing capacity and dynamic energy that might easily power a full-sized battleship.
The briefer waited for silence, then continued on in his placid manner. "I am aware of the tenuous makeup of my material, let me assure you," he said with a tired smile.
"Unfortunately, it is tenuous only because it is not we, the Imperial Allies, who have developed such a snip. I should have many more details to present, were such the case....
Oh, we secretly built a couple of prototype benders ourselves some fifty years ago. Total experiments," he added quickly. "I pursued all the research notes during our initial analysis of the evidence. Interesting reading; however, nothing much came of the project. It took nearly all the ship's on-board power just to get them into 'spectral' mode." He grimaced and bit his lip. "The facts lead us to believe, however, that the bloody Leaguers have not only developed a truly practical warship of the type but have now put it into production."
During the next two metacycles, Fillmore carefully reviewed the Admiralty's facts, which were overwhelming. But, like the Admiralty, he could produce no physical evidence-not so much as a hologram. In practice, the Leaguers seemed to be using their new ships as scavengers, attacking crippled vessels that dropped out of convoys. It was numerically predictable how many of these crippled ships should eventually reach their destinations in spite of their damage, and there were people to keep track of such data. When the numbers began to seriously dwindle, the search for a cause began-and ended with one inescapable conclusion.
The benders themselves were thought to be relatively small, no more than 250 irals in length with a beam of perhaps 25-irals and some 1200 milstons displacement. They were also pictured as armed with only one or two disruptors-almost certainly the standard 91-mmi's used on most smaller Leaguer starships-and five or six League-standard 533-mmi torpedo tubes. In all probability, the ships would be slow and clumsy when in spectral mode, but with the tremendous energy of the data processors available for their horizontal generators, they were assumed to be as capable of a good turn of speed as normal, visible starships. Additionally, they were rumored to be fitted with outlet filters that all but eliminated Drive plumes-at the price of considerable Hyperspeed performance.
At length, the lecturer exhausted his accumulation of Admiralty data and the briefing was over. Attendees were urged to keep a careful watch for the new ships, both from the ground-it was thought that benders might find limited action as attack craft-and in space during convoy duty. They represented a dangerous new capability for the League, and could spell critical trouble for the beleaguered Imperial Fleets that had only recently won themselves a breathing spell from the first insane rush of the war.